The Destiny of Violet and Luke

Chapter 16

Luke

Violet and I fall into this weird rhythm over the next few weeks. We organize our room and I let her put most of the stuff where she wants it. She has this teddy bear that she insisted had to go on the dresser, right out in the open, even though it was purple and girly. But then she told me that her dad gave it to her and I gave her a hug because it’s all I could think to do. I’ve been hugging her a lot, partly because I like the feel of her, but partly because I’m afraid she’s going to disappear.

I’m afraid she’ll finally realize that I wasn’t kidding about shooting up my mom and then she won’t be so willing to accept it. She’s subtly asked me a few times about my mom and what she’s like and I give her as few details as possible, because everything’s working for Violet and me at the moment.

We kiss a lot, she lets me touch her wherever and whenever I want, yet I still hold back, afraid of crossing that line and fully accepting that I’ve changed inside. That I’m going to actually consider a real relationship with Violet, even knowing that at any moment she could take everything away from me. It’s harder than hell, though, not just to take control and slip inside her. It feels like every moment of every day I want to be inside her, over and over again. I want to see that look in her eyes again when she comes, only this time I want to be inside her when it happens.

“You’ve been drinking a lot of beers lately,” she notes as she piles the dishes into the sink. Seth and Greyson have gone out to dinner to celebrate their three-month anniversary. They’ve been together longer than three months so I’m not really sure what anniversary they are celebrating, and I didn’t ask. “Is it because you’re trying to take better care of yourself?”

I cringe at the fact that she’s subtly mentioning my diabetes—my weakness—but because it’s her, it makes it a little bit easier to relax. I plop down on the leather couch and tip my head back to take a swig. “Yeah, I decided to try sticking to just beer for a while and see how that goes… get a little healthier. Plus, I think I need a little break from the other stuff.”

She glances up from the sink. Her hair is pulled up, leaving her shoulders and neck exposed for me to fully appreciate. She’s wearing a thin tank top with no bra and boxer shorts. I’m doing my best to keep my hands to myself, but it’s hard when she’s dressed like that. “A break from what?” she asks

I shrug and set the beer down on the coffee table, reaching for the remote. “My obsession from… what did you call it… burning the shit out of my throat.” I flash a grin at her, not telling her the real reason I’ve cut back on the hard liquor. That I’m trying something different, aiming for a somewhat clearer head, so I can fully be aware of everything going on between us. It’s hard sometimes, though, and kind of painful, now that my nerves are heightened to everything.

“Did I say that once?” She angles her head to the side, tapping her finger on her lip, pretending she can’t remember. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”

“That sounds exactly like something you say,” I tell her, changing the channel.

“You sound like you know me or something,” she teases with a grin as she shuts off the faucet.

“Are you saying that I don’t?” I retort, picking up my beer again as I kick my bare feet up on the table.

She pauses, wiping her hands off on a paper towel. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“So you’re saying I know you.”

“As much as I know you.”

“I don’t think I know you completely,” I say, peeling off the label of the beer. “Not yet anyway.”

She stacks some plates in the dishwasher. “You know a lot of the important parts.”

I toss the damp label onto the coffee table. “I know I do.”

“And you’re still here.” She looks down as she says it, like she could care less about my reaction, but the nervousness of her tone suggests otherwise.

“Of course I’m still here,” I joke in a light tone because I know it’ll make her feel better. “I don’t want to go back to being homeless again. Beside, where else do I get to sleep with a girl who purposely pushes her ass against my cock every night.”

She looks up at me with feigned annoyance in her eyes. “I did that once and it was because I was having a weird dream.”

“A weird dream about me fucking you?”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue as she collects some dirty glasses out of the sink. “I’m surprised that you still want to sleep with me at all,” she says. “I thought you’d be sick of my crazy gasping ritual.”

I tip my head back and gulp my beer. Every morning Violet wakes up the same way she woke up in my dorm room, gasping for air. It scared the living daylights out of me for the first week, but now I just want to know what’s causing it. All she’ll tell me is that it’s a nightmare, I’m guessing about her parents, but she won’t talk about it. “What can I say, I guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”

“I guess so,” she muses, setting the glasses upside down inside the dishwasher. “You know, I feel like the maid around here. It always seems like I’m the only one who does the dishes.”

“Hey, I clean a lot,” I protest, putting the empty beer bottle onto the table. “It’s Seth and Greyson who don’t do anything.”

“Greyson at least cooks,” she remarks. “All Seth does is leave Kit Kat wrappers and energy cans all over the place.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to argue with that,” I say as I watch her ass stick out of the bottom of her shorts as she bends over to load plates into the bottom rack of the dishwasher. “You know,” I continue, “I think if you’re the one who’s going to do the cleaning, we should get you a naughty maid costume.”

She stands back up, straightening her shoulders. “Why bother with the maid costume, when I could just do it naked?”

I shake my head, biting on my lip so hard I nearly draw blood. “One of these days when you say something like that to me, I’m going to take the situation and make you follow through with what you said.”

She relaxes back against the counter, folding her arms. “Oh, I wish you would.”

My body burns with a controlling urge to touch her. I’ve felt it a lot of the last few weeks and Jesus she knows how to push my buttons and make it worse.

“You think I’m kidding.” She moves forward to scrub the dishes in the sink, facing my direction. “But I’m not.”

I watch her as she turns the water on and begins rising off a pan. She’s smiling to herself and I start to get to my feet, ready to finally give in to my needs or hers—it’s becoming hard to tell anymore. I’ll take her back to the room and give her what she keeps teasing me about. But then my phone starts to ring.

“Saved by the bell,” she singsongs with a grin on her face.

“Oh, this isn’t over,” I assure her, retrieving my phone from the pocket of my jeans. “I’m starting this right back…” I frown as my dad’s name appears on the glowing screen. He’s been trying to reach me a lot recently, probably because the wedding’s getting nearer.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Violet asks, putting the pan in the dishwasher and then bumping the door shut with her hip.

“I guess,” I mutter, hating that getting a simple call can ruin the entire vibe of the night. I hit talk, putting the receiver up to my ear. “Yeah.”

“Hey,” my father says, sounding desperately cheerful. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”

“That’s because I’ve been ignoring them,” I say with honesty as the rumble of the dishwasher fills the apartment. Violet leaves the kitchen and goes into the bathroom, shutting the door, taking her cute ass with her, along with the good and lightness in me.

He pauses, struggling for words. “Look, Luke, I’m so sorry about my reaction when you asked if you could move in with us,” he says. “Sometimes I don’t know how to be a father and I just say stuff, not really thinking beforehand. But I should have said you could move in with us. I’ll even give you my bed.”

“I’m good.” I pick up the beer, needing the taste of it. I take a large guzzle, but it’s not enough. Too mellow and weak. Too sober and unstable. Switching to beer was such a bad idea.

“Luke, I’m really trying here,” he says. “I know I wasn’t part of your life for a while, but I want to be now.”

“You’re really trying.” I laugh harshly in the phone as something snaps inside me, the last fourteen years shoving me down farther and farther and I’m too sober and can feel it all. “Trying would have been calling me up more than ten times over the last fourteen years. Trying would have been not leaving me and Amy with Mom and her craziness.”

“You’re mother’s not crazy.” He sighs. “She just struggles with stuff.”

“No, she’s fucking crazy and you’re fucking crazy for thinking she’s not.” I snap. Literally snap. All the stuff I’ve been holding inside me spills out as rage flares through me until all I see is white.

“Luke you will not talk about your mother that way,” he says. “Yes, she has problems but we all do.”

“You’re seriously defending her and you don’t even get it.”

“Then explain it to me. Please.”

“Do you have any idea things that she did—made me do? Do you have any idea at all the stuff that I went through… she made me shoot her up, you know. Inject heroin into her veins,” I hiss, balling my hands into fist, wanting—needing the silencing burn of Jack or tequila, but instead I settle for ramming my fist against the coffee table. A few of my knuckles pop and the wood scrapes a layer of skin off. It hurts, but not as much as thinking about the past. “When I was eight, she made me crush up her cocaine, made me let her hold me while she passed out. She made me do everything with her like I was a pet. She never let me breathe. She ignored Amy.” I breathe furiously, fighting to get oxygen as I throw the empty beer bottle across the room and it shatters against the wall. “She didn’t give a shit when Amy died. She fucking screwed up my life so God damn badly that I have to control everything just so I won’t remember how much she controlled me…” I trail off as Violet walks in front of me, standing between the television and the coffee table. Everything gets silent as she takes in the glass around her feet.

“Luke, oh my God, I didn’t—” my dad starts to say.

I press end, hanging up on him. He calls right back and I shut off my phone, tossing it onto the table, my eyes never leaving Violet. As usual, I can’t tell what she’s thinking which means I’m going to have to ask.

“How much did you hear?” My hand is shaking but my voice comes out even. I know she already knew some of the stuff, but she pretty much heard a replay of my entire sad, stupid, worthless life. Now she knows just how pathetic I really am.

“Everything.” There’s an unreadable look in her eyes as she takes a deep breath. She contemplates something and I can’t take her silence. I feel like I’m about to explode.

“Violet, just say something,” I say, sounding panicked and pathetic. “Please.”

“We should probably clean up the glass before Seth and Greyson come back,” she tells me. “Although, we could just leave the mess for them to clean up.”

“Violet I…” I drift off as she tiptoes over the glass and climbs over the table beside me. Then she laces her fingers through mine and kisses my scraped knuckles softly. After she kisses each one, she looks up at me with her round green eyes, then stands on her tiptoes and plants a soft kiss on my lips. I relish in the taste of her as my hands slip around my waist. I’m confused why she’s okay with this, about what she heard, about the fact that she walked into a living room covered with glass, but then I remember everything she already knows about me; how she stopped the fight at the strip club, how I told her about my mom making me shoot her up. She knows more about me than most and she’s still here, kissing me and letting me be close to her.

So I kiss her back with force and passion, because I need to be with her, need to get the rage inside my chest out. I kiss her with hunger as I scoop her up in my arms and carry her back to the bedroom, bumping into walls and the door before I finally lie us down on the bed. She groans as I cover her with my body and start sucking on her neck, kissing her jawline. I only pull back to peel her shirt off, her nipples perking as soon as the air hits them. I take her in as she helps me take off my shirt and the she traces her fingers along the tattoos on my ribs and chest as she just stares at me with an almost mesmerized look in her eyes.

“Do they mean anything?” she asks, her finger sketching over the lines of a tattoo on my side.

I shrug, my fingers knotted in her hair. “I went through this phase where every time I was feeling shitty, I’d get a tattoo.”

“You have a lot.”

“I felt shitty a lot.” I pause, running my finger down the back of her neck while my other hand travels up her rib cage, across the dark lines of the tattoo. “What about yours? Do they mean anything?”

She peers up at me through her lashes. “The stars do.”

My fingers land on the spot where I know the stars are inked. “What do they mean?”

“I got them to remember my parents.” She shrugs. “I read somewhere once that stars represent our dead ancestors or something weird like that.”

I start to say something, but she covers my mouth with her hand. “Just kiss me.”

Even though it feels like I should say more, I kiss her instead, leaning my weight into her and pulling her back onto the mattress with me. I kiss her neckline, her collarbone, the spot on her chest where her heart beats. Then I suck her nipple into my mouth, allowing all the sexual tension I’ve been holding in to flow out of me. She moans, her knees coming up to my hips as she grips tightly onto my shoulder blades, muttering something about doing it harder. Good God, just kill me now.

I do what she asks and move to her other nipple, sucking harder until I can’t take it anymore. Then I pull away and slip her shorts off, chucking them to the side, along with her panties. Violet may love to be tough but as she lies naked underneath me I can tell that she’s nervous and trying to hide it. It makes me hesitate and I’ve never, ever hesitated.

Before I can say anything, though, she reaches forward and undoes the button of my jeans. Then her hands slide down beneath my boxers and her lips part as her fingers brush my very eager, swollen cock.

“I think we…” I trail off, loosing focus as she begins to rub me. My muscles unravel like knotted ropes as I groan. Before I know it I reach the point where I’m either going to have to stop her or settle for a hand job. With a lot of effort, I reach down and tug her hand away, and then I kick off my jeans and boxers. I grab a condom from my back pocket then throw my jeans on the floor, returning my body over hers. She has this excited look in her eyes, that I’m not sure how to interpret or if I should even try to interpret.

I start to open my mouth to ask her if she’s okay with this, but she leans up and smashes her lips against mine before I can utter the words. I lose focus of everything else and before I know it I’m sliding into her. She’s tighter than I’m used to which means I have to go slower than I’m used to. I grab a fistful of the sheet, fighting to take my time, inching into her gradually, but she opens her legs and arches her back, taking over, meeting me halfway. Suddenly I’m inside her all the way and I still, trying to stifle the urge to pin her down and take over. Time slips by as the connection between us builds, along with the overwhelming emotions that are consuming me.

Controlling me. But in the end I move slowly because it’s not about my control. It’s about her. It’s all about her. Every movement, every breath, the way my heart beats fiercely in my chest, is all because of her.

Violet owns me.

Violet

I’m not even one hundred percent sure why I take things as far as I do, but once he’s inside me, there’s no turning back, so I open my legs and let him sink all the way in, despite how bad it hurts.

I’m trying not to quiver at the feel of him filling me, but it’s difficult. It feels so unnatural, yet natural at the same time because it makes me feel safe and not alone. Like he’s supposed to be in me, which is weird and I’m sure not a normal thing for someone to think the first time they have sex.

Luke stays still inside me forever, my hands braced on his tight back muscles, his head tipped down by my neck as he grabs on to the sheet. He’s throbbing inside me, his skin is warm and he smells like beer, smoke, and the musky scent of cologne. It’s a scent that’s started to wear on me over the last few weeks, but in this unfamiliarly good way, like him, the idea of him and me together.

I’m trying to hold myself together, but the urge to move is heating at the inside of me. Everything’s so still. Too still. Then he starts rocking and it sends an ache deep inside me. The ache only seems to build the more he moves, sinking deeper and deeper inside me as he breathes on my neck, trailing kisses up and down my skin, until finally he places his mouth over mine and he immediately slides his tongue into my mouth, kissing me harder as he thrusts into me harder. I lose my breath as the ache turns into something else, something wonderful that rip all thoughts out of my head. I tip my head back, my breasts pressing into his chest as he glides his hand down my back, forcing me closer as I gasp breathlessly for air.

He groans against my mouth as I cry out something I can barely comprehend, falling and flying at the same time, just like I always imagined myself doing. I clutch him, refusing to let go until I come back, adrenaline slamming against me with so much force I can barely think straight. He gives one last thrust inside me, our hips connecting completely before he slows down and his body jerks underneath my palms. Then he stills inside me. Our skin is damp, hearts slamming against each other. There’s no room between our bodies as he holds on to me and I clutch him, not sure why I’m holding on anymore other than it seems like when I let go the wonderful things I’m feeling will disappear.

Finally, after a while, he slips out of me, kissing me before flopping over in the bed. He drapes one arm over his head as he uses the other to guide me toward him until I rest my head on his chest. I can hear his heart beating unsteadily as his lungs expand for air.

“Are you okay?” he finally asks, sounding breathless, on the verge of panicking.

I nod, pressing back my content smile even though he can’t see it in the darkness that’s settled in the room, but it’s weird being happy. Plus the smile is a real one, not my fake one I always show people. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, seeming self-conscious. “Everything’s fine? Even after… well everything.”

I glance up at him, propping my chin against his chest. “Everything’s fine, Mr. Stoically Aloof, now would you relax?”

“I’m relaxed,” he insists. “I’m just making sure you are—that you’re okay with me.”

“I’m perfectly fine with you and with what happened,” I assure him. And I am. For a moment, everything is absolutely perfect.

“Would you shut the fuck up?” the guy shouts as the woman sings to herself over and over again. “We need to get out of here.”

“Lean into me. Lean into me. Take. Help me. I need to understand. Help me. I can’t do this without you,” she cries as he holds her weight in his arms.

“Stop singing that fucking song!” he yells with rage and kicks one of my toys across the room. “Get your shit together and let’s get out of here.”

“I can’t,” she says through hysterical sobs. “What if someone saw us?”

“No one fucking saw us,” he says, shaking her like a rag doll. “I already checked the house.”

She glances around my toy room and I swear her eyes land on me in the dark corner. Does she see me? She has to. Is she going to tell? “Lean into me. Lean into me. Take. Help me. I need to understand. Help me. I can’t do this without you.” Tears flood her eyes over and over again and I start to cry to as he starts smacking her over and over again, the lyrics and slaps haunting my head as I wait for the monsters to find me. Hurt me. Because that’s what monsters do.

I wake up in a panic, like I always do, my arms flailing as I sit up, my surroundings distorted as that song echoes in her head. I gasp, clutching my neck, breathing loudly as I search the dark room, my mind searching for something familiar, and finally it lands on my teddy bear on top of my desk.

Luke sits up, rubbing his eyes as he places a hand on my back. He’s become so used to this it doesn’t even faze him anymore. He smoothes his hand up and down my back, allowing me to regain my breathing as I clutch the sheet to my naked chest, telling my heart rate to settle. I have to work not to do it the way I’m so used to doing—by seeking an adrenaline rush through danger. I know that the only reason I’m not running to the window and contemplating jumping is because he’s here touching me. Calming me down. He’s the one doing it now.

After I settle down, he pulls his shirt over me, slips his boxers on and lies us back down in bed, wrapping his arms around me. “I wish you’d tell me what you dream about,” he whispers against my forehead as he kisses it. “Maybe I could help.”

“Talking about stuff doesn’t help,” I whisper with my hands on his chest. “And trust me, you don’t want to hear about it.”

He combs his fingers through my hair and I feel his neck muscles move as he swallows hard. “I have nightmares, too, sometimes about… about shooting up my mom… I actually really hate needles and doing that stuff… Well it still gets to me.”

“But you’re a diabetic?”

“Yeah, it’s a great inconvenience.” There’s forced humor in his voice.

I rack my head for something to say, but I can’t come up with anything. I could make a joke, create an elaborate story—those things are always easy for me to do. But he keeps telling me things about himself, without me even asking. Dark and screwed-up things, like the ones I’ve been holding inside me for thirteen years.

“It’s about that night,” I say and his muscles stiffen, but he continues to run his fingers through my hair. “I saw them…”

His fingers stop moving and he catches his breath. “You saw the killers.”

I nod, looking down at the foot of the bed. “I did, but at the same time not really… I guess it was more like I heard them… they were noisy fuckers.” My tone is light but everything else inside me feels like bricks tumbling down, crushing me, trapping me. “They didn’t know I was in the room, so they didn’t even bother to be quiet.”

“Did you tell the police this?” he asks.

“I told the police everything; what I could remember happening, the shoes the lady was wearing… I even described the sound of her stupid voice… the way it sounded when she sang that messed-up song.”

“She was singing a song?” he asks. “Really?”

“Yeah, it had some really fucked-up lyrics,” I say, summoning a deep breath. “ ‘Lean into me. Lean into me. Take. Help me. I need to understand. Help me. I can’t do this without you…’ ” I trail off. “It’s what I hear every night in my dreams.”

He’s silent for a while, the sounds of cars rolling by the only noise in our room. At first I think it’s because he’s taking in what I said, but then I realize how stiff he’s gotten and how it doesn’t even sound like he’s breathing.

I peer up at him, wondering if it was a mistake to tell him. “Luke, are you okay?”

“What the hell did you just say?” he whispers.

I definitely shouldn’t have told him. “That was the song she was singing.” I push up from his chest, trying to decide whether I should bail out before he throws me out. “I’m not even sure what song it is because I’ve never been able to find it anywhere.”

The length of his silence seems to stretch on forever. He doesn’t budge. Breathe. And I grow more panicked.

“That’s because she made it up.” His voice cracks and then he shoves me off him.

I roll to the side as he gets up and storms out of the room. I lay in the bed for a moment replaying what he said and what he could possibly mean. Who made it up? Does he know something about the song? Does he know the person who… Oh my God… I jump up and chase after him as he slams the bathroom door shut. I jerk on the doorknob but he locked it.

I bang my fist on the door. “What do you mean ‘she made it up’? Luke… Please answer me…” I hammer my hand against the door over and over again until it’s swollen and throbbing. “God damn it, please just say it again. I need to know… I need to know that I heard you right.”

He doesn’t answer and his silence is enough to know the painful, blazing, slicing, ugly truth. I sink to the floor as things start crashing around on the other side of the door. Glass. Walls. My heart. I wait for the truth to be revealed to me, just like I waited that night, hoping it’s not what I’m thinking. That Luke doesn’t know the person who was there that night my parents were killed, singing that god-awful song. But deep down I know I’m wrong.

Knowing the horrible truth and the emptiness that lies ahead of me.

Luke

I hammer my fist over and over against the wall, watching it fall apart, crumble against the tile floor, turn into a pile of dust. Then once the hole is big enough, I crash my fist into the mirror. Glass shatters. My skin splits apart. I bleed all over the floor, drops of blood staining the tile along with the broken fragments of glass. This can’t be happening. It isn’t real. I just want a fucking decent life without my God damn past owning me. Without her owning me. A hot burst of heat burns the inside of me and I crane my arm back and ram my fist into the nearest thing still intact, which happens to be the bathtub. The tile stays intact, but my fingers feel like they break. But it’s not enough. I need more. I don’t want to feel like this. I can’t… I can’t accept it… Tears start to slip out of my eyes as I collapse to the floor. I’m bawling like a fucking weak and pathetic loser, the kid who used to do everything he was told. I’m drowning in my past, drowning in the thought that I’m going to lose Violet.

I let myself cry until the tears stop, until I know there’s nothing left to do but move again. Sweaty, bleeding, and raw, I get to my feet, the glass cutting the bottom of them as I move toward the door. Violet’s sitting leaning against the door and she falls onto the bathroom floor when I pull the door open. Her hair is surrounding her head as she lies there in the middle of the pieces of wall and mirror, staring up at me with dry eyes.

“When… when did this happen?” It takes more strength than anything for me to ask it. “When did your parents die?”

She sucks in a slow breath. “Thirteen years ago… the night of July third… the day before my birthday.” Her eyes are blank, emotionless, worse than when I first met her. And I put that look there. This is all my fault.

I remember that night because it was the night my mother came back with blood all over her clothes. The night everything changed. The night that lead to a seemingly endless amount of days filled with drugs and madness.

“I think…” I clutch my broken hand as I tremble inside and out. I can’t even say it, which makes me the weakest person on earth, because she deserves to hear what I have to say. She deserves so much fucking more.

“I think I know what you’re going to say, so don’t say it,” she tells me.

“I can’t…” I struggle for words that’ll make this easier, but they don’t exist. “That song… my mother made up that song…” The sound of my voice hits me with invisible knives that stab at my lungs, my throat, my heart.

“She was… oh my God, was she there?” Her eyes flood as she starts crying, hysterically sobs ripping from her chest as she claws at the air, my chest, every single thing around us.

“I don’t know…” But deep down I think I do because I remember that night she came home with blood on her clothes. I don’t know what I should do. I want to help her, but it seems like I should be the last person to ever get to touch her. “I’ll fix it,” I whisper, crouching down beside her. “I’ll… I’ll tell someone…”

“That doesn’t matter.” Tears stream down her cheeks and drip down on the floor. “Nothing we do can ever fix this. Nothing. It’s all gone. My parents… you and I…”

The pain in my knuckles is nothing compared to the blinding, aching, pain in my heart as the meaning of her words slash open my chest. Tears pour out of her eyes and I can’t stop myself, unable to fully accept reality yet. I know I’ll have to let her go, because she’s not going to let me hold on to her anymore. Not after this. Things will never be the same. But I can’t do it just yet. I need a little longer before I let all of this go, my feelings for her, who I’ve become with her.

I bend down and scoop her up in my arms, ignoring how badly it hurts. She doesn’t protest, only cries harder, gripping me as if I’m the only thing holding her to this world. I carry her to the bed and lie her down and she pulls me down to her. I let her grip me, let her cry, let her sob into my chest, never touching her, letting her take whatever she needs and wanting nothing in return.

Eventually, she falls asleep in my arms and even though I fight the urge to get up, I stay put until finally the emotional drain catches up with me and I pass out with her balled up in my arms. It only seems like I close my eyes for minutes, but when I wake up the bed is empty. I get up and look around the room, noting her bear is gone and when I open the dresser drawers her clothes aren’t in them. I search the house and I can’t find her or anything that belongs to her anywhere. She’s gone. Everything is.

And it hurts, more than my broken hand, more than remembering, more than anything I’ve had to endure in my entire life. I didn’t even know how much I felt for her until now, when I can’t feel it anymore. I want the pain gone. I want it all gone. I need it gone.

I head to the fridge and take out a bottle of tequila. It takes a lot to get the cap off with my injured hand, but I manage. Then I tip my head back and put the mouth to the bottle, going back to the one thing I know will take everything away. I drench my throat with the burning liquid, letting it seep into every part of me, letting it drown me, until I’m so far under, I don’t even want to try to breathe.