The Destiny of Violet and Luke

Chapter 7

Luke

I open my eyes to the stained ceiling of my truck and my body feeling like it’s been run over. My head is throbbing and my eyes sting against the sunlight shining through the window. It’s not the first time I’ve woken up in a situation like this and I’m sure it won’t be my last.

I know not to sit up quickly otherwise I’ll end up hacking up my lungs, so I take my sweet time getting upright and then move for my pocket where my cigarettes should be, but they’re gone. I start to feel the anxiety of addiction stir awake as I reach for the glove box where I keep an extra pack for emergencies just like this. Once I get one lit up and the smoke saturates my lungs, I feel a little bit better and I quickly check my insulin. Something about doing it registers a memory of Violet… helping me check my insulin… Violet giving me pills. I rarely let anyone know I’m a diabetic, not wanting to reveal my weakness, and if someone does find out, it’s usually by accident. If I’m remembering correctly, which it’s hard to tell, I’d willingly asked her for help and she willingly gave it.

I’m so confused and all I want to do is get out of here and go take a shower, wash last night off me. I pat my pockets, not surprised that my keys aren’t there—I have a thing for losing keys when I’m drunk. But my phone’s gone too and that pisses me off because I don’t have an extra one of those. Irritated at myself, I gradually climb out of the truck and head for the gas tank where I hide a set of spare keys for situations just like this.

Last night’s events start to crash over me. I drove out here because I’d heard rumors of how the bouncers like to get rough with guys if they messed with the strippers and I wanted a fight without the worry of cops getting involved. What I didn’t plan on was Violet walking in and saving my ass. I can barely recollect anything about it other than her leading my stumbling ass out of the club and to my truck. I have no idea where she went afterward or why she’d shown up in the first place and I’m not sure whether to track her down and thank her or get pissed off at her for ruining my brawling moment.

As I open the gas tank and remove my spare set of keys I take a long drag off my cigarette, the sweet taste of the nicotine calming me. Rubbing my eyes, I climb back in the truck and drive toward my dorm. At first I’m planning on just going straight to my room, but I keep thinking about Violet and how I have no idea where she went last night. The strip club isn’t in the best part of town. What if something happened to her? Why do I care? I don’t usually care about girls that come in and out of my life, and I definitely shouldn’t care about Violet. I don’t do relationships at all. Letting someone in like that, means actually letting someone in, letting them be a part of my life, which means giving into things they want, letting them have control over things. I don’t want to let people into my life so I can slowly go back to that place I lived in when I was a kid, doing things I hated, hating the person that I was and hating the person who made me that way.

Apparently I’m not thinking clearly, though, and I make a last-minute right instead of left when I arrive at the intersection and turn into the parking lot to the side of her dorm building. It’s the tallest of the dorm buildings at the University of Wyoming and it blocks the sunlight flowing over the mountains. The yard in front of the dorm is pretty much empty, the few people wandering around look like they’re only there to clear out the rest of their stuff. The inside of the building is even emptier. And quiet. It reminds me that I only have a day or two left to get my stuff out and move to wherever I’m going.

When I get to Violet’s dorm room, I expect it to be cleared out like the rest of the building. But I hear some extremely angry music playing through the door that I doubt Callie’s listening to and I knock.

The music turns down and then Violet opens the door. Her damp hair runs over her bare shoulders in waves and again she has no makeup on. The outline of her red lacy bra is visible through her top and she has a floor-length black shirt on. Her cheek is also really swollen and red, but her expression is neither surprised nor happy to see me. Just neutral like always. I want to look equally neutral but my body comes alive at the sight of her and for some reason the idea of kissing her seems so tempting and oddly familiar.

“You’re alive,” she jokes flatly with an arch of her eyebrows as she stands just inside the doorway.

“Don’t act too happy to see me.” I lean against the doorway with my arms crossed, aiming for relaxed but I’m too hung over to get all the way there. “What happened to your face?”

She touches her cheek with her fingertips. “I told you last night that I got into a fight with a wall.”

My forehead creases as I attempt to recollect her telling me. “I don’t remember that… and I don’t really think that’s what happened. I didn’t…” I trail off, squirming uneasily as the weight of her gaze becomes almost unbearable. “I didn’t hit you, did I?” I’ve never hit a girl before, but, shit, I was really wasted and upset last night and I can’t remember hardly anything.

“No.” She doesn’t seem alarmed or upset or anything really. Just indifferent. She moves back, leaving the door open and I’m not sure if she wants me to come in or not. “Where’d you find your keys?” She changes the topic as she roams over to a desk in the corner, which is cleared off. Her entire room is actually; the beds only have a mattress on them and the posters on the walls have been taken down. She must be leaving soon, probably to go back home or wherever it is she came from.

I swallow the lump in my throat, thinking about how I have to go back where I came from soon, too. “I keep a spare set in the gas tank.”

She glances over her shoulder, elevating her eyebrows. “And you couldn’t have told me that last night when I couldn’t find them?”

I shrug and finally cross the threshold, stepping into her personal space. “I swear I did, but then the next thing I know I’m waking up in the truck by myself, the sun is up, and you’re gone.”

She pulls the desk drawer open and reaches inside it. “Yeah, I’m not one for sleeping in trucks with guys who like to hog the entire seat.”

I sit down on the mattress, wishing I’d gotten a shot or two in before I came here. At least then, my headache would be gone. “You could have put me in your car, you know, and driven me back with you.” I’m half joking, because I don’t really care. I’ve slept in the front seat of my truck more than once and I’m sure I’ll do it again.

She retrieves a prescription bottle out of the drawer, reads the label, then tosses it into an open box on the floor. “I didn’t drive back.” She grabs her iPod off the dock on the desk, the last thing left in her room. She throws it into the box and then leans over the desk to unplug the dock.

“Then how’d you get back?” I ask as I stare at her ass. God, the things I’d like to do to that ass.

“I hitchhiked.” She stands back up, drops the dock in the box, and kneels down on the floor. She adds a purple teddy bear from her bed, then gathers her hair out of her eyes, and grabs a roll of tape from the desk. She folds up the top of the box and stretches a line of tape over it, sealing the last of her stuff.

“You hitchhiked?” I say, unfathomably. “Are you serious?”

She presses down on the strip of tape, securing it in place. “It’s not that big of a deal.” She chucks the tape aside and then stands up and pretends to check to make sure she’s packed up everything, when really I think she’s avoiding looking at me. “Do you see anything else lying around?”

I continue to gape at her. “So let me get this straight. Last night after you put me in the truck, you walked down the highway until some guy picked you up and gave you a ride here.”

Her eyes land on me. “Who said it was a guy?”

I scan her body over. So God damn sexy it’s ridiculous and her skin is so ridiculously soft… an image of me touching her in the truck pushes up in my head. Me lying on top of her. My hands all over her. Is it real or from a dream? “Am I wrong?”

She narrows her eyes, ready for a fight, but then puffs out a breath, surrendering. “Yeah, it was. So what? Nothing happened.” She thrums her fingers on the sides of her legs as she looks around the floor.

I get to my feet. “You should have just stayed in the truck. Do you know how dangerous hitchhiking is?”

“About as dangerous as starting a fight at a strip club when you’re by yourself.” She walks over to the box and picks it up, steadying it in her arms. “And you’re welcome for saving your ass.” She props the box on her hip and then looks at me like she’s waiting for me to say it.

“You shouldn’t have hitchhiked,” I say instead, and then snatch the box from her, gazing at her lips, recognition clicking in my head… kissing her, drowning in her taste.

At first she looks like she’s going to snatch the box back from me, her hands rising toward it, but then she drops them back to her side as I move out of her reach.

“And thanks for pretending that you were pregnant with my child and crying over bills,” I say and then the rest comes rushing back to me. I kissed her. In my truck. I felt her and tasted her because I needed to and wanted to. And she helped, not by kissing me but by checking my blood sugar. Shit. “And for helping me with, you know, the pills and stabbing my finger with the needle.” The last thank-you is harder to say.

The corners of her lips quirk as she folds her arms over her chest. “I’m surprised you remember what happened at all.” She pauses, like she’s waiting for me to say something about the kiss.

I back toward the door with the box in my hand. “I’m actually good at drunk remembering.” I wink at her, trying to play it off, because I can’t go there. I’ve never stuck around afterward and had to endure the awkwardness of the morning after. Granted, we didn’t have sex, but still I touched her breast and slid my fingers up her legs.

She offers me a small smile. “I’m sure you are.”

I feel this heat swell inside my chest at the sight of her smile and it feels both good and bad at the same time. I’ve never flirted with a girl like this before. I usually give them like an hour and use little effort, just enough to charm her, get laid, and leave. Building too much of a connection defeats the purpose of what I’m trying to accomplish with sex and that’s to control a few moments and forget all the moments I didn’t have control. Things have crossed that line between Violet and I, especially after last night. I can’t have sex with her without feeling bad afterward, which means it would be next to impossible to bail after I got what I needed from her. But the thing is I want to slip inside her so bad it’s seriously becoming hard to control.

“I have a question,” she says, grabbing a bag off the bed and draping the handle over her shoulder.

Her tone makes me wary. “Okay.”

“I thought,” she starts but then reconsiders. “I mean, I thought diabetics were supposed to give themselves shots.”

I get a little uneasy as we veer toward two subjects I hate. My diabetes and needles. “Yeah, it doesn’t do any good when there’s alcohol in my system.”

“But usually you use a needle.”

“Yeah.” My throat feels thick.

“Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes it does,” I say, sounding choked. “Depending on my mood.”

She observes me briefly then drops the subject.

“So where’s the box heading?” I ask, patting the bottom of the box.

She hugs her arms around herself as she glances over her shoulder at the window. “Outside, I guess.”

I nod, and then head out into the hall. She follows me, shutting the door behind her. As we walk to the elevator I try not to think about the fact that after I get done helping her, I’m going to have to go back to my own dorm and figure out what to do with my stuff—figure out where I’m going. When we get outside, I glance around the parking lot. There are hardly any cars left on campus.

“So which car am I putting the box in?”

She stops at the edge of the curb and bites her lips as she looks at the road to the side of us. “You can just set it down here.”

I lower the box onto the concrete, lost. “Is someone picking you up or something?”

“Or something,” she mutters and plops down on the box. She props her elbow on her knee and her hair falls to the side of her face, veiling her expression from me as she lets the handle of the bag slide off her slumped shoulder and to the ground. “Thanks. You can go now.”

I lean forward and try to catch her eye, but she won’t look at me, so I have no fucking clue what she’s thinking. I want to know and that’s not a good thing because it gives her some control over me.

I begin to back up the sidewalk and force myself to walk away, go back to my Jack Daniel’s, and women who don’t interest me enough to pull me back to them. But right as I’m losing sight of her, I spot her lowering her head onto her arms, looking so defeated I know I can’t leave her like this.

I backtrack my steps and halt beside her. “Violet, where are you going?”

Her chest rises and falls as she sighs deeply, keeping her face buried in her arms. “I have no idea.”

I feel the faintest acceleration in my pulse as I crouch down beside her and sweep her hair out of her face. “Do you need me to take you somewhere? Because I can. As a thank-you for last night.” What the hell am I doing?

Her eyes are closed, her face angled toward me. “I don’t need a thank-you,” she says. “I just need a ride… somewhere.”

Despite my initial reservations, the least I can do is give her a ride as thanks for getting me to my truck and not letting my dumb-ass get beat last night and for helping me get glucose pills in my system. “Okay, where do you need to go?”

“Just outside of town.” She opens her eyes and her pupils shrink as the sun hits them, absorbing any emotion with it. But for a concise instant, I see something in her: the very familiar feeling of helplessness—the same thing that drove me to the strip club looking for a fight. “It’s on one of the back roads just off the freeway… you take the road where the strip club is,” she says.

“Why were you walking down that road last night? And what made you stop at the strip club?”

“A freakish coincidence,” she states, searching my eyes for something.

“A coincidence?” I stroke my finger across her cheekbone and she doesn’t flinch or move away, staring at me like she stared up at me last night. “I’m not buying it.”

“Okay, you caught me. I was stalking you,” she jokes dryly, then shuts her eyes again. “I have a headache,” she mutters, breathing in and out.

I watch her sink farther and farther into herself, her lips part as she forces air into her lungs. It’s like watching someone break apart and I’m not sure if I want to fix her, try to catch the pieces, or step back and let them fall all over the ground. God, the look is tearing my heart in half. Needing to make her feel better, more than I need to make myself stay under control, I start to lean in toward her, to either kiss her or hug her… needing to touch her again… comfort her. She holds completely still, her expression neutral but her eyes widen. I still have my hand in her hair and I pull gently on the roots, causing her breathing to quicken. Her chest rises and falls and images of the things we could do together pour through my mind; things like what we did last night in my trunk. I could touch her again and remember it more vividly—soberly. Suddenly I realize I’m thinking of us together. I’m not thinking of just me getting off. I’m thinking of getting her off. This is no longer just about me anymore. I snap out of it, untangle my fingers from her hair, and straighten my legs to stand up. “Do you want me to carry your box to my truck?” I ask, trying to get my shit back together. I refuse go back to that place I used to live with when I was a kid and my mom controlled everything I did. And getting involved with someone, means giving up total control.

She watches me with her head still on her arms, her eyes scaling me, then she sits up, running her fingers through her hair as she rises to her feet. “No, I can get it.” She bends over and scoops the box up. Even though I can tell it’s a little heavy for her, I let her carry it to the truck, putting a much-needed boundary line between us. It’s the line I put up between most of the people that breeze through my life, to keep people away, to keep me safe from ever having to go to that place I lived for so many years. The one where I feel lost. The one where I’m weak and have no control over anything.

Violet

I think he might have almost just kissed me. I could feel it in the electricity in the air and through his energetic pulse in his fingers. I’m glad he didn’t otherwise I would’ve had to hurt him and I don’t want to hurt him. Go figure. I’m too upset to keep my anger under control today and I’m too lost over last night with him. I don’t even know if he can remember it, the electric kiss that, at least for me, had feeling behind it. And if he’s forgotten, then I’m going to forget, too.

Forgetting is a good thing. I wish I could do that with everything; what happened with Preston, that I have no home, and that come Monday I’m going to have to drag my ass down to the police station and face my parents’ reopened case alone, like I’ve done with everything in my life. All I want to do is stand on the top of a building and inch my way to the edge, feel the adrenaline of knowing I could fall and everything would end.

The longer I sit in the truck with Luke, the more I want to taste the adrenaline rush instead of having this unsettling feeling about going to Preston’s house and facing whatever’s waiting there for me. By the time we’re pulling up, I’m contemplating if I should just grab my boxes and bail. Just leave before Preston can tell me to. Go live in the ditch just a little ways down the road.

“Thanks for the ride,” I mutter to Luke as he parks the truck behind Preston’s Cadillac.

Luke stares through the windshield at the trailer house and the people passed out in lawn chairs on the front porch. “Whose house is this?” he asks as I flip the door handle.

“A friend’s.” I swing my legs out of the truck, preparing to jump out.

He snags me by the elbow. “This is where you’re living for the summer?”

I don’t look at him, face forward, torn on how much to say. “I don’t know where I’m living.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.” I bend my arm and wiggle it out of his grip, making sure to look straight forward as I kick the truck door shut.

I grab my box out of the bed of his truck and trek up the driveway, my long skirt dragging in the dirt behind me. The entire yard is littered with beer bottles and cigarette butts. There’s vomit on the lawn and gravel and the front door to the trailer is agape. As I approach the Cadillac, the screen door swings open and Preston appears in the doorway with his hand cupped around his cigarette as he lights up. Once he has it lit, he blows out a cloud of smoke and looks over at me. By the lack of surprise in his expression I bet he saw me pull up, but what I can’t tell is if he’s still mad at me.

He doesn’t say anything as he trots down the stairs. He kicks some bottles out of the way with his bare foot as he makes his way down the rocky path over to the driveway. When he reaches the front of the car, he glances down the driveway.

“Who’s that?” he asks, nodding his head at Luke’s truck.

“Someone,” I say without looking back as I pause at the trunk of the car, debating on how to go about this as I drop the box beside my feet. I don’t want to let it go. I want to allow myself to get angry at him, because he deserves it, but I also feel that stupid gnawing guilt. I owe him, for giving me a place to stay.

“Don’t be a bitch.” He grazes the pad of his thumb across the bottom of the cigarette as he approaches me. He doesn’t have a shirt on and the cargo shorts he’s wearing hang low on his hips, the top of his boxers peeking out. The bags under his eyes and the redness in them scream that he’s hungover and irritated.

“So you’re still pissed,” I say, through hooded eyes. “Good, so am I.” I sidestep to the left to get to the driver’s door so I can pop the trunk open, but he moves with me, blocking my path.

“I’m not pissed,” he says, blinking his bloodshot eyes and then rubbing his free hand across them. “I’m just confused what the hell happened—why the hell you took off like that.”

I cross my arms. “Because you were being a horny asshole.”

“I was high,” he argues, spanning his arms out to the side of him. “People do all kinds of crazy shit when they’re high.”

“You tried to get me to fuck you.”

“I was on E… of course I did.”

I gape at him, unfathomably. “So what? I’m just supposed to forgive you because you were high?”

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness.” He scratches at his arm as he glances down the driveway where I can hear Luke’s truck running. Is he still there? “And what did you do? Run off and fuck the first guy you came across.”

“Does that sound like something I’d do?” I ask, lifting my eyebrows.

He sucks a drag from his cigarette. “How the hell should I know? You never tell the truth. You barely show any sort of reaction when I ask you to pretend to be a slut to sell drugs for me.” He leans in, moving his arm out to the side of him and I cringe, thinking he’s going to hit me. “You let me put my hands on you however I want without so much as blinking an eye.” He suddenly cups my breast with his hand. “I can’t tell if you like it or if you want me to stop and when you stay stop it doesn’t even sound like you mean it.”

I shuffle back and his hand falls from my breast. “I’m telling you to stop right now and I mean it.”

“You’re saying to stop, but there’s nothing in your eyes that’s matching your words.” He marches forward and grabs my breast again, this time rougher. “I think that you secretly like it but you don’t want to admit it.”

The intensity of the moment is making me very mellow. I want to see him explode, so I can feel more adrenaline and more sedated from my emotions even after the fact that he hit me and is now fondling my breast. It’s obvious he’s crashing and unstable and it makes the situation dangerous. I love it.

“Is this because Kelley is getting remarried?” I ask. “Or are you just going through a midlife crisis?”

His face reddens as he hunches over, lowering his face so it’s right in front of mine. His breath is searing hot and a large vein bulges in his forehead. “I’m not that much fucking older than you are, Violet! So stop with the age shit!” he shouts, the muscles in his neck tensing.

A surge of energy instantaneously crashes through me, my chest lifting and descending as I catch my breath, my heartbeat booming in my ears. It feels like I could do anything at the moment and maybe I will—maybe today is the day that I’ll take that extra step and finally fly away from all of this. As I rack my mind for something absurdly reckless I could do, he shifts his fingers from my arm and yanks me with him as he stomps toward the house. I should probably pull back and run… Maybe when I get in the house I’ll finally run away… or when he hits me again. Beats me. Would he beat me? Do I care? I’m not sure. About anything.

“Violet, are you okay?” The sound of Luke’s voice slowly penetrates my thoughts and my adrenaline surge deflates like a balloon.

“I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth as Preston glares at him from over my shoulder.

“Who the hell is he?” Preston’s nails pierce my skin as he glances from Luke to me and there’s a slight hint of uneasiness in his expression, like Luke’s presences unsettles him a little.

“My stalker,” I lie, not as amused as I want to be. The fact that I have nowhere to live, no one to count on, no one to help me is catching up with me.

“What?” Preston’s jaw drops as he blinks at me. “He’s stalking you?”

“No, he’s just a guy.” I blow out a breath and then raise my voice. “Who won’t leave me alone.”

“Who won’t leave you alone? Seriously?” Luke suddenly appears beside me, startling me by his abrupt nearness and how much anger is in his eyes. “You keep on showing up wherever I go.”

I angle my head to look up at him. “Because you look for me.” I know he really doesn’t, but I don’t want him to think I want or need him.

“I didn’t look for you any of the times I ran into you,” he protests and then his eyes cut to Preston as he folds his arms across his chest, his lean arms flexing. “And I sure wasn’t looking to drop you off at some old pervert’s house this morning.”

I feel this wave of heat in the air, but I don’t really believe that it’s a rapid increase in temperature so much as a spike in the excitement in my body. I feel it at the same moment that Preston releases me from his hold, his attention darting from me to the house, like he’s considering walk away, but ultimately it lands on Luke.

Luke stands beside me, unbothered as Preston hesitates and then inches closer to him. I’m not sure if Luke’s protecting me, or just looking for a fight, but it’s kind of obvious that Luke’s making Preston a little nervous. I wonder if Luke would continue helping me if he knew what was going on in my head, how invigorated I feel over the fact that at any moment they could start swinging and I could get caught in the middle.

“You think some punk kid is going to scare me?” Preston says with an off-pitch laugh. “Wow, that’s a new one.”

Luke licks his bottom lip, which is still swollen from last night’s fight. His knuckles are crusted over with blood and there’s dried blood on his shirt. He also has a cut on his forehead that looks like it needs some peroxide on it. He looks pretty beaten up already and for a split second I actually care enough that I consider taking his arm and pulling him away, to protect him from getting hurt, even though I’m not sure things would go down that way. But then he moves forward and lines himself up with Preston, his hands balling into fists. He’s taller than Preston and sturdier in the chest. He also seems more willing to throw a punch or two, more rough and ragged.

“Do you think some old dude scares me?” Luke’s eyes flare with the tone of his voice. “Especially one that likes to hit women?”

At first I’m confused because Preston hasn’t hit me, but then I remember how he did last night. Luke must have put two and two together.

Preston glances at my cheek without turning his head. “You told him I hit you?”

I shrug, even though I didn’t. “Maybe.”

Luke starts to open his mouth to say something, the muscles in his arms flexing. Preston flinches, like he thinks Luke’s going to hit him and cranks his arm back and sucker punches Luke right in the jaw. I cringe, tripping backward at the sound of the pop, remembering the pain I felt when he did the same thing to me. Like me, it doesn’t look like it bothers Luke, only pisses him off. Without missing a beat, Luke slams his fist into Preston’s face. Before Preston can even register what happened, Luke is driving his fist again toward Preston, this time connecting with Preston’s ribs. Preston swings right around and hits Luke in the gut. Luke’s face contorts in pain, but it doesn’t faze him, and before Preston can catch his breath Luke brings his knee up and rams it into Preston’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. I’m torn on whether to run to Preston and break up the fight or let Luke hurt him. This whole thing has gotten out of hand and I still owe Preston for giving me a roof over my head when no one else would. I want to help Luke, too, though, because he’s helped me more than most.

I can feel an ache inside my chest just thinking about the idea of him getting hurt. But I also just stand and watch them fight to see how far they’ll go, how dangerous things will get. I’m so fucked up in the head and I don’t think I can make a decision at the moment, even though it feels like I need to. It no longer seems like it’s about me, but more about them brutally beating each other up, maybe to death. And what if they do get hurt? Or one of them dies? Then what? Am I responsible? Do I care? Do I want to care about either of them?

I remain motionless, observing their movements, hearing each crack as their bones collide, their rapid breathing, the way the sunlight hits them. I hear my own breathing, the way I’m gasping for air, the way my heart races faster with each desperate breath. The sunlight starts to flicker in and out of focus as my vision spots over. This has happened to me a couple of times and if I don’t do something quickly, I’m going to collapse.

I try to step forward and unlock my knees, but I can’t get my feet to budge. My legs, arms, and tongue are numb and rubbery and it feels like an elastic band is wrapped around my forehead. I try to open my mouth to say “stop,” but the world tips to the side and I fall with it. I manage to get my hands down before I slam into the ground, but the gravel scrapes my knees, and my palms open. Warm blood oozes out. It’s been a while since I’ve had an adrenaline overload, at least a few years.

The first time was a little harder to deal with. It was right after I found my parents. I’m not sure why I did what I did when I found them. I was old enough that I should have known better and called the police right away. But I remember hiding for what seemed like forever, even after the people snuck out the window. I remember how full the moon was and how even though I didn’t fully understand what was going on, there was this excruciating ache in my chest caused by the deafening silence of the house. I think it was sunrise when I finally dared to go upstairs. It was about the time my dad usually woke up for breakfast, but the kitchen was empty, so I went up to their room, telling myself that I was just going to wake them up.

The first thing I noticed was that the door was wide open, not cracked like they usually left it, and then I noticed the blood droplets on the carpet. Seconds later I saw them. It felt like I’d been kicked in the gut, the wind knocked out of me, fingers wrapped around my neck. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to die. I’m not sure whether it was the lack of air or my rubbery knees that kept me on the ground for so long, trapping me there, looking at my parents soaked in their own blood. Or maybe it was the fact that once I moved, my life would start moving again while theirs would stay frozen. Forever.

I jerk away from my thoughts as the sounds of Luke and Preston fighting stop. Did one of them end up killing the other one? Or did they just kill each other?

“Violet, are you okay?” Luke’s voice, so close, startles me.

I keep my head hung low, taking quiet breaths. “I’m fine.”

His shadow moves over my line of vision in the gravel and then his arms are slipping underneath mine. He lifts me to my feet and helps me get my balance, holding me in his arms. I’d shove him away, but I’m too drained at the moment to do anything but lean against his chest. His arms encircle my waist and for the briefest of moments I don’t feel completely alone. The look Preston’s giving me, however, counteracts the sensation. His harsh expression cuts into me like the rocks cut into my hands.

“Get your fucking stuff and get the hell out of here,” he says, spitting blood onto the ground. His lip is cut open, his eye swollen shut, and there’s a giant welt on his rib cage.

“Gladly,” I reply in a composed tone, but on the inside I want to grab on to him and beg him not to leave me. Tell him I need him.

He wipes his arm across his lip, rubbing away the blood. “And don’t come crawling back to me when you’re homeless and living out on the street, because I won’t take you back.”

“I won’t come back,” I assure him with a harsh glare as tears try to shove their way out my damn eyes. Fucking traitor eyes. I inhale and exhale over and over again, sucking them back until I feel woozy.

“Violet, let’s go,” Luke says softly. The steady beat of his heart hitting my back is both soothing and terrifying.

Shaking his head, Preston stomps back toward the trailer house, kicking the door before opening it up and disappearing inside. Luke’s arms relax around me as I stand there in his grasp with my arms lifelessly to my side. I can barely breathe, let alone talk, knowing that soon life is going to catch up with me and so is the painful reality that I have nowhere to go. I have no car, and only two hundred bucks to my name, which will maybe get me a hotel room for a few days. Then what?

“Are you okay?” Luke’s voice is soft and conveys caution as his arms loosen around me.

“You keep asking me that,” I say as I stare at the shut door of the trailer. My eyes are burning with tears that almost escaped and my throat feels dry.

“That’s because you haven’t answered me.” His breath caresses the back of my head.

“I’m fine,” I say. “So you can stop asking.”

He pauses and then slides his arms away from my waist and winds around to the front of me. His lip is bleeding and his shirt’s torn, but other than that I don’t see any new damage on him. “Do you need anything? Water?” he asks, his lips tug upward as he studies me intently. “A sedative, maybe?” He pats the pockets of his jeans. “I could give you a hit of my cigarette… that might help calm down the anxiety a little.”

“I don’t have anxiety,” I tell him. “I’m completely calm.”

He frowns with disbelief and starts to back up toward Preston’s car. “I know what a panic attack is, Violet, and I know that the only reason you’re calm right now is because you’re exhausted from one.”

I don’t want him to be able to see so much of me, yet as he backs away, still looking at me, it seems like he’s seeing what’s hidden underneath my steel skin. He bends down and picks up my box of stuff, then carries it toward his truck. When he drops it into the bed, I force my feet to move forward, knowing I can stand in the same spot all I want but ultimately I’m going to have to face the bleary future I created for myself. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I head to the driver’s side of the Cadillac and pop the trunk, then weave around to the rear end of the car.

Luke’s boots crunch against the gravel as he hikes back up the driveway, lighting up a cigarette. I start piling the boxes out of the trunk, stacking them beside me. Luke silently starts picking them up and carrying them to his truck. By the time I’m finished unloading the trunk, he’s taken care of most of the boxes. I pick up the last one, head down the driveway, and set it in the back of his truck. Then we climb in and I crack the window as he puffs on his cigarette and smoke fills the cab.

He places his free hand on the shifter and his other on top of the wheel with the cigarette positioned between his fingers. “So… where do you want me to take you?”

I shrug as I stare at the trees lining the yard. “I have no idea.”

He’s silent for a second, then backs the truck down the driveway. He doesn’t say where we’re going, what we’ll do when we get there. Everything is so unknown. Just the way that I like it, yet at the same time it scares me because I’m not walking into it on my own. Luke’s here with me and I have no idea why. No one’s ever helped me out before, not like this. And it terrifies me because I actually want him to be in this moment with me, helping me.