The Destiny of Violet & Luke, Page 25

  Shaking my head, I get up and go to the door, leaving the room and her sleeping on the bed because I’m not sure I can contain myself. I feel bad for leaving, but at the same time I’m too restless to stay.

  The card game is still going on, but a lot of the people have cleared out of the apartment. “Have fun?” Seth asks with speculation in his eyes as he looks up at me from his cards. Greyson has his arm around him, examining his cards. When he peers up at me, there’s a concerned look in his eyes that makes me wonder if he knows something about Violet, like maybe what happened to her parents.

  “As much as I ever do.” I round the table, noting Jonah and Kenzie have bailed, and head for the fridge. I grab a bottle of tequila and swig it down, over and over again, letting the burn sink in, hoping to regain the person I used to be—the one I built so I could avoid being owned and controlled by someone, like my mom used to do all the time to me. But can’t I find him anymore. I’m turning into someone else who I don’t think I like unless I’m kissing Violet, and then it seems okay to be this way, letting go, giving her what she wants, not being the one in control, the kind of guy who does stuff for other people, who lets people into his fucked-up life.

  I want Violet more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. I want everything I’ve been avoiding since I turned sixteen and I no longer care that I’m not thinking just about myself. I want Violet so bad it burns under my skin fiercer than the alcohol burns at my throat.

  At the end of the seemingly endless swallow, I still feel the overpowering urge to go back to the room—to her—so I do. I climb into the bed and nuzzle up against her, holding on to her, lying beside her, like she asked me to do. But I’m not even sure who I do it for.

  I sleep with a girl for the very first time and the surprising thing is I enjoy it for a moment until I shut my eyes. Then, as usual, the past catches up with me.

  * * *

  It’s dark outside, really late, but I can hear the boom of fireworks going off as they sprinkle the sky. My room is dark, but I can’t sleep because I can hear my mom banging around in the kitchen. I’m about to get up and see what she’s doing, because she’s been acting really weird lately, taking all these pills and snorting things up her nose. But then I hear my door creak open and someone walks inside.

  “Lukey, I need you.” She strokes my head as I lay in bed, pretending to be asleep. “Wake up.”

  I open my eyes to the moonlight glowing through my room, the sounds of fireworks exploding in the distance, and my mother sitting on the edge of my bed.

  “What do you want?” I ask, rubbing my tired eyes.

  She stands up and wanders over to the window, staring outside at the backyard. “I think we’re being watched.”

  I sit up. “What?”

  She turns around and holds her hand out to me. “Come with me, sweetie.”

  I shake my head and let out a frustrated breath, but finally, I get to my feet. She sometimes acts weird like this and it’s annoying, but tonight she seems more intense, her breathing really loud, her hand gripping mine too tightly as she hauls me out of the room. She drags me into the living room and we sink down onto the couch wrapped in plastic. I wait in fear for what she’s going to do next, noticing the blood on her shirt and hands for the first time. Finally, she wraps her arms around me and starts to cry.

  “I did something wrong,” she sobs, rocking back and forth.

  “Please, just let me go, Mom,” I practically beg, because her grip is hurting me.

  “Lukey, I can’t let you go. I need you.” She hugs me tighter and there’s blood on her clothes. It’s warm and feels wrong as it seeps into my clothes.

  “Mom,” I say, my voice trembling as I feel so weak inside because I don’t want her holding me right now but I’m not strong enough to get away. Everything feels wrong. Her. Me. The blood on her clothes. “Why do you have blood on your clothes?”

  She sobs hysterically, pressing her cheek against the top of my head. She starts singing under her breath, one of the songs she wrote for my dad when he was leaving her.

  “Lean into me. Lean into me. Take. Help me. I need to understand. Help me. I can’t do this without you.” She sings it over and over again, all night, refusing to let me go, and I feel smaller and smaller with each word until I’m so small I barely exist.

  Chapter 15

  Violet

  I wake up the next morning, not gasping for the first time, but my head is throbbing and my dry throat burns with the need to hack. I start to get up to go to the bathroom, when I realize I’m weighed down by an arm. I roll over and find Luke sleeping beside me in the bed with his arm draped over me. Well, this is… interesting.

  I sift through my memories, wincing at the protesting pain, and slowly it comes back to me in sharp images. I wince at one in particular, Luke’s fingers sliding inside me, but then as I remember how it felt, my stomach somersaults, and I remember how content I felt. I could try to blame it on the alcohol—it wouldn’t be the first time—but with the positive way my body responds to the memories, I’d only be bullshitting myself.

  Lying beside him isn’t so bad, either, which is confusing to accept. All these years, never letting anyone get that close to me, never feeling anything for anyone on a deep level. I don’t know what to do with myself. Give in to the feeling or bail out.

  Carefully, I lift his arm off me and duck out from under it. Then I climb over him and leave him sleeping in the room. I need to clear my head. Breathe. Think about what all this means and decide what I’m going to do when he wakes up.

  I quietly pad across the kitchen, make myself a coffee, then cross the living room littered with garbage, chips, cards. I head for the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony, slide it open, and step out into the morning sunlight, a gentle breeze kissing my skin. I climb up onto the thick wooden railing with the cup of coffee in my hand and sit down, relaxing against the beams with my feet hanging over the edge. I stare down at the ground, not thinking about jumping for once, but thinking about the past.

  I remember the first time I had to switch foster families. I was seven and didn’t understand why at first. Yeah, I knew I was acting a little crazy and I cried a lot, but people weren’t just supposed to give up kids, right? It’s not like I wanted a lot, just someone to help me feel safe from the darkness that was living inside me, the memories that haunted me, the loneliness.

  The look on their faces as I packed my suitcase and headed out with my social worker was one I never would forget. They weren’t sad to see me going, they were relieved. They didn’t want me, not like my parents did. The painful, brutal, harsh reality of life struck me in the chest that day and nearly crippled me. From then on I refused to get attached to anyone, knowing eventually they’d hand me back. It was easier not to feel anything than to feel all the bad. And I’ve been doing it ever since, refusing to feel anything except the one thing I can control. My adrenaline rushes. So easy to start. To endure. Much better to feel than the harder stuff, like heartache.

  I shut my eyes and let the sunlight spill over me as I sip the coffee, warm my skin, knowing that what happened with Luke last night wasn’t just an adrenaline rush. I felt stuff with him. Even drunk. I’ve been feeling stuff for him since the day he helped me get to class. He’s helped me out so much and never asked for anything in return. He makes me feel safe and sometimes when he looks at me, touches me, kisses me, it feels like he wants me. All of me. The cranky, erratic, Violet that falls out windows and kicks him in the head. Who relies on him a little too much, yet he never seems that bothered. He goes against my theory about people and I just cross my fingers that I’m not wrong.

  I hear the sliding door glide open and I don’t open my eyes, holding my breath as I set the cup down on the railing.

  “Violet, what are you doing out here?” Luke asks.

  I keep my eyes sealed shut, wondering if he can remember last night or if he was too drunk. “Just thinking?”

  “About what? Is it… Are you
thinking about last night?” He seems nervous and I hear the door glide shut, so it’s just him, me, and the open ground below.

  “You really want to know?” I ask softly.

  “Yeah… I do,” he says, sounding strained and I open my eyes and twist around to look at him.

  He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his skin pallid, almost green, and his clothes are wrinkled. He was sleeping with his head turned and his hair is flattened on one side, not the most attractive look, yet I can’t seem to look away from him.

  “I’m thinking about my life.” I have to catch my breath because I just told the truth and the raw realness of it nearly smothers me.

  He scans me over and then joins me on the railing, sitting next to me with his feet on the deck. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about mine, too.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because… you go against everything I’ve built… for myself.”

  “Yeah, you, too,… for me…”

  We stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, the sun beaming down on us as we refuse to look away, but not because we’re challenging each other. Because we’re trying to figure something out.

  “Look about last night.” Luke speaks first, leaning against the beam and drawing his bare foot up onto the railing. “I think I should explain myself… I had no right to bang on that door like a fucking controlling, obsessed lunatic… I’m not usually like that.”

  “Actually you kind of are,” I say, bringing the coffee cup up to my lips. “I’ve thought you were intense even before we officially met, Mr. Stoically Aloof.”

  “Is that why you gave me that stupid nickname?” he asks, massaging the back of his neck.

  My shoulders lift and fall as I shrug. “Maybe.” I set the coffee cup down.

  He shakes his head, a small smile touching his lips. “You always find a way to get out of answering questions. It’s like you have a gift.”

  “A gift for avoiding things I don’t want to deal with,” I say, combing my fingers through my tangled hair, which stinks of booze and pot.

  His hand drops to his lap. “What don’t you want to deal with?”

  “Everything… sometimes life is just too hard and seems pointless to deal with.”

  Alarm fills his eyes as he misunderstands me. “Violet, I—”

  I quickly lean over and cover his mouth with my hand. “Don’t think I’m suicidal. I already told you I didn’t jump out the window because of that… I’m just trying to tell you what’s bothering me in the only way I’m comfortable with. I’m not a fan of getting to know people or letting them into my life. Besides Luke, you’re pretty much the only person who I…” I have no idea how to finish that sentence because I’m still trying to figure out what Luke is to me. “You saw on the news… the thing about my parents. Well, after that… after they died, I pretty much didn’t have anyone. It was just me and an endless amount of foster families who were pretty much giving me a roof over my head but not much more than that. So I learned to take care of myself and it’s been that way for a long time. Just me and my life.”

  “So you only take care of yourself,” he mumbles against my mouth, sounding surprisingly understanding.

  I move my hand away from his mouth and slump back. “I had to. It gets hard to deal with, you know, especially when no one sticks around.” I’m not sure if I’m making any sense or what point I’m trying to get across. Maybe I’m trying to scare him away or just explain why I can’t keep getting involved with him.

  “I actually get that,” he tells me. “My father bailed out on our family when I was young and now he wants to come back into my life and it’s hard.”

  “I’ve had a lot of fathers,” I say, making air quotes. “And none of them wanted to come back into my life. You’re lucky yours does.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” He stares at the parking lot out in front of us. “Violet, if you ever need to talk about stuff… I’m here.” I can tell it takes him a lot to say it, which makes it more meaningful.

  “I’m not much for talking,” I say. “But thanks.”

  “Still,” he turns his head toward me, “know the offer’s there.”

  I nod, unsure how to react to what he’s saying—that I have someone. He wants to be my someone.“Okay.”

  He extends his hand toward me and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “We kind of got off the subject of you and I, though, and I’d really like some answers about us, before I lose it… I came very close to losing it last night.”

  “I know,” I say, curious what Luke looks like when he completely loses it. “I have issues with staying focused on tough subjects, though, and it seems you and I are a tough subject.”

  He starts to smile but then frowns, looking flustered. “Violet, I don’t know what to do with us… with any of what happened… what’s happening.”

  I frown in puzzlement. “Why do you have to do something with us at all? Why not just let things be?”

  He blinks away from the parking lot and looks at me, eyes intense even for him. “Because of last night. I don’t just do that. Mess around and then cuddle for the whole damn night.”

  “Yeah right,” I attempt to make a joke to avoid the heaviness between us. “I think we already established that you were a cuddler.”

  He rolls his eyes, but grins. “Only you.”

  I shield my eyes from the sun with my hand. “What does that mean?”

  “It means only you have ever been able to get to me like this. Frustrate me and yet still make me want to be around you at the same time.” He scoots off the railing and stretches his arms above his head, his shirt riding up and giving me another glimpse of his abs. Then he lowers his arms and reaches his hand out toward me. “I think it’s time we did something that we’ve been needing to do since the first day we met.”

  “You mean when I kicked you in the face?” I feel my stomach spin as I remember the first night I officially met him and how much things have changed since then, in both good and bad ways. “What did you have in mind?”

  He restrains a laugh as I thread my fingers through his and he pulls me to his feet. “I’m going to take you out on a date.”

  I choke on a laugh, but realize he’s being serious. “Oh my God, you’re not joking.”

  “Of course I’m not joking.” He slides the glass door open. “I don’t joke.”

  We enter the living, which has a pungent smell to it due to the garbage all over the place, and then he shuts the door. The air is musty, probably from everyone smoking, and there’s something that looks like wine spilled on the carpet.

  “A date?” I ask as he steers me across the living room, kicking some cards and bottles out of the way. “Really? It seems a little formal don’t you think? Considering we’ve kissed, slept together, moved in together, and then all that other stuff you did to me last night.”

  He presses his hand to his heart, still holding my hand so I touch his chest, too. He keeps it there as he opens the door to our bedroom. “Hey, don’t pretend you didn’t like it. In fact, I’m pretty sure you were the one who suggested it.”

  “I did not,” I tell him. “But I did like it, which makes dating seem even harder. I mean, what are we supposed to do? Sit and eat dinner while we chat about our lives when everything between us is so intense?”

  He wavers with uncertainty as he shuts the bedroom door behind us. “Well, we don’t know that much about each other.”

  “Yeah, we don’t,” I agree. “But I generally like to keep things that way with people.”

  He nods in agreement. “I know, so we can either keep going down the road we’re on and argue until we both lose it again, get drunk, and fool around. Or we can get to know each other and see where things go. It depends on what you want.”

  “You’re letting me decide?” I ask, shocked.

  He catches his breath for a split second. “Yeah… I think am…”

  I swallow hard as I feel the pressure of making a decision
. “What if I said no? Would you be upset?”

  He sits down on the bed, tugging me down with him. “I’ll only answer that if you tell me the truth about how you’d feel if I said no. The door swings both ways,” he says and a lump forms in my throat as I nod. Now he’s the one swallowing hard. “The truth is… yeah, I would be upset. Even though you’re a pain in the ass, I like spending time with you and I want to keep doing it.”

  “You’re kind of a pain in the ass, too.” I nudge him with my shoulder, the smashing weight on my chest easing up. “But I like that you’ve been around for the last few weeks.”

  He lets out a laugh and then shakes his head. “Wow, that was fucking hard.”

  I laugh, too, and it’s the strangest, most unfamiliar sound. He joins in and we just laugh for a moment. And it’s strange and weird and… well normal.

  Then we fall down on the bed, lying side by side, our clasped hands squished between our bodies.

  “So what do people generally do when they go out on dates?” I ask as he traces circles on my wrist with his fingers.

  His brow arches as his fingers stop moving. “You’ve never been on one?”

  I shake my head, pivoting on my hip to face him. “Nope. Never. I already told you I’ve never really had anyone in my life and going on dates would be letting people in.”

  His mouth turns upward into a pleased smile that looks strange on his face, yet stunning. “That’s good to know. It means your expectations will be lower.”

  I roll my eyes and playfully pinch his arm. “Hardy, har, har, you’re freaking—”