The Destiny of Violet and Luke

Chapter 3

Violet

Right after my parents were murdered, I used to come up with reasons why their lives were taken. The police’s theory was that it was a freak accident when we were getting robbed—for some reason the robbers thought no one was home. My parents had woken up in the middle of it and saw them. Panic ensued. Then gunfire. They never caught who did it and as far as I know these people are walking around in the world, living their lives while my parents were left to rot.

It drives me absolutely insane when I think about it, but sometimes my mind opens up on its own. Thoughts of the people I pass on the street. It could be any of them and I worry that maybe they’ll recognize me. Even though I’m not sure, there’s always that question in my mind if one of them saw me that night, because they looked right at me, but never said a word. It’s something that’s haunted me to this day

I always wonder what I’d do if the murderers were actually caught. Freak out. Celebrate. Be filled with overpowering hate toward them because now I had a face to link with the event. Be terrified. I’m not sure and every time I analyze it too much, my habit kicks in and I seek comfort in the one thing that can give it to me. Danger. Pushing death. Parasuicidal. Adrenaline junkie. Insane. There’s so many different things it could be called and I honestly don’t know which one it is. All I know is what I do—what I need—to get through my life.

I haven’t been doing it over the last few days, though, since I can barely limp around let alone walk. It’s becoming an inconvenience and making me feel weak. But my ankle’s refusing to heal, so I have no option other than to hobble around in pain. The worse part was work. I’ve never been that great of a waitress, since my dazzling people skills are lacking. Add pain to the lack of people skills and my supervisor, Johnny, was threatening to tell our boss about my bitchy attitude toward the costumers. Thankfully I charmed him with a dime bag and that seemed to smooth things over.

I’m headed to the nearest McDonald’s to feed my junk food addiction, wearing a pair of cutoffs and a FROM AUTUMN TO ASHES T-shirt I’ve worn so much the letters are starting to fade. My hair was untamable so I pulled a beanie over it and I’m still sporting the flip-flops. Not my greatest of fashion moments, but I’ve never tried to claim to be some sort of fashionista.

It’s hot and my ankle is swelling from all the weight I’m putting on it, but I’m starving and I don’t have Preston’s car anymore because he only lends it to me when I’m dealing, so my only form of transportation is on foot. I’m counting how many blocks I have left in my head… five or maybe it’s six…

My phone rings and I answer, knowing the ringtone belongs to Preston. Part of me doesn’t want to answer it because I know he’s going to want me to do something I probably don’t feel up to and I won’t tell him no, because I owe him for taking me in when no one else would.

Before Preston came along, I was living with Mr. and Mrs. McGellon, a foster family who liked to lock me in the basement for hours whenever I smarted off or did something wrong. I would have been okay with sitting in the dark listening to the drip of the pipes, but I’ve hated basements ever since I was six. One time when Mr. McGellon threatened to put me down there, I’d shoved him out of frustration and when Mrs. McGellon threatened to call the police, I took off. I lived on the street for about two weeks, and then got busted when I stole some food from a grocery store and ended up spending time in juvie anyway. After I got out, when no one else wanted to take me in, Preston and his wife stepped up. They were young and I think social services was looking for a reason to get rid of me at that point, so they more than willingly turned me over to them. Still, they were there for me.

I answer the phone and put it up to my ear right before it goes to voicemail. “What’s up?”

“Kelley’s getting remarried,” he announces in an irritated tone.

“What do you mean she’s getting remarried?” I drag my foot down the sidewalk. “I thought she left you because she felt trapped.”

“Wow, thanks for painfully reminding me why my ex-wife packed her shit and left,” Preston says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Jesus, Violet, sometimes you’re too blunt for your own good.”

“Blunt?” I pause at the end of the sidewalk. “You’ve always told me what a liar I was.”

“You’re a liar when it comes to you,” he replies. “But with everyone else, you’re blunt. I swear to God you like witnessing people in pain.”

I cross the street and trip onto the curb. “Maybe, or maybe I’ve never been taught to censor myself.”

“You’re so full of it right now. You know exactly what you’re doing so don’t try to pretend you’re all naïve and innocent.” His voice drops an octave. “And speaking of innocence, have you finally lost yours yet?”

I fidget uncomfortably, tugging the bottom of my T-shirt down, glad he can’t see me right now. “Don’t be a creepy old man.”

“I’m not that old, Violet,” he says. “And besides I was just making sure you’re okay and that no guys have fucked you over. Asking about your love life would have been Kelley’s job but since she ditched us, I gotta step in and play the part.”

I shake my head. “Play the part of my foster mom?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“You’re such a sick freak.”

“Coming from the girl who refused to eat anything but pork ’n’ beans for two straight weeks when she first showed up at my house.”

I swing around a couple holding hands blocking the sidewalk. “What can I say? I was missing the foul taste of prison food.”

“You weren’t in prison,” he clarifies. “Just juvie. Don’t try to make yourself sound more badass than you are.”

“Hey, I’m badass,” I protest, not bothering to wind around water spraying on the sidewalk from some sprinklers in a yard. “I could kick your ass.”

He snorts a laugh and it gets under my skin. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. The next time you come here for a visit and we have some time, I’ll take you in my bedroom and you can try to show me how tough you are.”

I wipe water droplets off my arms. “Why would we have to go into the bedroom?”

His laughter drops to a deep throaty sound. “Think outside of your naïve innocent brain, Violet, and maybe you’ll get it.”

“I’m not naïve or innocent, just a little slow,” I say, catching on to what he meant. “And FYI, you’re disgusting and it’s never going to happen.” I don’t like it when he talks to me like this, but if I say anything serious about it, he’ll probably get upset. I saw him get that way with his now ex-wife Kelley and when Preston gets upset, he gets violent.

“Whatever. Don’t pretend like you’re not getting turned on,” he says.

I’m not. At all. I’ve never even been turned on before, at least from what I can remember and it seems like something I would. When I lived with Preston he wasn’t so flirty like this, but once I hit eighteen and was officially considered my own guardian our relationship sort of shifted, especially when Kelley left him. He’s never actually tried anything with me, just talked a lot of talk, and I don’t say anything about it. I don’t want to lose him—he’s the only thing close to a family I have. Even Kelley doesn’t talk to me anymore.

“I gotta go,” I lie. I still have three or four more blocks to go, but I want to end this uncomfortable conversation. “I’ll call you later.”

“You better.” The deep throaty tone of his voice vanishes. “I have stuff for you to do and you still need to pay me back for the eighth I fronted you the other night and you know I don’t take money, only work.”

I tense, worried I’ve upset him and that he’ll get angry and I’m going to lose the only family I have. Then I’ll be totally alone. “I know. And I’ll call you back. I promise.”

“Good girl,” he says and then we say good-bye and hang up.

The tension raveling in my body makes me want to throw myself into oncoming traffic and see how much I can get my heart rate up and shut the tension down. Just thinking about it takes me from worry to terror and excitement. I’m starting to wander sideways toward the curb, wondering if I’d die instantly if I got hit, when a truck pulls up, backfiring when it slows at the curb.

I keep ungracefully strolling up the sidewalk, not wanting to deal with any more perverts today, when I hear a familiar voice say, “Still putting weight on that ankle, huh?”

I speed up, taking long strides, but the radiating pain in my ankle forces me to slow down. “What can I say?” I call over my shoulder. “I’m a rebel. I like to walk on the wild side.”

Luke inches his beat up truck along beside me, driving up the wrong side of the road toward traffic, but luckily no one’s coming. He has the window rolled down and his arm resting on the windowsill. “Well, you’re only rebelling against yourself since it’s your ankle.”

I shake my head, but a smile pushes its way through and manages to push out the tension the conversation with Preston created. I need to put a stop to this thing I’ve got going with him. I enjoy bantering with Luke a little too much and I found walking in silence with him too amusing as well, especially since he didn’t crack under my silent pressure like a lot of people would have. Plus, Preston helped me and no one’s ever really done that before, except he and Kelley and a couple of other people that breezed through my life.

I halt at the edge of the curb and Luke taps the brakes to slow down his truck. “What do you want?” I shield my eyes from the sunlight as I look over at him.

His intense gaze relentlessly holds mine. “I want to see if you need a ride somewhere.”

I elevate my eyebrows as I lean forward and rest my arms on the edge of the open window, just inches away from his. “That’s really what you were doing? Cruising up and down the streets looking for me, hoping that you can give me a ride.”

He presses his lips together, looking entertained by something I said. “No, I was heading to the gym but then I saw you hobbling around like an old lady and thought Hey, maybe she’d like someone to help her out so that she can make it to wherever she’s going by sometime today.”

I struggle with this one. There aren’t too many people in the world who have made me smile and the majority of them are dead. Luke’s getting close and I don’t like it—don’t like how little control I have over my reaction. If he keeps it up, I’m going to have to jack his truck and drive a hundred down the highway, just to clear out all the feelings that come with that damn smile.

“Maybe I enjoy walking around like an old lady.” I slant so close to him I feel the heat of his breath and notice how long his eyelashes are. But I’m only doing it to mess with his head.

He doesn’t move away and his intensity goes up a notch, his expression flaring with something I can’t quite interpret, which is disconcerting. “Okay, I guess I’ll leave you to your hobbling.” He leans back into his truck and looks ahead, throwing me a curveball.

I’m not sure how to respond. I miss a beat, which doesn’t happen too often, and maybe that’s why I do what I do next. “Wait.” I touch his arm as the truck starts to roll forward. The touch startles both of us and I draw my hand away. “I’m going to McDonald’s. It’s like a few blocks up. If you want, you can give me a ride.”

Again he looks like he’s going to laugh. “Okay, then hop in and I’ll give you a ride.”

Wallowing in my own stupidity over the fact that I get vaguely enthused over the fact he’s helping me out again, I round the front of the truck, and hop in.

The door’s hinges squeak as I shut it and Luke shakes his head in annoyance. “Sorry, my truck’s a pile of shit.” He reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the dashboard.

“It’s not a piece of shit.” I roll down the window and let in the warm spring breeze. “It’s just rustic.”

His eyebrows furrow. “You have an interesting vocabulary.” He pops a cigarette into his mouth. “Is that a compliment?” I relax back in the seat. “Coming from Mr. Stoically Aloof.”

He cups his hand around the cigarette and then ignites it with the lighter. “Yeah, you’re going to have to explain that one to me because I don’t get it.”

At the beginning of school, during one of my English classes I had with Luke, the professor told us to describe something in the classroom that we thought would be difficult to describe. For some reason I thought of Luke, the guy who always sat in the back with his arms crossed and this I-don’t-give-a-shit look on his face. He almost seemed unapproachable or maybe just offish or perhaps it was something else. He had friends, though, so it didn’t make any sense. After a lot of analysis, I’d come up with “stoically aloof,” and although I’m not sure I nailed it correctly, every time I’ve crossed paths with him, the nickname pops up in my head. But I’m not about to tell him this.

“Not telling you is what gives it its appeal,” I tell him as he tosses the lighter onto the dash.

He takes a deep drag from his cigarette and then smoke encircles his face. “So you’re not going to tell me ever?” He holds on to the steering wheel with one hand and pulls back onto the road in the right lane and then drives down the road.

I give a one-shoulder shrug. “Maybe one day, but not right now.”

He shakes his head, but a trace of a smile touches his lips. “Fine, but I think I should be able to give you a nickname, too.”

I rotate sideways in the seat, bringing my knee up on it, curiosity sparking inside me. “Oh, I’m really interested to hear this. Let me guess. Crazy Bitch. Psycho Jumper. Old Lady.”

The corners of his lips turn up. “As much as I think all of those are great choices, I’m not going to give you one just yet. I’m going to wait until I find the perfect one to fit your… charming personality.”

I make a face as I roll my eyes. “Ha, ha, you’re hilarious.” He actually kind of is, though, and I have to work to restrain a smile.

His smile broadens, and I feel my heart spastically skip a beat. But then the happiness fades as he hurries and sticks his hand out the window to ash his cigarette. “Shit, I forgot to ask if it was okay to smoke in here.”

“It’s your truck,” I say, turning forward in the seat and putting my foot back on the floor. “You can do whatever the hell you want.”

“Anything I want, huh?” He cocks his head, studying me as he pauses at a stop sigh. We’re leaving the residential part of town and now gas stations and small stores line the street. “What if I said I wanted to drive like a hundred miles an hour in the wrong lane.”

“Then I’d say go ahead.” I kind of wish he would, that way I’d get my much needed dose of adrenaline and these unfamiliar emotions Luke’s creating inside me, ones I haven’t felt in a long time—if ever—emerging inside me would be suffocated. I’m not even sure exactly what they are; whether I find him attractive, annoying, comforting. Regardless, I don’t want to feel anything for him and I need to get rid of whatever it is that I’m feeling.

He continues to hold the cigarette out the window, some of the ash drafting back inside the cab of the truck and landing on the gray Henley he’s wearing, the sleeves rolled up. He’s contemplating something deeply as he looks at me, perhaps actually doing what he said. I wait with a hint of anticipation. Just the idea that my life could potentially be put into danger settles me.

Eventually he concentrates on the road, leaving me marginally disappointed. “So where are you from? Laramie? Or are you just living here for school?” Such a casual question, which doesn’t fit the intensity in his eyes.

“Where are you from?” I counter his question with a question, hoping to divert his attention away from me.

“Around,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes.

Okay, this is harder than I thought. “So besides the fact that you like to walk around with blond sluts in the dark and force your way into people’s lives, what do you like to do?”

His gaze slides from the road to me. “I thought you already knew what I did—play football, help damsels in distress, walk around being stoically aloof.”

I stare impassively at him even though a laugh tickles the back of my throat. It’s been a long time since I’ve even tasted the brief glimpse of laughter. “Touché, Luke Price.”

He presses his hand dramatically against his chest. “Did I just win a conversation?”

“You say that like we were playing a game.”

“Weren’t we?” There’s a challenge in his brown eyes and I feel something awaken inside me, something I’m not sure has ever been fully awake.

“Maybe,” I shift uneasily at the fact that I’m actually feeling something besides numbness, yet I don’t know what it is. “But I wouldn’t count on winning just yet.”

He inhales from the end of his cigarette again, then smoke eases out of his lips. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face, but the shadows in his eyes leave Luke Price unreadable, a mystery, exactly what I strive to be myself. I could press him for more details about his life, where he came from, what makes him tick, but I’m guessing the shadows are there for a reason. And if I go digging into his life, he just might try to dig through mine. And I don’t want him or anyone else to get to know me, because it’s a waste of time. In the end he’ll leave me. Everyone always does.

Luke

“You know I’m not really a fan of hamburgers,” I say. We’re sitting at a table in McDonald’s on opposite sides with a tray of food in between us. I’m trying to keep the conversation light since it was getting heavy in the car. She’s got my thoughts all tangled up. Not only is she a girl who jumps out of windows, but she got way too excited when I said I’d drive down the wrong lane going a hundred miles an hour. It’s like she wanted me to do it and again I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that head of hers. It’s almost becoming an obsession—needing to know. And that makes me instantly back off.

“You sound like you’re a vegetarian,” Violet remarks from across the table, unwrapping her hamburger.

“Nope, just a guy who doesn’t have much of a taste for burgers.” I grab a handful of fries and plop them into my mouth.

She raises her eyebrows and takes a bite of her hamburger. “I think it’s weird.”

I’m not even sure how I ended up here with Violet. I’d been heading to the store because I’d run out of tequila and Jack Daniel’s and I needed it more than I needed air. I’d just gotten my dad’s wedding invitation, along with a call from him, asking me to be his best man.

“I’m trying to decide if you’re kidding,” I’d replied, because he couldn’t be serious. Best men were supposed to be friends, like each other, know each other.

“I know it’s kind of late notice, since the wedding’s in a couple of months,” he said. “But I’d really like you to be the one standing beside me.”

I shook my head, balling the invitation up in my hand. “I’m not even sure I can come to the wedding.”

“Oh, I see.” He sounded so disappointed, but I wasn’t about to give into him that easily. “Well, could you just do me a favor and think about it?”

I tossed the wedding invitation into the garbage. “I guess.”

“Thank you, Luke.” He sounded so sincere. “And if you ever need anything or want to talk, I’m here.”

I should have just let it all out then, everything I wanted to talk about. How he abandoned us and left me to be destroyed in that house. I should have finally told him what he left me with, what happened, what my mom made me do. But I didn’t say anything but good-bye, too afraid of what he might say or wouldn’t say, and then I hung up.

As I was driving down the road toward the nearest liquor store, I saw Violet limping on the damn foot, completely disregarding my advice to stay off it. I should have just driven by her, let her limp around, like I should have during my walk to school the other day. We keep crossing paths, but it’s not that big of a town or school so it’s not that surprising. We’ve always probably crossed paths a lot, but the thing is I’ve never really paid attention to her before. And now, all of a sudden, I’m hyperaware of her. Part of me is still curious what the hell was going on that night she jumped out the window and the other part… it has a lot to do with my messed up issues with women and control—the obsession with getting her underneath me.

So instead of a shot of Jack I settle for a hamburger, fries, and a Coke. Not much of a trade-off, but I can always hit up the liquor store on the way back.

Violet takes a bite of her hamburger and then sets it down on the tray. She adjusts the beanie on her head a little lower, so it’s covering more of her hair. She doesn’t have any makeup on again and she’s wearing this faded T-shirt that looks about ten years old. I’m starting to wonder if that’s just how she is, low maintenance. But when she jumped out the window, she was all dressed up. I’m not even sure why I’m analyzing it—her. She’s far from my type. I usually go for the slutty, prissy girls who like to look pretty. I’m not even sure why I prefer that look, other than girls like Violet look more intense, and if they’re anything like me they’ve got too much going on inside them, which is the last thing I want. I want no strings attached. I only want girls who can suck my cock and smile about it, without asking for more. And without any annoying giggling either.

“What?” Violet asks, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “Do I have something on my face?”

I rip my gaze off her and open up my chicken sandwich. “No, I was just spacing out.” I take a bite of my sandwich. “Sorry.”

She reaches for my fries with an undecided look on her face. “So I have a question.”

“Okay…”

“About you.”

I slowly chew my food. “I’m not really sure I want to hear your question now.”

She picks a pickle off of her burger, pulling a repulsed face. “Well, I’m still going to ask it.”

I grab a handful of fries from the tray that’s on the table between us. “Go ahead and ask but it doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

She props her elbows onto the table with her burger in her hand. “Why haven’t you ever talked to me before? I mean, we’ve walked past each other probably a hundred times, but never so much as acknowledged each other and then suddenly you’re stalking me.”

I pick up my soda and sip from the straw. “First off, I’m not stalking you. I just can’t seem to get rid of you.”

“You didn’t have to stop to pick me up.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why? You don’t know me—you’re in no way obligated to help me.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

“Why?”

I shrug, setting my drink down. “Why not?”

She gives me a funny look, like I’m the most confusing person in the world, when really she should be looking at herself like that. “I don’t get it. Why would someone like you help someone like me?”

I open up the bun of my chicken sandwich to pick the tomato off. “What do you mean someone like me and someone like you?”

She points at me. “You as in a football player who has friends.” Then she points at herself. “And me as in the loner girl who could probably kick your ass.”

I choke on a laugh and my mouth full of food almost shoots out of my nose. “You could not kick my ass,” I cough, and then take a swallow of my drink.

She scans me over while scooping up some fries. “I beg to differ. I think you’re not as tough as you try to look.”

“Do you really?” If only she knew what really lay inside me. “Because most people think I am and for a good reason.”

“I think it’s all for show,” she replies nonchalantly and I can’t tell if she’s being serious or not. “I think that deep down you’re just a softy.”

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me right now?” I set my sandwich down on the tray and crack my knuckles. “Because I’m not going to fight a girl.”

“That’s such a typical guy answer.” She hurries and takes a drink, but I detect a hint of a smile before her lips wrap around the straw.

“You know what I think?” I cross my arms on the table and lean in, cocking my head to the side as I observe her closely. “I think you like arguing with me and that’s why you’re bringing this up.”

Her shoulders lift and descend as she takes a bite of her hamburger. “Maybe, but maybe I’m being serious.”

“You know that as a football player I have to tackle guys, right? It takes strength to do that.”

“Maybe you just run, though,” she counters. “Maybe you’re just good at running.”

The way she says it reminds me so much of my past and it’s like a kick to the stomach. “Maybe I’m not, though. Maybe I suck at running.” I sound choked and I decide it’s time to cut this conversation short, my brain seeking that potent taste of Jack and Tequila mixed with nicotine. I glance at my watch, pretending to check the time. “I just remembered that I have to meet Kayden somewhere in like a half an hour, so I’m going to have to take you back.”

She balls up the wrapper for her hamburger, acting nonchalant, but her shoulders are stiff. “Sounds good to me. I was done anyway.” She seems irritated and I have no idea why, other than she seems to be able to read through my bullshit and test me, which most people can’t and won’t even try. I’m supposed to be a closed book. A mystery. That way no one can see who I really am. It’s the way I’ve been living for years and it’s comfortable. Not ideal, but nothing is ideal.

We don’t talk as I collect our garbage and then walk next to her as she limps out to my truck. I try to offer her my arm and open the door for her, but she denies my offer, moving to the opposite door and pushing it open.

During the car ride, she barely says two words to me. I should be happy about it. That way there’s no room for sudden questions and statements that will set me off, however I find myself missing the bantering thing we had going and the way she pushed my buttons. By the time I drop her off, all I want to do is ask her to stay, talk some more, let me get to know her. But I don’t understand why. I’ve never wanted to get to know anyone before. I’ve never even been out on a date. Each woman I’ve been with, I’ve only been with once. Just sex. That’s all it’s ever about. And I’ve never wanted anything more.

Until now.