The Destiny of Violet and Luke

Chapter 2

Violet

I’m supposed to be sleeping, but I’m too excited to sleep. My sixth birthday’s tomorrow and I can’t wait to see all my presents. My dad already gave me one, a really cute purple bear with a pretty bow on the front of it. He told me that I was too special not to get one of my presents early, but that’d I’d have to wait for the rest tomorrow.

It’s really late and I can see the moon outside my window, looking like a half-eaten cookie. The stars sparkle like the glitter on my pajamas and my nightlight in the corner of my room keeps flickering. It was the Fourth of July today and I can still hear some of the fireworks the neighbors must be setting off.

I lie in my bed staring at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling, some shaped as hearts, some as stars. I try to close my eyes, but it’s not working. Finally, I decide to get out of bed and go down to my toy room in the basement. Maybe if I play with my toys for a while then I can stop thinking so much about all the toys that I’m going to get tomorrow.

Taking my new teddy bear and the flashlight I keep in my nightstand drawer, I tiptoe down the stairs. I pause at the bottom, staring at the window in the living room where I can see showers of red and silver sparks glittering sky. It’s so pretty and I stop at the bottom of the stairs to get a good look at them. When the colors fade, I turn for the basement door and open it. A lot of the kids I know are afraid of the basement, but mine’s not that bad. My dad even let me paint my favorite flowers on the walls and I get to keep all my toys down here, too.

I don’t flip on the light, instead I use my flashlight because I’m not supposed to be out of bed this late at night, but the moon and fireworks shower light through the window. Once I get the flashlight turned on, I skip down the stairs to where my toys are stacked in boxes around the room. There’s also a chair in the corner by a bookshelf where I have a ton of books. I love to read about anything. Princesses. Monsters. Magical kingdoms. I asked my dad once if stuff like that really existed and he told me of course and asked what fun would life be if fairy tales weren’t secretly real.

I go over to the bookshelf, deciding I’ll read for a while, and maybe that will help me fall asleep. My favorite one isn’t on the shelf, though, so I go to the storage room where there are more books stacked on the floor. My dad loves to read, too, and we have so many books that there’s really nowhere to put them. At least that’s what my mom says.

I set the teddy bear down on the floor and shine the light on the first pile of books I come across. They’re all my dad’s books so I kneel down in front of the next stack, reading over the titles. Finally I find it, but as I’m pulling it out of the stack I hear a noise coming from my toy room. It sounds like scratching or scraping maybe and my mind instantly goes to the possibility that maybe it’s a monster or a dragon or something else with claws. My hand shakes a little as I stand up and turn back toward the room. When I step into it, I feel the wind hit my cheeks. I shine the light around and notice one of the windows is open. I don’t understand why. I didn’t open it and I don’t think it was open when I came down here. What if it was a monster?

I sweep the flashlight around the room at all my toys as I start back toward the corner. Then the light lands on something tall… I hear voices. Ones that don’t sound like they belong to a monster, but just people. But that’s what they end up being.

Terrible, horrible monsters.

I wake up gasping for air, clutching my blanket, my heart thrashing inside my chest, my lungs desperately seeking air as I hold my teddy bear tightly against me. It’s like I’m drowning and for a moment I actually think I’m buried beneath the water. It’s how I’ve woken up every morning for the last thirteen years. I used to breathe as loud as possible, but I’ve had to train myself to be quieter since I have a roommate now. As my eyes open to the sunlight, my breathing ragged, I quickly roll over and bury my face in the pillow, smothering the fear and panic out of me. I grip handfuls of blanket, reminding myself that I’m not drowning, that it just feels like it. That monsters don’t really exist. That it was just people. Really terrible people who did something really fucked up and never got caught. Never had to pay. Just went on living, hiding their evil fangs and claws, while I was left to wander the world alone.

I breathe in and out until my face becomes hot and the scent of the fabric softener in the pillowcase overwhelms my nostrils, then I turn to the side, facing the wall, sliding the bear aside. I can sense that my roommate, Callie, is awake and I don’t want to see her looking at me. She’s got music playing on the stereo, some girl bellowing out lyrics to a poetic song. It’s not really my kind of music. I like the rougher kind that will drown out the thoughts inside my head and the emptiness in my heart. But the soft beat of this one is kind of soothing, I guess.

I lie there with my head on the pillow, staring at the wall, deciding if it’s worth moving today or not. My body feels like it’s been run over by a truck, like every single one of my limbs is dislocated and my organs have burst open. I’m fairly sure I’m okay, though, except for my ankle. Last night it was so swollen I could barely get it out of my boot. I landed very awkwardly when I jumped out the window and I’m pretty sure I felt something pop. There’s nothing I can do about it, though. I won’t go to the student health clinic and see a rent-a-doctor and I not going to go to a real doctor. I don’t have the money for that and I don’t want to get into debt more than I already am over tuition. I hate owing people things. It makes me dependent and dependency leads to getting hurt. It’s going to suck, though, when I have to go to my part-time job, waitressing at Moonlight Dining and Drinks.

After a while, Callie turns down the music and then I hear her moving around, rustling through papers, opening and closing drawers. Then it gets quiet.

“Violet,” she says and I tense. When we moved into the dorm, we kind of established without really talking about it, a no-talking-to-each-other-unless-necessary rule, so it’s weird she’s speaking to me. Plus I think she thinks I’m a prostitute or at least a slut because I created a rule that when I tie a red scarf onto the doorknob, she can’t come into the room. Really, I’m just dealing, but she doesn’t need to know that. It’s better if she just thinks I’m a slut, even if I’m still a virgin.

I remain motionless, even when I hear her walk up to the side of my bed, hoping she’ll give up and leave. It’s not like I hate her or anything. Callie actually bothers me less than most people, but that’s because she rarely talks. She never really asks me for anything, either, like privacy in the room, but sometimes I willingly give it to her because I don’t want to walk in on her again with her football player boyfriend. Those two like each other too much.

Finally she leaves and shuts the door behind her and I’m free to breathe as loud as I want to. I roll over to my side, wincing at the pain in my ankle. Damn it, it hurts, but I’ll live. It could have been a lot worse and I sort of wish that it had been. A little more dangerous, maybe landing closer to the fence instead of kicking that football player in the forehead. I wonder if his head’s okay. I did kick it kind of hard, but not on purpose. Usually when I kick a guy I have a good reason to, but this time he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe I was.

I check the clock over on the desk and realize it’s later than I thought. My chemistry class is going to start soon. I need to get up and moving. I carefully sit up in the bed, slowly as my muscles ache in protest. I’m still wearing the dress I had on last night because I was too tired when I got to my dorm to bother changing into my pajamas. The fabric reeks like cigarettes and booze, which usually happens whenever I go to a party. The stench of partying, no matter where it takes place, always seems to embed itself into my clothes and my pores. I need a shower, but I don’t have time.

I slide my foot over the bed and flinch at the tender throb in my ankle. It looks horrible, twice as swollen as it was last night and it’s starting to turn a light bluish purple. But I’m going to have to tough it out. Shutting my eyes, I push myself up, letting a little weight fall onto it. “Motherfucker,” I curse as the pain swells through my leg and I collapse down onto the bed. A few inhales and exhales and then I try again, but the pain is too unbearable. I’m trying not to lose it, but I can’t miss class. I want to accomplish something for once and that’s getting good grades and eventually doing something with my life other than wandering around, pushing my limits. I’ve managed to attend all of my classes this entire semester and it’s probably the longest amount of time I’ve spent in one place, besides Preston’s house. That’s an accomplishment for me and I’ve had few of those throughout my life, unless you can count the record number of times I got into fights or got passed around to foster homes.

Sucking up every amount of strength in me, I force myself to try again. Shifting my body upward, I straighten my legs and get my feet underneath me. I take gritted breaths as I steady myself through the pain and limp over to my closet. One foot in front of the other. I can do this.

I grab my boots, but then decide against wearing them and reach for the one pair of flip-flops that I own. I wiggle my uninjured foot into one and then bracing my hand on the door frame of the closet, I struggle to wiggle my injured foot into the other. Not only does it hurt like a bitch but my foot is too swollen to fit in it.

Giving up on the shoe, I collect my book from the desk and then put some deodorant on. I comb my fingers through my hair and twist it up in a bun on the back of my head. I’ve looked a lot worse than wearing a day old dress and one shoe before, like the time I traded my shirt for a can of food and a pocketknife during one of the brief times I lived out on the streets and had to walk around in this weird tube-top bra for a while.

I hobble over to the door and maneuver it open, relieved when I make it into the hallway. Now if I can just make it to the elevator then all will be golden. Putting all my weight on my good leg, I gradually move down the hall, ignoring the stares and whispers as I pass people, heading to the elevator. I internally celebrate when I make it onto the elevator and it takes me to the bottom floor.

After a lot of struggling and holding on to walls, I finally make it outside to the yard surrounding the McIntyre Building, the dorm where the University of Wyoming puts most of the freshmen. I check my watch dragging my foot across the sidewalk as I move toward the grass and realize that I’m going to be late. I try not to flip out and put more weight on my ankle so I can pick up the pace. I breathe through the pain, reminding myself that I’m as tough as nails. But then I step into a divot in the lawn and my ankle rolls awkwardly.

I trip to the side and drop my book. “Damn it!” I shout, bracing my hand on a nearby tree as the pain spreads up my leg.

People walking down the sidewalk stare at me like I’m a nut job and I’m briefly thrown back to Amelia’s garage, surrounded by Jennifer and her friends. I hate how I feel just from remembering it. The sharpness. The little self-worth. I’m not that person anymore. I’m strong, shielded, and unbreakable. Yet the memories get to me, force my shield to drop. I want to run to that one thing that helps me turn it off, box up my emotions and lock them silently away inside me. But I’d need to move in order to do so. Fuck.

“Knock it off, Violet,” I mutter to myself, my skin damp from exertion. “You’re letting stuff get to you. Suck it up.”

I push back from the tree but then immediately return my hand to it. Shaking my head more at myself than anything, I slump back against the tree. I’m frustrated. I’m not going to make it and panic claws at my throat as disappointment in myself seeps in. I need a way to fix this… make the violent flood of emotions go away. Now.

I search the grassy area beneath the trees looking for a distraction from what’s going on inside of me. There’s a group of guys across from me playing Frisbee. I could pick a fight with them, see if I could get them to actually hit a girl, but fighting is usually a last resort, because it causes very little adrenaline to surface anymore. Or I could pick a fight with that creeper over by the tree, taking pictures of me with his camera, the ginormous flash blinding me even from this distance.

I lean forward, squinting to get a better look at him. The last time someone was taking a picture of me like that was right after my parents died and every damn reporter in the country wanted to get a picture of the girl who survived the slaying of her parents. But it’s been ages since that happened and no one seems to care anymore.

The longer I stare at the guy, the more he backs away through the trees, clicking his camera repeatedly, and I start to drift forward, with a threatening look on my face.

“Well, you look like shit,” someone says from beside me and I stop. “I can see you didn’t take my advice and stay off that damn foot.”

Luke Price suddenly appears at my side in the shadow of the tree next to me. I’ve seen him around school and last night when I kicked him in the face, but I don’t really know him other than what I told him last night, plus the fact that he seems super intense. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with a small hole in the hem and his jeans have a small hole in them, too. He’s got cropped brown hair and intense brown eyes that automatically make me picture him as a fighter or boxer or something. But as far as I know he’s just a football player, another jock that’s probably walking in his father’s footsteps.

He reaches up to scratch the welt on his forehead from the impact of my boots and I notice he has a leather band on his wrist that has the word “redemption” on it. I wonder if it means anything to him. If he’s been saved from something?

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Stoically Aloof.” I aspire to sound disinterested but the soreness in my leg and my anxiety is straining my voice. I glance back over to where the guy with the camera was lurking but he is gone. Shaking my head, I turn back to Luke, forcing myself to be the normal, indifferent Violet that I strive to be. “God, you really know how to charm a girl.”

He eyes me with this illegible expression. “Who says I was trying to charm you?”

I’m not sure if he’s aiming to be a flirty douche or just a douche, but either way I’m done talking to him. I need to get myself calmed down anyway. I inhale and blow it out as I glide forward, but freeze as blinding pain radiates through my leg and I start to fall toward the ground.

“Shit.” Luke hurries forward with his arms out in front of him. “Let me help you.”

I stick out my hand as I stagger back against the tree. “I got it. I don’t need your help.”

He stares at me with condescending doubt. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“I just need a breather and I’ll be good to go,” I insist, portraying confidence on the outside that I lack on the inside. I’ve pretty much given up hope that I’m going to make it to class today and the anxiety is only escalating. The ideal thing for me to do now is to go back to the dorm and take care of the problem the only way I know how.

He crosses his arms, his lean muscles flexing, and presses his lips together, either to conceal his irritation or amusement—I honestly can’t tell from the intensity dripping off of him. “Where are you trying to go?”

“I’m not trying to go anywhere.” I press my palms flat against the rough tree bark. “I’m going to go to class.”

He crooks his eyebrow. “To chemistry?”

“Yeah,” I say. “The class you’re supposed to be at, too, I’m pretty sure.”

“Yeah, I’m running late.” He gives a fleeting glance at the sidewalk and then his gaze lands back on me. “And now I’m going to be even later thanks to you.”

“No one said you had to stop and talk to me.” I square my shoulders, preparing to march my way across the yard with my head held high, showing that I do have some dignity left in me, even though I know I’m not going to make it all the way. I can pretend though, at least until he leaves.

I make it five amazing, dignified steps before my knees give out on me. Then Luke steals all the dignity I have left as he rushes forward and catches me in his sturdy arms. Even though it would have hurt worse, I would have rather face-planted into the grass and injured myself, then let my pride be wounded like it is now.

“What are you doing?” My flip flop scrapes against the grass as I endeavor to get my feet back under me. “I said I got it.”

“Sorry, but you obviously don’t,” he replies simply, tucking his arms underneath mine he helps me to my feet.

I consider shoving him as one of his hands slides down my side and to my waist, but then I realize he’s doing it to support my weight. I’m not sure what to do. I don’t ask for help with anything—I’m not that weak anymore—but technically I’m not asking Luke for help right now. He’s just doing it on his own, which isn’t the same. At least that’s what I tell myself to make this situation feel better. Besides, he’s become a very good distraction from the emotions stirring in my chest before he showed up. I’m starting to settle down, calming on the inside. No one’s ever done this to me before, except for maybe Preston and his ex-wife and my ex-foster mother, Kelley, and those instants were few and far between.

“Now are you going to let me help you back to your dorm or not?” His fingers gently press into my side.

I dither, then place my hand on his shoulder so I can lift more weight off my foot. “No, but I’ll let you help me to class.” I catch a hint of his scent; cologne mixed with soap and a splash of tequila.

He gapes at me. “You need to stay off your foot.”

“No, I need to go to class,” I argue, then hold my breath because the scent of his cologne is delicious. “It’s important.”

“Why? It’s just one class.”

“Because I don’t miss class. Ever.”

He searches my eyes for God knows what, a sign of sanity maybe, but then he gives up and nods. “All right Violet…” He waits for me to give him my last name, but I only shake my head. I don’t like saying my real last name because then I remember that I’m the only living person left carrying it. I could use my made-up one, but I don’t like giving that one out either since it seems like I’m giving someone an open invitation to know me. “Okay, then Violet with no last name. Let’s get you to class.”

Then for the first time in thirteen years, someone actually helps me. And the odd thing is he willingly does it.

Luke

I help Violet to class, bearing as much of her weight as she’ll let me, but she seems pretty dead set on letting me help her as little as possible and keeps putting weight on her ankle. It looks like shit, purple and blue, swollen up so big she couldn’t even get a shoe on and I seriously just want to pick her up so she won’t put any weight on it at all, plus I’ll be able to move at my pace not hers. But I can tell there’s no way she’ll let me and honestly, I’m not that chivalrous. If I was acting like my normal self I’d have left her out under the tree.

It was a complete fluke that I crossed paths with her. I’d taken one too many shots of tequila this morning and my head was too foggy for me to drive to the university. So I had to walk and just happened to pass by when Violet was leaning against the tree. She looked like she was struggling and all I could think about was her falling out the window… my sister Amy jumping off the roof… suddenly I was walking over to her.

We end up being late and she’s upset about it. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would care so much about being on a schedule or getting good grades, but neither do I. My need to control my life, my grades, is an obsessive habit I developed early on to fight the constant loss of control that always surrounded me when I was at home. I wonder what her reasons are.

I don’t sit by her in class, not just because I don’t want to come off as some obsessed guy, but there aren’t any vacant desks beside her. I sit at an empty desk a few rows behind her and I try to concentrate on what Professor Dotterman is saying instead of what Violet’s doing, but it’s hard.

I thought about her a lot last night, even in my drunken stupor, which completely defeated the purpose of getting drunk. But she never did explain to me why she jumped out the window. I want to believe she wasn’t trying to end her life, but knowing what I know—knowing what happened with Amy—I can’t help but think about the deeper meanings behind her jump.

The longer I watch her, the more I analyze her. She’s extremely stubborn—that much I understand—even going as far as refusing to stretch her foot out comfortably in front of her. She’s sitting straight up in her chair, with her feet planted firmly below her. I think I might have met my match for the Stubbornest Person in the World award. It’s an award I’ve pretty much been winning since I was sixteen when I decided to stop trusting people and doing only what I wanted. I’d spent way too much time giving other people everything they needed and finally I turned sixteen and got my driver’s license. Suddenly, I had the freedom to go anywhere whenever I wanted and it didn’t matter who was with me. I had myself and that was all that mattered. No one controlled me or had power over me and I’ve been making sure things stayed that way ever since.

Violet kind of seems like that. I’ve never met anyone who was so determined to do things on their own. But it’s not like I’m about to ask her why. She gave me a dirty look just from me asking her last name and she’d probably try to kick my ass if I asked her anything personal. Although, the idea of her trying to kick my ass is sort of enthralling. It’s not my usual thing. I like things easy and uncomplicated, because my life was too complicated when I was younger. For some reason, though, challenging Violet is becoming appealing. Then again no one’s ever really tried to challenge me, too afraid to go up against the intense image I purposely send out.

I can tell Violet tries to look tough, but beneath the diamond stud in her nose, the red streaks in her hair, and the tattoos on the back of her neck, she’s fucking gorgeous—even though she’s wearing the same dress she had on last night, she has no makeup on, and her hair isn’t done. She also doesn’t have the muscle to do any damage, her long and slender legs and arms better suited to wrap herself around me, then hit or kick my ass.

I roll my tongue in my mouth at the idea of her legs and arms wrapped around me as I pin her underneath me and thrust deep inside her. It’s got me curious about trying it and I’m seriously debating taking a break from the slutty, lacking-in-substance women that I’ve been hooking up with since I was sixteen.

In the middle of my thoughts, Violet casually glances over her shoulder. It’s obvious she’s trying to discreetly look at me, but I’m already looking at her, so it doesn’t work. Her eyelids lower a little, like she’s going to scowl at me, but instead she gives me this cocky look like she knows I was looking at her first. I’m not sure how to react to this, because usually I’m the cocky one. Pissed off at myself, I decide to stop being obsessive since I barely know anything about her, other than she likes to jump out windows and hates getting helped.

I start penning notes, seeking some structure amid my mess of thoughts. I can handle chaos when I’m drunk, because I’m too drunk to notice, but right now I’m too sober to deal with a girl who literally came crashing into my life.

I remain focused on the lecture for the rest of class and when the professor lets the class go I seriously consider letting Violet fend for herself. But as I walk by her, I notice her staring at her ankle with her book tucked under her arm and her eyebrows furrowed. As much as I only take care of myself anymore, when I picture her jumping out the window, either by accident or not, I find myself stopping beside her desk. I stick my elbow out, giving her the option of taking it. She looks up at me, giving me a real glimpse of her green eyes in the daylight. They’re insanely big and beautiful, surrounded by long black eyelashes, but there’s something missing from them. Emotion. Most of the time, when I look into people’s eyes, I can get a good glimpse of what they’re feeling, but with Violet I can’t see anything, like she has a shield up.

Her fingers wrap around my arm and she tugs herself to her feet. When she gets her balance, I slip my arm around her lower back and settle my hand on her side. I feel her muscles constrict, but her face remains blank. Then she leans her weight on me, her hair brushing my cheek, and we walk out of the classroom.

We don’t talk as we head down the crowded hallway, lazily winding through people. At first I think our silence is because I can’t think of anything to say, but then it starts to become some sort of challenge over who can be the most stubborn, at least to me it is. If I talk first, I lose. If she does, then she loses.

We push out the door and cross the quad toward the sidewalk. It’s the end of April, the sun is shining, and the air is a little chilly, but tolerable even without a jacket. Only a few more weeks and the semester will be over. Then everyone will return home. I’m trying to find a way out of it, though. The idea of going back and living with my mother is fucking unbearable. And my dad… he’s preoccupied with other things at the moment, like his wedding. Besides, I’ve seen him maybe eight times since he walked out on my mom and me and half of those have been this year. The idea of asking to live with him aggravates me because I don’t want to need anything from him. I want to be on my own here in Laramie. I could get a job now that football isn’t going, but I fucking have the worst people skills and I tend to make people skittish, which makes getting a job really hard. Plus, I’d have to get an apartment unless I take summer classes. I need a little break from school, but I also need a roommate to afford living anywhere and Kayden’s going to be gone all summer with Callie. I don’t have much in the line of friends besides the guys I play football with and I really don’t want to live with any of them. I can barely stand living with Kayden and he’s been my best friend since we were kids. I could go gamble a little bit, take some risks, see if I can get a bigger cash flow, but ever since I lost a big hand during a game back in March, I haven’t had enough to ante up for a game worth playing. Not unless I want to throw down all my cash, which I sort of want to do because I miss owning the game, cheating my way to the top. It’s what I’m good at, at least most of the time, that is unless I lose the card I’m hiding like I did during the game in March.

The rest of the journey with Violet is interesting. She keeps glancing at me with arrogance and sometimes intrigue. It feels like she wants to say something, yet she never does, and the more she does it the more insane it drives me. When we get on the elevator at her dorm and the doors shut, Violet clears her throat and I think she’s finally going to speak. She peeks at me from the corner of her eye and I tilt my head to the side, waiting for her to utter the first word. But instead she hits me with that arrogant look like she did in class and I’m thrown off by her cocky attitude again. I almost break down and ask her what the hell that look is about. Lose our silent battle, just like that. Let her win. Let her have that kind of power over me. She’s got me all riled up and I’m cursing myself for not taking more shots before I left my room this morning.

For a brief second, I seriously contemplate pushing the emergency button and stopping the elevator, so I can push her back against the wall and kiss her fiercely before pulling away and leaving her. Regain a little of my control and power over the situation.

But as the elevator continues up and my arms stay at my side, I realize that I can’t go through with it and honestly I have no idea why. She’s messing with my head and I don’t know what else to do besides stare at my reflection in the shiny steel doors for the rest of the elevator ride. When the doors open, I let out a breath of relief, glad we’re coming to the end of this strange, silent journey. As we approach Violet’s dorm room toward the end of the hall, I spot Kayden and Callie standing in front of the door. They’re smiling as they talk to each other and they make it look so easy, so natural, like it’s as simple as breathing. But even breathing is difficult for me sometimes.

Callie says something and Kayden laughs, but when he sees me walking up the hallway with Violet his expression fills with inquisitiveness.

“What’s up?” he asks as we walk up to them. He glances from Violet to me, then his eyebrows arch, his eyes widening a little.

Callie steps out of the way as Violet moves out of my arm and drags her foot as she moves up to the door. “Are you okay?” Callie asks, looking down at Violet’s ankle.

“Yeah,” Violet answers with indifference as she punches in the code to their room with her finger. The lock beeps and she shoves the door open, tossing her book aside as she starts to shut the door behind her. I’m about to call our stubborn challenge a tie, when she pauses with the door still open a crack, her eyes sparkling with life for the very first time, and says, “Thanks, Mr. Stoically Aloof.”

“You’re welcome, Violet with no last name,” I tell her and then she shuts the door.

Callie and Kayden instantly look at me and I work to keep a smile off my face.

“What the hell was that about?” Kayden asks, slipping his arm around Callie’s shoulder. She’s a tiny little thing and he has to lean down a little to reach her.

I shrug, not wanting to get into it. “She hurt her foot and I helped her back to her room.”

Callie gives me a wary look. “How’d she hurt it?”

I shrug again. “I’m not sure.”

One of the things I like about both of them is that they respect privacy and so they don’t press.

“Where are you headed?” Kayden asks me, pulling Callie in to give her a kiss on the top of her head. “Back to the dorm?”

I start to back toward the elevators, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “I was thinking about hitting the gym. It’s been a while. You want to come with me?”

Kayden nods. “Yeah, I’m down.” He glances at Callie. “You want to come? I’ll help you with your kickboxing skills.” He winks at her and she rolls her eyes, smiling.

“Whatever. I totally kicked your ass last time,” she says, reaching for the key code on the door. “I can’t anyway. I have to study for my biology final.”

Kayden looks disappointed and I look away as he leans in to kiss her. As much as I’m happy for them, I sometimes miss my best friend not being whipped. I start to head toward the elevators to wait for him there when Callie calls out my name.

“Wait a minute, Luke,” she says and I slowly turn around.

She’s walking toward me with Kayden at her heels. When she reaches me, she snags my arm and hauls me past the elevator while Kayden waits behind, like he knows she wants to talk to me alone.

“How are you doing?” She tucks some strands of her brown hair behind her ear, seeming uneasy. “With the stuff with your sister, I mean.”

I swallow hard. “I’m doing okay.” It’s always been hard dealing with the fact that my sister killed herself when she was sixteen, but a month ago I found out that Caleb Miller, some douche Amy used to go to school with, and who used to be friends with Callie’s brother, raped her during a party a few months before she threw herself off the roof of an apartment complex. I guess the police found some journals written by Caleb about what he’d done, but Callie was the one who told me. Although she didn’t flat out say it, I think Caleb might have done something similar to her.

When she first told me, it took me a while to process what it meant—that maybe Amy killed herself because of it. It’s frustrating to feel so much rage inside me every time I think about it. Caleb’s lucky he vanished, otherwise I might have tracked him down and beat the shit out of him, like Kayden did once. Or maybe I’m the lucky one, because sometimes when I get going, when I feel that much heat and tightness in my chest, I have a really hard time not swinging.

“Are you sure?” She touches my arm, then quickly pulls away. She’s a sweet girl, but sometimes she’s a little skittish. “Because I’m here if you ever want to talk. I know it’s hard, especially since Caleb never got caught… he’s just out there living his life…” Her eyes well up, but she quickly sucks the tears back.

I force a smile. “I’m not much of a talker, but thanks for the offer.” I learned at a young age that trying to talk about what was bothering me was pointless. I once told my mom I didn’t like that she was doing drugs and she only did more. I told my dad once during his yearly phone call that I hated my life and he told me that a lot of people do. When I found out about Amy’s death, I went on a silent streak for about a week because it seemed like if I said anything to anyone they’d tell me to suck it up. I found serenity in the quiet and I seriously wish I’d never spoken again, at least about anything important, but my mom wouldn’t let me mourn so easily and wanted to talk. About Amy.

“Neither am I,” Callie says. “But sometimes it does help.”

“Thanks, but I’m good for now.”

She smiles and hers is real, not forced like mine. “How’s your mom doing with all this?”

I internally cringe. My mom showed very little reaction when she found out and I’m not the least bit surprised. She barely paid attention to Amy while she was alive and after she died it was like she’d never existed. She threw all her stuff away days after it happened, saying horrible things about Amy choosing to leave us in the most monotone voice. She did sing a song at Amy’s funeral, but the lyrics were crammed with madness. Not too many people heard it, though, since hardly anyone came to the funeral and those that did blamed the insanity on my mother’s mourning.

When I told my dad about Amy, during our yearly phone call, he started to cry. It pissed me off. How dare he cry when he wasn’t around to help and maybe some of this stuff could have been avoided. He’d abandoned us in that house with my mom and her craziness, letting his two kids get sucked right along into it.

“My mom’s fine,” I lie to Callie, inching around her to head toward the elevators. It’s nice of her to care, but it doesn’t make it easy for me to talk about my mother.

Callie seems wary by my offish answer, but drops it and steps out of the way so I can scoot by. Kayden’s waiting for me at the elevator and when I approach him, he hammers his finger against the button.

“I’ll call you later,” he says to Callie and then kisses her.

I look in the other direction again, ready to get away from this whole affectionate thing they’ve been obsessed with for months. Affection is overrated. I’ve never wanted it and will never, ever go looking for it. The one person that showed me affection made it seem wrong and it’s one of the reasons I won’t get close to anyone, not even Kayden. Yes, we know stuff about each other, but we’ve never had a heart-to-heart. I’ve never had a heart-to-heart with anyone and I plan on keeping it that way, no matter what it takes because the last thing I want is anyone to find out about my past and how screwed up my thoughts are.