The Destiny of Violet and Luke

Chapter 12

Luke

I realize as soon as I turn my phone back on that I’ve messed up. There’s one missed call from Violet. I try to call her, but it goes straight to her voicemail. Normally, I wouldn’t think anything of it, but she looked so shocked when I asked for her number. I get the feeling she’s not used to having people to depend on.

I drive past the police station on my way back to the apartment, just to make sure she’s not waiting there and she’s not. I should be feeling good. I doubled my money. Everything should be great, yet I feel like shit. I can’t stop thinking about how surprised Violet looked when I gave her my number and wondering how she felt when I didn’t answer her call.

When I get back to the apartment, Seth’s sitting on the leather sofa with his feet kicked up on the table, blankets piled to the side of him as he watches a sitcom on the television. Greyson is lounging on the floor with his head resting on a throw pillow surrounded by the many boxes that still need to be unpacked. Violet’s standing in the kitchen pouring a glass of juice. She doesn’t look up at me as she puts the juice back in the fridge, grabs the glass, and heads for our room.

I step over Greyson and cut her off as she reaches the hallway, racking my brain for the best thing to say. “Hey.”

She puts the rim of the glass to her mouth. “Hey.” She guzzles a mouthful, avoiding looking at me.

I crack my muscles, nervous for reasons I barely understand and don’t like. “I’m sorry I completely forgot not to turn off my phone. When I go to games, I do that… and I wasn’t thinking.”

She stares at me with that detached look in her eyes, the one that I was first a little envious of, but now I just want to make it go away. I want to put a different look in her eyes, like the one that was there right after I kissed her. I want to make her look alive again.

She lowers the glass from her mouth. “It’s fine.” She starts to step past me and I brace my hand on the door frame, barricading her path.

“No, it’s not. I told you I would pick you up and I should have picked you up,” I say. “How did you even get home?”

She shrugs. “I walked.”

“But it’s hotter than hell.”

“It’s just a little heat. And I made it, so you can stop feeling bad.”

“Violet, I’m really sorry.” I sound so pitiful, but I don’t care. What I care about is fixing this—fixing us. And that realization is both liberating and fucking terrifying.

“I promise it’s okay.” She gives me a fake, plastered on smile, then ducks underneath my arm and goes into the room, shutting the door.

“What was that about?” Seth asks as he aims the remote at the television.

I shake my head and go to the fridge to get a beer. “I fucked up.”

He grins cleverly. “Aren’t you always doing that?” he asks and Greyson snorts a laugh.

I pop the cap off the beer and roll my eyes. “Ha, ha, you two are fucking hilarious.” I go over and drop down on the recliner, kicking my boots off. “And why are you even laying around? The apartment’s a mess.”

“We were waiting around for you to come clean it up,” Seth says and Greyson laughs even harder. “Our own personal maid.”

“Well, that’s nice of you,” I say. “Use my weakness of liking things organized against me.”

Seth puts the remote on the arm of the chair and leaves the channel on the news. “Hey, you don’t have to clean. You could leave it messy.”

I look around at the boxes and balled up newspaper everywhere and shift my shoulders at the discomfort it brings me. “I’ll start taking care of it tonight.”

They both laugh at me and then we settle into this quiet rhythm, watching the news while guzzling beer. Seth eventually gets up and digs around in the cupboards for food, finally coming back with a brownie. He chomps on it as I watch the newscasters talk about every bad thing within a hundred-mile radius. I’m barely paying attention, thinking about how I should just go into the room and apologize to Violet again, make things right.

My mind begins to flood with ways to make it up to her, when suddenly I hear the reporter on the television say the name, “Hayes.” I snap back to reality for a moment and pay attention to the screen. The reporter quickly rattles off about the Cheyenne murder case being reopened after thirteen years and that if anyone has any question to call this number. The room gets really silent as I stare at the screen, even when it goes to a commercial. I only look away when Greyson gets up and stretches.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” he announces and then leaves the room.

Seth gets up off the sofa. “I’m going to go have a smoke,” he says to me. “You want to come out with me?”

I shake my head and his face contorts with confusion, because I rarely turn down a smoke break. “Okay,” he says, his eyebrows raised as he leaves me and goes out onto the balcony.

I wonder why none of them are reacting like I am, but then again neither of them know the stuff I do about Violet. They might not even know her last name, since she was so reluctant to hand it over to me.

Jesus. What do I do? I mean, maybe it’s not related to her, but she did just go down to the police station today and she grew up in foster homes, but wouldn’t tell me what really happened to her parents. But other than that I don’t know much about her, which seems so wrong at the moment, especially if she’s carrying that inside her, all that death. Death is so heavy. I know this.

God, she must be hurting. I get up and go to the bedroom door. It’s locked, so I knock. It takes several more knocks before she opens the door with a look on her face that rams me in the chest. She’s not crying or frowning or upset. She just looks like she’s drowning in a lack of emotions. There’s a small television perched on the desk in the corner and the same news channel I was just watching is on the screen.

She takes one look at my face and says, “Don’t ask me.” Then she steps back from the door and flops down on the bed on her back. Desperation filters through her voice. “Please just don’t ask me anything about it.”

How the hell am I not supposed to ask her? Her parents were murdered? There’s so many questions. I want to understand her life, her, and worst of all I just want to hold her and tell her it’ll be okay, like I wish someone would have done for me after Amy died. But that’s what I wanted and I have no clue if that’s what she wants. The only thing I know is that she asked me not to ask her anything and if that’s what she wants I’ll give it to her.

“I’m going to go get something to eat,” I tell her, gripping onto the door frame as I smother the urge to bombard her with questions. “Do you want to come with me?”

She shakes her head as she gazes up at the ceiling; her arms flopped to the side. “No thanks.”

“Do you want me to pick you something up?”

“If you want.”

“Okay, I’ll bring you something back,” I say, letting go of the door frame. “Or if you want I can just stick around and hang out.”

“I want to be alone,” she whispers. “Please just go. I need to be alone right now.” She reaches for a purple teddy bear on the bed, hugging it as she rolls over. It takes a lot of strength not to lie down in bed and wrap my arms around her, but I don’t because she asked me not to.