The Destiny of Violet & Luke

“Do you still write?” I ask. “Or play anything?”

He shakes his head as he closes the microwave door. “Nah, I may have been into it, but I wasn’t very good.” He presses buttons on the microwave and it clicks on. Then he turns around and reclines against the counter, facing me with his arms folded. “So what was your rebellious phase, Violet?”

I glance down at my dark clothes, hiding my tattoos. “I think I might still be going through it.”

“And who are you rebelling from?” he wonders.

“Myself.”

He laughs under his breath. “What about your parents? Did they hate—or do they still hate your rebellious phase?”

My heart drops into my stomach and I suddenly remember where I was headed before I got sidetracked with this conversation. “You know,” I say as calmly as I can as I get up off the stool. “If you really want to make pot brownies, I can help with that.”

His brows lift as the microwave beeps from behind him. “Oh really?”

I shrug, backing for my room. “It’s up to you. I’m just offering.”

He moves away from the counter and pops the microwave door open. “Well, I’m not going to pass up an offer.”

I smile my fake, shiny necklace smile, the one I plaster on my face when I need to look happy. “I’ll be right back.” I duck into my room and go over to the boxes stacked at the foot of the unmade queen-size bed. I rifle through them until I find the prescription bottle I keep my stash in. I’m surprised Preston didn’t ask for it back, but he was probably too hung over on ecstasy to even remember I had it. But I don’t doubt that he’ll eventually remember and come asking for it. It seems like I should care, but at the moment I don’t.

I return to the kitchen where Greyson is reading the recipe book again, muttering the lyrics of the song under his breath.

“I’m going to have to tweak this a little now,” he says with his finger on the page.

“Well, tweak away.” I toss him the prescription bottle and his eyes widen as he catches it.

“Holy shit,” he says as he twists the cap off and glances at the fairly good stash inside. “Where’d you get this?”

“I have connections.” My smile is still bright like a polished cubic zirconium as I start for my room.

“Wait, don’t you want any?” he calls out.

“Sure,” I reply. “But I have to take care of something first.”

He gives me a puzzled look, but I walk away, leaving him in the kitchen to bake his pot brownies. I won’t go back and join him, not just because pot makes me evil and crazy like alcohol, but because I’m not in the mood for company anymore.

When I get back to my room, I lock the door. Then I head over to the window beside the bed and slide it open. I pop the screen off, set it down on the bed, then swing my legs out. I settle in the windowsill, staring down at the three-story drop to the concrete. I think I’d be able to survive it, but it’s hard to say for sure. If I hit my head, my skull would probably crack and if I landed on my feet, I’d probably compress my spine. Bones would probably break and my blood would stain the concrete like my parents’ blood stained the carpet, walls, and comforter on the bed. The fall would hurt if I survived, but for the briefest moment during the fall, I’d feel at peace, knowing that it could all just end.

Chapter 12

Luke

I realize as soon as I turn my phone back on that I’ve messed up. There’s one missed call from Violet. I try to call her, but it goes straight to her voicemail. Normally, I wouldn’t think anything of it, but she looked so shocked when I asked for her number. I get the feeling she’s not used to having people to depend on.

I drive past the police station on my way back to the apartment, just to make sure she’s not waiting there and she’s not. I should be feeling good. I doubled my money. Everything should be great, yet I feel like shit. I can’t stop thinking about how surprised Violet looked when I gave her my number and wondering how she felt when I didn’t answer her call.

When I get back to the apartment, Seth’s sitting on the leather sofa with his feet kicked up on the table, blankets piled to the side of him as he watches a sitcom on the television. Greyson is lounging on the floor with his head resting on a throw pillow surrounded by the many boxes that still need to be unpacked. Violet’s standing in the kitchen pouring a glass of juice. She doesn’t look up at me as she puts the juice back in the fridge, grabs the glass, and heads for our room.

I step over Greyson and cut her off as she reaches the hallway, racking my brain for the best thing to say. “Hey.”

She puts the rim of the glass to her mouth. “Hey.” She guzzles a mouthful, avoiding looking at me.

I crack my muscles, nervous for reasons I barely understand and don’t like. “I’m sorry I completely forgot not to turn off my phone. When I go to games, I do that… and I wasn’t thinking.”

She stares at me with that detached look in her eyes, the one that I was first a little envious of, but now I just want to make it go away. I want to put a different look in her eyes, like the one that was there right after I kissed her. I want to make her look alive again.

She lowers the glass from her mouth. “It’s fine.” She starts to step past me and I brace my hand on the door frame, barricading her path.

“No, it’s not. I told you I would pick you up and I should have picked you up,” I say. “How did you even get home?”

She shrugs. “I walked.”

“But it’s hotter than hell.”

“It’s just a little heat. And I made it, so you can stop feeling bad.”

“Violet, I’m really sorry.” I sound so pitiful, but I don’t care. What I care about is fixing this—fixing us. And that realization is both liberating and f**king terrifying.

“I promise it’s okay.” She gives me a fake, plastered on smile, then ducks underneath my arm and goes into the room, shutting the door.

“What was that about?” Seth asks as he aims the remote at the television.

I shake my head and go to the fridge to get a beer. “I f**ked up.”

He grins cleverly. “Aren’t you always doing that?” he asks and Greyson snorts a laugh.

I pop the cap off the beer and roll my eyes. “Ha, ha, you two are f**king hilarious.” I go over and drop down on the recliner, kicking my boots off. “And why are you even laying around? The apartment’s a mess.”