The Destiny of Violet & Luke, Page 2

  “It was so nice of you to give her a home,” a woman with fiery red hair tells Amelia, who’s my mother at the moment. She’s having one of her neighborhood shindigs, which she does a lot, then complains about them later to her husband. “These poor children really do need a roof over their head.”

  Amelia glances at me, sitting in a chair at the table where I was directed to stay the entire party. “Yes, but it’s hard, you know.” She’s wearing this yellow sweater that reminds me of a canary that was a pet at one of my foster parent’s homes that never stopped chattering. She arranges some crackers and sliced cheese onto a large flowery platter and then heads for the refrigerator. “She’s kind of a problem child.” She opens the fridge door and takes out a large pitcher of lemonade. She looks over at me again, then leans toward the redhead, lowering her voice. “She’s so angry all the time and she broke this vase the other day because she couldn’t find her shoes… but we’re working on fixing her.”

  Angry all the time. That’s what everyone seems to say; I’m so angry at the world and it’s understandable considering what I’ve been through, yet no one wants to deal with it. That I probably have too much rage inside me. That I’m broken. Unstable. Maybe even dangerous. All the things that no adult wants in a child. They want smiles and laughter, children who will make them smile and laugh, too. I’m the dark, morbid side of childhood. I swear they’re waiting around for me to do something that will give them an excuse to get rid of me and they can tell everyone they tried but I was just too messed up to be fixed.

  “And her nightmares,” Amelia continues. “She wakes up screaming every night and she wet the bed the other night. She even came running into our room, saying she was scared to sleep alone.” Her eyes glide to the tattered purple teddy bear I’m hugging. “She’s very immature and carries that stuffed animal around with her everywhere… it’s strange.”

  I hate her. She doesn’t understand what it’s like to see things that most people can’t even admit exist. The ugly truth, painted in red, stuck in my head, images I can’t shake. Death. Cruelty. Terror. People taking other peoples’ lives as if lives mean nothing. Then they leave me behind to carry the foul, rotting truth with me. Alone. Why did they leave me behind? This teddy bear is all I have left of a time when ugly didn’t consume my life.

  I turn my head away from the sound of her voice and stare out the window at the sunlight reflecting against a lawn ornament shaped like a tulip, and hug the teddy bear against my chest, the one my dad gave me as an early birthday present the day before he died. There are little red, heart-shaped beads on the tulip and when they catch in the light they flicker and make dots dance against the concrete on the back porch. It’s pretty to watch and I focus on them, shoving my anger down and bottling it up—trying to stay in control of my emotions. Otherwise all the feelings I’ve buried will escape and I’ll have no choice but to find a way to shut it down—find my adrenaline rush.

  Besides, Amelia doesn’t need to repeat what I already know. I know what I do every night, just like I know what I am to them, just like I know in a few months or so they’ll get tired of me and send me to another place with a different home where everything I do will annoy those people, too, and eventually they’ll pass me along. It’s like clockwork and I don’t expect anything more. Expecting only leads to disappointment. I expected things once when I was little—that I’d continue to grow up with my mom and dad, smile, and be happy—but that dream was crushed the day they died.

  “Violet,” Amelia snaps and I quickly turn my head to her. She and her redheaded friend are staring at me with worry and a hint of fear in their eyes and I wonder just how much her friend knows about me. Does she know about that night? What I saw? What I escaped? What I didn’t escape? Does it make her afraid of me? “Are you listening to me?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  She crooks her eyebrow at me as she opens the cupboard above her head. “No, what?”

  I set the teddy bear on my lap and tell myself to shut off the anger because the last time I released it, I ended up breaking lots of things, then got sent here. “No, ma’am.”

  Her eyebrow lowers as she selects a few cans of beans out from a top cupboard. “Good, now if you would just listen the first time then we’d be on track.”

  “I’m listening now,” I say to her, which results in her face pinching. “Sorry. I’m listening now, ma’am.”

  She glares at me coldly as she stacks the cans on the countertop and takes a can opener out from a drawer. “I said would you go into the garage and get me some hamburger meat from the storage freezer.”

  I nod and hop off the chair, taking the teddy bear with me, relieved to get out of the stuffy kitchen and away from her friend who keeps looking at me like I’m about to stab her. As I head out the door into the garage I hear Amelia saying, “I think we might contact social services to take her back… she just wasn’t what we were expecting.”

  Never expect anything, I want to turn around and tell her, but I continue out into the garage. The lights are on and I trot down the steps and wind around the midsize car toward the freezer in the corner. But I pause when I notice Jennifer in the corner, along with a boy and two girls who are messing around with bikes in the garage.

  “Well, well look what the dog drug in,” she sneers as she moves her bike away from the wall. Her bike is pink, just like the dress she’s wearing. I used to have a bike once, too, only it was purple, because I hate pink. But I never learned how to ride it and now it’s part of my old life, boxed away and sold along with the rest of my childhood. “It’s Violet and that stupid bear.” She glances at her friends. “She always carries it around with her like a little baby or something.”

  I keep the bear close and disregard her the best that I can, because it’s all I can do. This isn’t my house or my family and no one’s going to take my side. I’m alone in the world. It’s something I learned early on and becoming used to the idea of always being alone has made life a little easier to live over the last several years.

  I hurry past her and her friends who laugh when she utters under her breath that I smell like a homeless person. I open the freezer and take out a frozen pound of hamburger meat, then shut the lid and turn back for the door. Jennifer has abandoned her bike to strategically place herself in front of my path back to the door.

  “Would you please move?” I ask politely, tucking the hamburger meat under one of my arms and my teddy bear under the other. I dodge to the side, but Jennifer sidesteps with me, her hands out to the side.

  “Troll,” the boy laughs and it’s echoed by the cackling of laughter.

  “This is my house,” Jennifer says with a smirk. “Not yours, so you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  I hold up the hamburger meat, fighting to keep my temper under control. “Yeah, but your mom asked me to get this for her.”

  She puts her hands on her hips and says to me with an attitude, “That’s because she thinks of you as our maid. In fact, I overheard her talking to my dad the other day, telling him that’s why they’re fostering you—because they needed someone to clean up the house.”

  Don’t let her get to you. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does. “Get out of my way,” I say through gritted teeth.

  She shakes her head. “No way. I don’t have to listen to you, you loser, smelly, crazy girl.”

  The other kids laugh and it takes a lot of energy not to clock her in the face. You were taught to be better than that. Mom and Dad would want me to be better. I move around to the other side but she matches my step and kicks me in the shin. A throbbing pain ricochets up my leg, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction, remaining calm.

  “No wonder you don’t have any parents. They probably didn’t want you,” she snickers. “Oh wait, that’s right. They died… you probably even killed them yourself.”

  “Shut up,” I warn, shaking as I step closer to her. I can feel anger blazing inside me, on the brink of exploding
.

  “Or what?” she says, refusing to back off. The boy on the floor stands up and starts to head toward us with a look on his face that makes me want to bolt. But I won’t. I’m sure they’ll chase me if I do and in the end I’m going to get blamed for this incident.

  “What do you mean, she killed her parents?” he asks, wiping some grime off his forehead with his thumb.

  Jennifer grins maliciously and then turns to him. “Haven’t you heard the story about her?”

  “Shut up.” I cut her off as I move so close to her I almost knock her over, then raise my hand up in front of me, like I’m going to shove her. “I’m warning you.”

  She keeps talking as if I don’t exist. “Her parents were murdered.” She glances at me with hate and cruelty in her eyes. “I heard my mom saying she was the one who found them, but I’m guessing it’s because she did it herself because she’s crazy.”

  I see the image of my mom and dad in their bedroom surrounded by blood and I lose it. I quickly shove the image out of my head until all I see is red. Red everywhere. Blood. Red. Blood. Death. And a stupid little girl who won’t walk away from it.

  I throw the hamburger meat down on the ground, not concerned about what happens to me, and grab a handful of her long blond hair and yank on it. “Take it back!” I shout, pulling harder as I circle around to the front of the car, away from the boy, dragging Jennifer with me.

  She starts to cry, her head tipped back, tears spilling out of her eyes. “You evil bitch!”

  “Let her go!” the boy yells, running around the car at us. “You crazy psycho.” He turns to the other girls and tells them to go get someone and then they take off running, looking at me like I’m crazy, too.

  I know it’ll be just moments before Amelia comes out and then not too long after she’ll call social services to come take me away. I’m trembling with anger and hate all directed toward Jennifer, because she’s the one here in front of me. No one else. My vision blurs along with my head and my heart and it feels like I’m back at my childhood home walking into the room again, seeing the blood… hearing the voices…

  I’m trembling so much my fingers have no strength left to hold on to Jennifer and I release her. She immediately stumbles forward into the front of the car. Regaining her balance, she spins around and shoves me so hard I fall to the ground and my head bangs against the wall.

  “You psycho!” she shouts, her face bright red, tears streaming out of her eyes. “My mom and dad are so going to send you away.”

  I stare at the space on the floor in front of her feet, hugging my teddy bear, motionless.

  She lets out a frustrated grunt and then stomps her foot on the floor before running out of the garage.

  Moments later, Amelia comes rushing in, shouting before she even reaches me. “You’re done here! Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” I don’t have a single drop of emotion left and my voice sounds hollow.

  “Yes, what?” She waits for me to answer her with her arms crossed.

  I don’t reply because I don’t have to anymore. I’m finished with this home. There’s no erasing what just happened. I can’t change the past just as much as I can’t control my future.

  She gets livid, her face tinting pink as she tries to contain her fury. She tells me I’m worthless. She tells me that no one will want me. She tells me I’m leaving. She tells me everything I already know.

  “Are you even listening to me?!” she shouts and I shake my head. Fuming, she snatches the bear from my hands.

  That snaps me out of my motionless trance. “Hey, that’s mine!” I cry, jumping to my feet and lunging for the bear. My shoulder bumps into her arm as she moves it out of my reach.

  She moves back and tucks her arm behind her back. “Consider it a punishment for hurting my daughter.”

  “Your daughter deserved it.” I panic. If she does anything to that bear I won’t be able to take it. I need that bear or else I can’t survive—don’t want to. Why did I survive?

  “Well, when you’re ready to apologize to Jennifer, you can have it back.” She heads toward the door to the house where Jennifer is standing with a smile on her face, expecting an apology.

  “Sorry,” I practically growl, wanting the damn bear back enough that I’ll do whatever she asks at the moment. “Please, don’t take it away.” Desperation burns in my voice. “It’s all I have left of my mom and dad—it’s all I have of them.” I’m begging, weak, pathetic. I hate it. I hate myself. But I need that bear.

  Jennifer grins at me as she crosses her arms and leans against the doorway, her cheeks stained red from the drying tears. “Mom, I don’t think she’s really sorry.”

  Amelia studies me for a moment. “I don’t think she is either.” She frowns disappointedly, like she’s finally seeing that she can’t fix me, then turns for the door with my bear in her hand. “You can have it back when I see a real apology come out of that mouth of yours. And you better make it quick because you won’t be here for very much longer.”

  “I said I was sorry,” I yell out with my hands balled into fists at my side. “What the hell else do you want me to say?”

  She doesn’t answer me and goes into the house with my bear. Jennifer smirks at me before turning for the house, shutting the lights off and then closing the door on her way inside.

  Darkness smothers the garage and I’m suffocated by the dark. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. Seeing things is much harder than seeing nothing but the dark. I like the dark.

  I slide down to the ground and lean back against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest as I let the darkness settle over me. A few tears slip out and drip down my cheeks and I let more stream out, telling myself it’s okay, because I’m in the dark, and nothing can be seen in the dark.

  But after a while I can’t get the tears to stop as what Jennifer and the other kids said plays on repeat inside my head. I think about the last time I saw my parents lying in their coffins and how they got there. The blood. I’ll never forget the blood. On the floor. On me.

  More tears spill out and soon my whole face is drenched with them. My heart thrashes against my chest and I tug at my hair as I scream through clenched teeth, kicking my feet against the floor. Invisible razors and needles stab underneath my skin. I can’t turn off the emotions. I can’t think straight. My lungs need air. I hurt. I ache. I can’t take it anymore. I need it out. I need to breathe.

  I stumble to my feet and through the dark, until I find the door that leads to the driveway. I shove the door open, sprint outside into the sunlight and race past the cars parked in the driveway and toward the curb. I don’t slow down until I’m approaching the highway in front of the house where cars zip up and down the road. With no hesitation, I walk into the middle of the road and stand on the yellow dotted line with my arms held out to the side. Tears pool in my eyes as I blink against the sunlight, my pulse speeding up the longer I stay there and that rush of energy that has become the only familiar thing in my life takes over.

  It feels like I’m flying, head-on into something other than being moved around, passed around, given away, tossed aside, forgotten. I have the unknown in front of me and I have no idea what’s going to happen. It feels so liberating. So I stay in place, even when I hear the roar of a car’s engine. I wait until I hear the sound of the tires. Until I see the car. Until it’s close enough that the driver honks their horn. Until I feel the swish of an adrenaline rush, drenching the sadness and panic out of my body and mind. Until my emotions subside and all I feel is exhilaration. Then I jump to the right where the road meets the grass as the car makes a swerve to the left to go around me. Brakes screech. A horn honks. Someone shouts.

  I lie soundless in the grass, feeling twenty times better than I did in the garage. I feel content in a dark hole of numbness; a place where I can feel okay being the child that no one wants. The child that probably would have been better off dying with her parents, instead of being left alive and alone.

  Chapt
er 1

  Violet

  (Freshman year of college)

  I’ve got my fake smile plastered on my face and no one in the crowd of people surrounding me can tell if it’s real or not. None of them really give a shit either, just like I don’t. I’m only here, pretending to be a ray of sunshine, for three reasons: (1) I owe Preston, my last foster parent I had before I turned eighteen, big time, because he gave me a home when no one else would; and (2) because I need the money; and (3) I love the rush of knowing that at any moment I could get busted so much—so much that it’s become addicting, like an alcoholic craves booze.

  “You want a shot?” the guy—I think his name is Jason or Jessie or some other J name—calls out over the bubbly song beating through the speakers. He raises an empty glass in front of my face, his gray eyes glazed over with intoxication and stupidity, which are pretty much one and the same.

  I shake my head, my faux smile dazzling on my face. I wear it almost like a necklace, shiny and making me look pretty when I’m out in public, then when I go home I can take it off and toss it aside. “No thanks.”

  “You sure?” he questions, then slants his head back and guzzles the rest of his beer. A trail drizzles from his mouth down to his navy blue polo shirt.

  I’m about to say Yes, I’m sure, but then stop and nod, knowing it’s always good to blend in. It makes me look less sketchy and people less edgy and more trusting. “Yeah, why the hell not.” I aim to say it lightly even though I loathe the fiery taste of hard alcohol. I rarely drink it, but not just because of the taste. It’s what I do when it’s in my system, how my angry, erratic, self-destructing alter ego comes out, that makes it necessary that I stay sober. At least when I’m sober, I have control over the reckless things that I do, but when I’m drunk it’s a whole other ballgame, one I don’t feel like playing tonight. I already have a barely touched beer in my hand and have no plans on finishing it.

  Jessie or Jason smiles this big, goofy, very unflattering smile. “Fuck yeah!” he practically shouts, like we’re celebrating and I want to roll my eyes. He lifts his hand for me to high-five and I slam my palm against it with a frustrated inner sigh, even though it’s a good sign because it means he’s veering toward becoming an incoherent, drunk idiot.