Chapter 7

 

Luke

 

I manage to keep myself together as I drive toward the apartment, hoping Violet will be there, wishing that out of all the bad things that could be going on, it’s actually something that’s okay.

Please, just let her be okay.

I’m halfway there when I get a text.

Taking my phone out of my pocket, I see it’s from Greyson.

Greyson: Hey, I have something of yours.

Me: Huh???

Greyson: A girl with black and red hair, a pierced nose, tattoos, a smartass personality. Goes by the name of Violet.

Relief washes over me. She’s with Greyson. Thank God.

Me: Glad she’s with you. I’ve been trying to get ahold of her.

Greyson: Yeah, she’s been busy. With what I have no clue, but she showed up here in wet clothes, with a swollen eye, a cut on her wrist, and drunk beyond comprehension… It’s really bad, Luke. I’m not going to lie. Something must have set her off today. Not sure what though, since I can’t get her to talk about it.

A current of guilt sweeps through my body, so powerful that I have to pull over the truck over to collect myself.

Me: Where are u guys exactly?

Greyson: At the diner. Thankfully, the bar’s pretty empty so I can keep an eye on her, but it’s going to pick up around three or so. Can u pick her up? I’d take her home myself, but we’re understaffed on the diner side as it is.

Me: On my way now.

I drive like a bat out of hell down the streets of Laramie, breaking too many traffic laws to count. But I’m flipping worried, not just about Violet being drunk, but also because she showed up at the diner with wet clothes and bruises. I know enough about Violet to understand that she could have done it to herself. I thought she was taking it easy on the adrenaline seeking, but now I’m not so sure.

It takes me half the usual time to get to the diner and by the time I get there, I’m all jacked up on my own adrenaline, my mind racing with a ton of ideas of what Violet was doing while I was at class. I never should have left her alone. I should have stayed with her.

I hop out of the truck and hurry to the back door of the diner. It’s cloudy, the sky is grey, the wind chilly, and I swear to God I can hear thunder rumbling in the distance like a Goddamn omen.

When I open the door and walk inside, the first thing I notice is how quiet it is. It’s unsettling and the feeling only amplifies when the first noise I hear is the muffled sound of crying. I turn the corner and step out into the shelf area that’s tucked between the kitchen and the bar. That’s where I find Violet huddled in the corner with her legs pulled up to her chest. Her hair is a tangled mess and there’s dirt on her clothes. Her bloodshot eyes are focused on empty space and tears are streaming down her cheeks. So much sadness is pouring out of her, yet she looks completely empty inside.

“Jesus Christ.” I didn’t even mean to say it aloud. It sort of just spilled out, but it’s a little bit of a shock to see her like this. I’ve only seen her cry a couple of times, and she hated that I saw. Out here in the open, where anyone can see her… Whatever happened must have been bad.

I approach her like she’s a skittish cat. She doesn’t even notice me until I’m pretty much standing in front of her. Then she tips her chin back and looks up at me. Her eyes are big and watery, so lost and swarming with confusion.

I have to work to keep myself composed. “What’s wrong?” I ask, crouching down in front of her.

When she doesn’t respond right away, I reach for her, but she shakes her head and hovers back, turning her face to the side. I see the swollen area Greyson was talking about, already deepening to a bluish purple, which means that whatever happened, she was probably hit hard.

“Please don’t touch me,” she whispers. “Not right now.”

I’m feeling about as lost as she looks when I spot the cut on her wrist that Greyson also told me about. Only it’s not a small cut like I thought but a wound, jagged and open across her flesh and it’s still bleeding a little. A switch flips inside me and I nearly lose control over myself as I grab her arm.

“What the fuck happened right here?” I demand, not meaning to sound so angry, but I can’t help it. I hate that she does this to herself, hurts herself. She deserves so much better than that, yet she can’t see it.

She winces from my grip, making me realize how roughly I’m grasping onto her, so I loosen my fingers a little. “Sorry, but...” I swallow hard and shake my head. “It looks like you did this to yourself… like you cut yourself.”

“I did,” she responds hollowly. “I’m sorry… I tried to turn it off another way, but this time… this time it was too much and I couldn’t deal with it, couldn’t make the pain stop no matter how hard I tried, so I went further, did things I never thought I’d do.”

I grind my teeth as I attempt to keep myself composed, but the idea of Violet hurting herself makes me sick and angry. Not angry at her, but at everyone else who helped destroy her over the years. All her foster parents who abandoned her, Preston. My mother.

“What happened?” I sit down on the floor in front of her, still holding her arm. I can hear someone in the kitchen, banging pots and pans around, but Violet seems to not notice. “And where’s Greyson?”

“He’s working in the bar,” she tells me, staring at the space of floor in front of her feet. “He doesn’t know I fell apart like this… I waited until he got too busy to check on me.” She sucks in a breath, attempting to stop the tears, but they keep pouring out.

“How did you…?” I gently brush my finger across the remnants of the wound on her wrist. “How did this happen exactly?”

She inhales then exhales before her gaze finally rests on me. Her expression is empty and so detached it’s chilling. “I cut myself.” She slides her arm out of my hold, tugs the sleeve of her jacket over the cut, then hugs her wrist against her chest. “I tried everything. Standing on the top of a building, leaning over the edge, dangling my feet over. When that didn’t work, I tried to cut my wrist.” She shrugs indifferently. “But it didn’t help.”

I’m trying to ignore the fact that she’s acting way too nonchalant over hurting herself. It’s really fucking difficult. I just want to yell at her, tell her to stop, tell her she’s too important and too good to be doing this shit to herself.

“How did you get the bruise on your face?” I gently brush the spot with my fingers.

Her face twists with perplexity as she reaches for her cheek, almost as if she’s forgotten the bruise was there. “Oh that…? I bumped it on a rock after I dived into the river. It kind of hurt.”

I notice she has a hospital band on her wrist and I slip my fingers through it, my eyes widening. “What the hell is this?” I ask, but she just shakes her head, refusing to tell me.

Shaking my own head, I move my hand to her face and cup her cheek, trying not to be so angry. But doesn’t she know how important she is to me. How could she, though, when I’ve never actually told her… told her… that I… I love her.

“Your skin’s freezing.” My hands travel down her body, to her neck, her arms, to her fingers, which are equally as chilled. “You’re freezing, baby. What happened to you?”

“It’s cold outside and I walked here in damp clothes from the hospital.” She contemplates something. “But I think the alcohol numbed me for the most part because I can’t even feel it.” She pauses, head angling to the side as her brows furrow. “It’s weird, but I don’t even remember walking here very well.”

I hate that she clearly must have blacked out at some point, either from the adrenaline overload or the alcohol. God, so many thoughts are racing through my mind on what the hell happened while I was at school. What drives me even crazier is that she was wandering around alone and drunk when she has a stalker after her. Not only was it dangerous, but all the drinking she’s been doing is bad for her health. Something I discovered firsthand almost a month ago after I’d made the decision to quit drinking. I’d gone to the doctor to get put on a pill that would help me go through detox. He had done a checkup and said that with all the binge drinking I’d been doing with my diabetes, I was pretty much lucky as fuck to still be walking around. A year ago I wouldn’t have given a shit, but now, with Violet around, with someone that I care for needing me, it makes me want to get better.

I just wish I could get her better, too.

“Lets get you home.” I wind my arms around her to pick her up. She doesn’t put up a fight and pretty much sinks into my arms with a heavy sigh, as if she’s been waiting for me to do exactly this.

“This feels nice,” she murmurs as I carry her toward the door, her eyelids fluttering as she fights to keep them open. “Luke, please don’t ever leave me.” Her voice cracks in a way that tears my heart open. “I don’t have anyone anymore.”

“Yes, you do. You have me, and I promise I’m not going anywhere. Ever,” I say without as much as an afterthought. I kick the door shut and then start across the parking lot toward my beat up truck parked out back.

“You say that now, but you might change your mind after…” She yawns and buries her head into my chest.

“After?” I ask as I try to get the passenger door open without putting her down.

“After what’s about to happen. So much stuff… ahead… for us…”

“What’s about to happen?” I pause, tension filling my body. What the hell happened today?

She doesn’t answer as she passes out in my arms, leaving me clueless as hell. Why would she think I’d leave her? And what could have possibly set her off this badly today? Could the two possibly go together?

God, what if I’m the reason she’s breaking apart?