“I wish…” she mutters between stuttered breaths. “I wish it was you that asked me to dance that night. Not hi-him.”
My throat goes dry; I grind my teeth. She mumbles something unintelligible into my shirt as she sobs.
“Me, too, baby,” I whisper, and I don’t think she has any idea how much truth is oozing from those words.
She keeps crying into my chest.
“Fucking jerk just br-broke me. I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore. I’m not who I was. I’m a pathetic mess. I’m sorry. S-sorry. I don’t know why he did that to me. For loving him? For forgiving him? I would’ve done anything for him. I loved him that much. It was eight months before the first big blowup, long enough for me to fall deep, and then it was like a waterfall, that just kept coming and coming. A waterfall of bullshit. And I just let it drown me.” She pulls away and staggers down the hall and I watch her go into her room and close the door.
I stand still, just seething for a minute, feeling my chest rise and fall, feeling my fists clench harder and harder before I down the last of my drink and then whip the thick crystal glass across the fucking room. It smashes against the top right-hand corner of my television screen.
After the racket of that, there’s silence. And the silence feels heavy.
Her phone lights up from the counter beside her drink. And there’s a text from Susanna.
Susanna: Get it gurrrl
But that’s not the focus of my attention right now. My focus is the wallpaper image on Violet’s phone. I clear the text message preview to get a better look. It’s a picture of her and I on the red carpet outside Numbers last weekend.
***
I sit on the edge of her bed. It’s been about an hour and I’ve managed to bring the temperature of my blood down some. Looking at her now in the moonlight helps. So did a half a bottle of booze.
She’s sleeping, curled into a ball, hugging her pillow. I tuck her hair behind her ear, lean over and plant a kiss on her cheekbone, taking in the scent of her hair, her warm skin. And I can still smell a bit of the alcohol on her, but I smell soap and toothpaste, too.
I listen to her breathe, fingering one of her ringlets for a long minute, before I slip back out of her room and go to my own bed. My big, empty bed.
And once I’m undressed and my head lands on the pillow, I start to think about the things I could do to him. The slow way I could fucking kill him.
And then I hear her voice in my head, telling me to let him go. Suggesting I threaten him to leave her alone. But not really hurt him. Because I won’t need to. Because he’s scared of me, he’ll listen. And she’ll pay his debt off over time. Not to help him, to help me.
Me.
This beautiful, broken creature would do that for me.
This beautiful girl gives me the benefit of the doubt as someone who will take her heartfelt request to not hurt him seriously.
I stare into space until the sun rises before I finally close my eyes. And when they do close, I again dream of coming home that day and finding my mother dead on the kitchen floor because Max beat her to death.
35
Violet
My eyes open and I’m greeted with sunshine. It’s a bright day and I don’t have a hangover. Shockingly.
As I get up, a reel of last night begins to play in my brain and as I sit down on the toilet, a rush of cold hits my chest.
Shaking my butt as he watched. Singing a dirty song to him. Almost kissing him in the car. Flirting shamelessly. And then falling apart like a pathetic, drunk loser.
I cover my face; it’s hot with shame. Mortification doesn’t begin to describe how I feel.
I take a long shower and plead with the hot water to wash the indignity away.
***
When I timidly emerge from the bedroom dressed in jeggings, fluffy socks, and a sweater without makeup, my hair still damp, I’m praying my bag and phone are in this apartment somewhere because they’re not in Killian’s guest room.
And there’s activity out here. It’s actually buzzing with activity. I spot Killian’s Genesis manager, Alana, in the kitchen with two little boys and there are two other guys setting up a new television on the wall. One guy has curly brown hair, one blond.
I see no sign of Killian.
“Good morning, Violet, how are you?” Alana greets, while wiping the face of one of the little boys. One of the guys at the TV turns his head and smiles at me. Oh. Will is the curly-haired guy, Killian’s brother - who was there to rescue me from the bathtub incident with Ray.