The Probability of Violet and Luke

Chapter 13

Luke

Things were going good. So, so good. Violet and I were finally talking and I felt like she was really opening up to me. But I should have known it wouldn’t last. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson after all this time, but I guess I’m a slow learner. Shortcuts. There’s always risk when it comes to them.

The good day had been plummeting to begin with the more the hours went on. It started out when I was reading more of Amy’s journal and found something so fucked up, I couldn’t even process it. The reason Caleb raped her. And reading about it nearly tore me to shreds.

I was never supposed to find out about it, My sister Amy had wrote across the lined paper, the black ink smeared as if she’d been crying and the tears had dripped down to the pages. The rape was supposed to be part of the deal. My mother owed a debt to him for drugs and had offered me to Caleb against my will and Caleb had more than gladly took up the offer, but only if he could have sex with me without my consent. Just like that, my mother sold her daughter, like a pimp sells a prostitute. I was at a party when it happened. I remember Caleb had his eyes on me the entire time, everywhere I went that night and it bothered me enough that I left the party early and went home. I knew his reputation that he liked to be rough with girls, get them drunk and take advantage of them. He also sold drugs to my mother—I remember thinking that a lot that night and how sad it was because he was so young to be in so deep. My mother, well she hadn’t always been that way, not until my father took off and then she kind of went off the deep end, getting high all the time, her mind slipping further and further away from her. I think she might have had an underlying mental disorder to begin with and all the crack and heroin just made it worse. Maybe that’s what Caleb’s problem was, because why would someone ever want to do that to another person? Why would he want to follow me down the hallway and grab me from behind… when I tried to scream, he covered my mouth with his hand. All the lights were off in the house and Luke’s door was shut, so he couldn’t hear my muffled cries as he dragged me toward my room. But my mom could—she could see me when she walked out of her room, the light blinding behind her as she peered into the hallway right before Caleb got me inside my room. She’d been wearing her robe and had this weird look on her face, relief maybe.

“Be quiet,” she’d told Caleb as she’d tied up her robe. “I don’t want you waking up her brother.” Then she’d turned back into her room, closed the door, and let Caleb drag me into my bedroom, gag me and tie me up, then rape me over and over again until every part of me died inside.

My soul died that night and I’m hoping that my body will soon follow because being here is just too hard… too painful.

I was about in tears when I’d finished reading it, but Violet had woken up and I forced myself to pull it together. But I noticed the date n the entry of the corner when I was shutting the notebook. Two days before Amy took her own life because she couldn’t deal with the idea of living anymore in the darkness that had taken over her mind.

It made me want to throw up. How could my mother do that to her own daughter? But the real fucked up thing was that I wasn’t even as surprised as one might think and it makes me worry just how many ‘surprises’ are in store for me in the future.

Thankfully, through all of this, I managed to keep my shit together long enough to get me out of the house and away from Violet. I’d left the house, thinking things couldn’t possibly get worse, until my uncle Cole up and decided that he wanted to cheat too and without warning me. The bosses of The Warehouse caught on to what we were doing and I guess it wasn’t the first time it happened with Cole.

That’s when they come down and drag him toward the back room. I’m right in the middle of a winning hand and just like that, there’s all this commotion. Cole puts up a fight as two guys grab an arm and pull across the open warehouse. I’m getting to my feet, trying to figure out what to do, whether I should go after him. When a large, over weight guy with a thick neck, dressed head-to-toe in black comes up to me.

“Follow me,” he orders and when I hesitate adds, “It’ll be worse if you don’t.”

Grinding my teeth, I set the cards down on the table and follow the guy as he makes his way past the poker tables toward this back area hidden behind a steel wall. By the time I get there, the two guys that hauled my uncle off are beating the shit out of him, one holding him by the arms while the other rams their fist into his gut, face, arms—everywhere.

“Hey,” I start to protest when I’m shoved face first to the floor by a heavy set of hands and end up bashing my face on the concrete. The taste of blood fills my mouth and my jaw starts to throb as I go to push to my feet, but a foot comes down and holds me in place. They take my wallet out of my pocket, I’m sure to take all the cash I have in there. It’s not everything, but it’s enough that I’m in deep trouble. Not too mention all I won tonight is gone.

“And if you come back here again,” one of the guys says to Cole as he slams his fist right into his face. Blood spurts from his mouth and lands on the floor. “Greford won’t let you walk out of here.”

The foot moves from my back as they let go of my uncle and he falls to the floor, unable to even hold his head up. I push up and start to head to him, when one of the guys comes at me.

I shove him back roughly. “Don’t even fucking think about it. This has nothing to do with me.”

“Oh you think so,” the guy says snidely. He has this gnarly scar going down his eye and this sick look in his eyes as he wipes some of my uncle’s blood off his chin. “You come here with a cheater, you’re declared a cheater. Rules of the game.” Then he cranes his arm back and punches his fist into my jaw, right on the side that hit the concrete.

Instinctually, I react with a ram of my own fist, hitting him right in the side. It shocks him a little and then suddenly I’m being held back and the scar guys sucker punches me three or four more times before he lets me go.

My whole body hurts, but the pain is minimal to the reality of the situation. My uncle unconscious, no money, no way to pay Geraldson back.

“Now get your damn asses out of here,” Scar guy says and then spits on the floor in front of me before leaving with the other guys.

Stumbling to my feet, I stagger my way over to my uncle, bruised, beaten, and broken, ready to give up. When I roll him over, he looks dead—bloody, his face swollen, his nose a purplish blue. But then he opens his eyes and gives a cough. “Well, damn. That sucks.” No apology. No excuses. No nothing.

Annoyed and sore as hell, I help him to his feet and get him to the car. He gives me the keys, unable to drive with one of his eyes swollen shut and I hop in the driver’s seat and drive back toward the house, my mind racing a million miles a minute. Fuck, I’m fucked. This is the thought that’s running over and over in my mind as I drive.

“Should I… should I maybe take you to the emergency room?” I finally ask, feeling my own body ache with the need to be treated.

He shakes his head, turning toward the window, mumbling, “There’s a warrant for my arrest and the last thing I want to do is get caught.”

“For what?” I ask, merging onto the freeway.

“That’s none of your business.” He rests his head on the window and stays silent for the rest of the drive.

After we get to the house, I help him inside and can’t help but think of my own future and wonder if this is where I’m headed. Twenty years old and I’ve already had my ass kicked more than I can remember for getting caught cheating. And now I have no money to payback Geraldson. I’m wondering if that’s how Cole was. From what I can remember, even when I was five years old and he would have been twenty, he was gambling, drinking, and fighting, the same way he is now.

By the time we stumble into the foyer it’s late, well past midnight. There’s a lamp on in the living room, but the rest of the house is dark, so I make my way in there, Cole’s arm around my shoulder as I bare most of his weight with my own battered body.

“Easy,” he mutters to me as I maneuver us down the step and through the doorway toward the sofa.

When we enter, Ryler, who’s sitting on the couch watching television, instantly looks over at us. He sets his beer down and doesn’t seem the least bit shocked at the sight of us, only annoyed at the sight of his father and the condition he’s in. Cole looks even worse than earlier. All of the places he was hit are now swollen up twice as bad as when we left The Warehouse. Ryler signs something short and simple, his movements clipped.

“Hey, you were the one who decided not to go tonight,” Cole gripes as he slowly lowers himself down onto the chair beside the sofa and slips his arm off my shoulder. “You know I do these things when you’re not around—I can’t help myself.”

Ryler glances from me to his father then signs something again and even though I don’t know sign language, the movements of his arms are enough for me to tell he’s said something harsh.

“Hey, Luke asked me to help him,” Cole protests, touching his puffy cheek with his fingertips then wincing. There’s blood splattered all over his torn shirt and I’m fairly certain his nose is broken. “That’s what I was trying to do. If I wouldn’t have got caught, then Luke wouldn’t have had to share his winnings with me and would have had enough to pay his debt.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I tell him, not wanting to be rude, but I don’t want the blame for this, nor did I ever want to lose all my money and be back to square one. “I would have been fine with playing another night or two. Now I have nothing and no game to go to.”

“I’ll find us another place,” Cole promises, reclining back in the chair and putting his feet onto the table. He’s lost his shoes somewhere—who knows where though. “I just need a few days.” He shuts his eyes and lets his head tip back.

“I don’t have a few days.” I rub my hand down my face then wince, forgetting that my cheek is injured. “I’m so fucked.”

“We’ll figure it out. Nothing I haven’t handled before,” Cole mumbles while Ryler shoots a glare at his dad and throws the beer cap at him to get him to open his eyes. When he does, Ryler mouths something, but I can’t catch what. “Hey, I’m good at figuring stuff out under pressure,” Cole tells Ryler then looks up at me. “You think maybe you could ask your dad to spot us some cash so we can get things moving again?”

I shake my head and back out of the room. “I’m not asking my father for anything.”

He frowns. “Luke, it might be our only option.”

I hate the way he says our option as if his problem has become my problem. “I have enough problems of my own,” I tell him. “I don’t need anymore.”

“Just think about it,” Cole says while Ryler shakes his head, aggravated, as if his father does this all the time and Ryler is tired of it. “I’m sure he would do it for you if you asked him.”

Even if I wanted to ask him, I’m not so sure he would or if he has access to that kind of money. But I don’t want to go down that road with my father anyway, so it’s not an option. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” I tell Cole then leave the room. He calls out my name, almost panicking, but I know it’s not over me. It’s over himself. He’s a gambling addict. Pure and simple. My possible future, if I don’t figure out a way to straighten my act up. What a wake up call. Although, I’m not even sure if it’s what just barely happened, if it had something to do with finding out the truth about what happened to Amy, or if it was Violet opening up to me and making me want to be a better person.

As I tiredly drag my sore ass up the stairs, I try to remember how I got to this point in time, how I messed up my life so badly. Tired. Beat up. Broke. Alone. The last one might not be so true. That’s really up to Violet and whether she’ll ever have me again. Honestly, she’d be better off without me, at least until I clean my act up, but I’m too selfish to walk away from her.

That’s what I’m trying to convince myself not to be—selfish—when I enter the room and see her lying in bed, the covers kicked down, wearing one of my shirts, her long legs stretched out, I realize I need her. Through the insanity of my life, Violet is the one sane thing I have, even if our relationship is insane itself.

She’s left a lamp on, so there’s a soft trail of light in the small room. I tug my shirt off and slip my boots off as I make my way to the bed, pausing when I get beside it to unbutton my jeans and take them off. Her back is to me, her head resting against the pillow, her hair lose and down her back. I reach forward and brush it aside, then trace my fingertips along the two stars on her neck, her skin so soft and familiar, everything I want.

I can barely remember the first time I ever had sex and all the times after are a blur until I met Violet. Sure, it always felt good, for me at least. Not sure about the women since I didn’t care nor did I stick around long enough to ask. There was something about having that kind of control over a person like that—where I could just walk away before they ever used me—that made me feel briefly content. It would always fade though and I’d only get the contentment again when I fucked the next one and so on and so on. I’ve never actually been with anyone more than once, including Violet, but not because I used her and bailed like with the rest of the women I’ve been with. Violet has always been different from anyone else I’ve been with. I knew that the first moment she literally fell into me. At the time, I didn’t know what exactly made her different or why I had the sudden need to be around the same woman for more than an hour. But now I think I know.

Because I’m in love with her. But I can’t tell her that. Not yet. I’m not ready and neither is she. In fact, I’m not sure she’ll ever be ready for that, at least with me, but I want to stick around and find out—be there for her.

Sucking in a deep breath over this terrifying revelation to myself, I climb into the bed and press up against her, wrapping my arms around her, slipping one underneath the crook of her neck so her head is resting on my arm like a pillow. I feel her jump a little and I half expect her to wake up out of her nightmare and be in panic, like she normally is whenever she wakes up. But she must have been awake the entire time, because she barely stirs before she relaxes against me.

“You smell like cigars,” she mutters as my fingers drift up and down her side. “And beer.”

I pull her closer against me and breathe in her scent; something vanilla with a hint of perfume that makes me briefly shut my eyes and get lost. “You look good in my shirt,“ I whisper, opening my eyes, then I sweep her hair out of the way and kiss the sensitive spot on her neck, right below her jawline, letting my lips linger there to taste her skin.

“Luke…” She almost sounds torn, her fingers finding my arm and digging into my skin. I wait for her to pull away, stop us from doing something, but then her back curves in and her ass presses against my cock.

The contact of it makes me groan and bite down on her skin more roughly than I intended on doing. In response, her nails stab into my skin, her back arching even more as my knee slides between her legs and I slip my hand up underneath her shirt to grip her hip, her skin warm.

“God, you feel so good…” I trail off as I start sucking on her neck and rubbing my knee against her while she begins rocking her hips with my movements, causing my cock to go rock hard. I could seriously be content with this, just touching her, and it’s frightening that I don’t need to take more, even though I want it. Need is so much different than want. Need is something driven by an addiction while want is something I want do to. Want. I want Violet.

She must think the opposite though because suddenly she’s slipping out from my hold. My eyes widen as she moves away from me, but then she turns around, climbing on top of me and straddling me. Reaching for the collar of her shirt, she yanks it over her head and tosses it onto the floor, strands of her red and black hair falling to her bare shoulders. She’s not wearing a bra or panties and when her nipples hit the air they instantly get hard, which makes my cock instantly get more eager.

“Fuck, baby, I…” I trail off as she helps me slip my boxers off and then returns to my lap. I’ve never had a girl take control like this before. Usually I’m the one that needs the control. And it’s hard not to grab her and flip her over, take things over, but I manage to stay put beneath her and see where this goes.

A small smile touches her lips as she places her hands on my shoulders and pins me down to the mattress. “I think you were going to say something along the lines of I win.” Then she reaches down and grabs my jeans from off the floor. Before I can ask her what she’s doing, she sits back up and puts a condom down on my chest.

“How did you know one was in there?” I ask, picking up the condom.

She shrugs, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I just assumed.”

I frown. “You know I haven’t been with anyone since you, right?”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you had,” she says. “We weren’t together.”

“Well, I haven’t.” And it’s the truth. Sure I’ve thought about messing around, taking my mind off stuff, but going through with it was too hard and always thinking of Violet would put an end to it before things ever got too far.

“I guess you’re a little deprived then.” She rocks her hips, rubbing her wetness against my cock. Jesus, I swear she knows exactly how to get under my skin, in the best fucking way possible.

Something snaps inside me, something that I’ve never felt before. And I feel even more helpless when she starts to lower herself down on me, slipping my dick inside her. Halfway down, I can’t take it anymore and with one hard thrust, I slam my hips against her and thrust my cock deep inside her.

She immediately winces and bites down on her lip, her muscles tightening around me. I freeze, suddenly remembering that she’s only had sex once, and that was two months ago. She’s still tight as hell and I was rough. Really, really fucking rough.

“Shit, did I hurt you,” I ask, sweeping some of her hair out of her face as her fingernails stab into my shoulders.

She shakes her head, the pain in her expression shifting to pleasure as she rolls her hips. “No… it feels good, just a little intense… it’s been a while…” She repeats the rolling movement over and over again with her hips, going slowly, as if she’s savoring the sensations, her hands going to her shoulders and she runs her fingers down her body.

It’s driving me crazy, watching her eyes gloss over, her lips part as she presses down on me, touching herself, totally in control. Finally, I lose it again and start moving with her, thrusting my hips upward, my hands finding her waist and holding on. I move slow at first, but then get faster, harder, rougher the more she moans. Her grip on me loosens as her head starts to fall back and I sit up, still holding onto her and moving, so I can press my lips to hers. She kisses back briefly, but is so lost in the moment, she ends up biting down on my bottom lip.

“Harder,” she gasps, pressing against me as I rock into her, our movements matching perfectly. “Oh God… please… harder…”

I’m terrified beyond imaginable. Seriously. I can’t think about anything else but her. Every single part of me belongs to her at that moment. I feel something change inside me, something that makes me want to be a better person forever.

I love you. I want to say. My problems are momentarily forgotten. Life is momentarily forgotten. And all I can do is hold on and hope I never have to let go.

Violet

Holy hell, this is way, way better than the first time I had sex. Less painful. More intense. But I think that might be because Luke is letting go more this time instead of being careful with me.

I’m on top of him, clutching onto his shoulders, while he sits up and thrust deep inside me, the movement of my hips matching his. One of his hands is gripping at my waist, while the other rests at the base of my neck, putting gentle pressure against my flesh as he holds onto me and kisses me with so much passion I can barely breathe.

We keep moving and moving, getting more lost in each other, our skin beading with sweat as we become breathless, exhausted, but it feels way too good to stop—I never want it to stop. And he seems to feel the same way too, savoring each kiss, grip, bite, each brush of our skin and uniting of our bodies until we both fall helplessly into bliss at the same time.

I cry out in sheer pleasure, the sound of my voice unrecognizable as my fingers stab at his skin in desperation, needing to hold onto something. Luke keeps thrusting into me a few moments longer before he starts to slow, pressing one last time deep inside of me as his head collapses against my chest.

He remains still for a while, breathing heavily against my chest, like he’s afraid to move. I kind of don’t want him to either, because everything feels perfect right now, which is rare for me, if nonexistent. But eventually he shifts back down, slipping out of me, but bringing me with him and pulling me against him as we lie in the bed, face to face. As the lamp cast the light over his cheek, I realize there’s a massive lump there, on top of a preexisting bruise and a little bit of dried blood. I’d been so caught up in the intimate moment, I hadn’t realized it was there until now.

“What happened?” I ask, gently placing my hand over the injury. “Did you get in a fight?”

He shrugs, eyes on mine as he leans into my touch as if my hand is soothing him. “A little one, but nothing too major.”

“Did you get caught cheating?”

His breath falters from his lips. “Cole did, but it’s not that big of a deal. I don’t owe any money or anything.”

His voice is off pitch and all that peace we had moments ago shatters into a million pieces I so want to put it back together again. “They took the money, didn’t they?” I ask with a frown.

He doesn’t answer my question, only uttering, “I’ll figure something out.” He blows out a tired breath and then rubs his eyes, appearing worn out.

“”I want to help,” I tell him, tracing the lines of one of his tattoos on his rib cage. There are actually several tattoos on him and he told me once that he went through a phase where he’d get a tattoo every time he felt shitty, which meant he felt shitty a lot. “Let me help.”

“I’m not going to let you deal drugs to help me,” he says in a clipped tone, shaking his head. “I’d rather get the shit beat out of me than have you do that and owe him.” His expression softens a little as he puts a hand on my back and gently sketches his finger up and down my spine. “Let me sleep on it. I might have an idea, but I need to figure out how desperate I am.”

I don’t know what his idea is, but it worries me, because the last time I saw that look of pure helplessness on his face was the night he told me that his mother could possibly be my parent’s killer.