The Probability of Violet and Luke

Chapter 6

Luke

We leave Violet’s house with a little more confrontation from Preston, but I can tell the guy is a total pussy, backing down when I challenge him because he knows I can beat his ass. He makes me sick, how he treats her, uses her lack of family as a weapon against her. It’s like an obsession—a sick obsession like my mother has with controlling me.

But I try not to think about that as we drive out of town and onto the highway. It’s late, the moon bright in the sky as we head in the direction of Vegas, which is about a twelve-hour drive from Laramie. Violet is by my side, sitting quietly. Well, sitting in the same truck as me since she’s managed to put as much distance between us as possible, leaning up against the passenger door. Space. There seems like so much of it between us, even though I could reach over and touch her.

For a while, I think she’s fallen asleep, her head resting against the window, her weight leaning against the door, her chest rising up and down as she breathes softly. I’m reaching for the stereo to turn on some music, when she abruptly sits up, looking very much awake.

“So what exactly did he say to you?” she asks, turning toward me and bringing her leg up onto the seat.

I return my hand to the steering wheel. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Actually, I am, but I don’t want to talk about it… don’t even want to think about it.

“Preston.” Her voice is flat—emotionless—like when I first met her and it kills me on the inside hearing it again. “In the living room, when I walked away, did he tell you what I’ve been doing for the last two months while I was staying with him?” She’s trying to remain indifferent, but her voice cracks at the end, revealing how much it hurts her and makes me want to hurt Preston more than anything.

“I don’t care what he said,” I say, gripping the steering wheel tightly as I attempt to focus on the road instead of the anger burning inside me. “I only care what you say.” I pause, waiting for her to tell me. It’s not like it was a new revelation. I’d seen them kissing in the parking lot earlier today, but still, it feels like there’s so much more to it, or maybe that’s just me being stupid and naïve, something I never thought of myself as before. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

God, she’s so hard to read when she’s this closed off. “Do you want to talk about anything at all?” Like the big old stinking elephant sitting between us, taking up most of the room in the truck. Are we ready to go there yet?

She considers what I said, her eyes wandering upward toward the night sky. “Do you still have that sex tape in here?”

What the hell? “Sex tape… I’ve never made a sex tape.” That’s a lie. I did once when I was eighteen and there was this girl who was really into some kinky shit. But Violet shouldn’t know about that nor do I want her to.

Her gaze lands on me, but it’s too dark to see her expression. “You’re totally lying to me right now—you’ve made one.” Her tone is light, curious. “You know, I’d like to say that I’m surprised but I’m not.”

I relax a little as her playfulness emerges. “Okay, I’m trying to decide whether I should be offended by that or not. Like you think I’m some kind of man-whore.” Which I am—was. Not anymore though.

“You don’t need to be offended,” she promises with a hint of amusement in her voice. “Besides, I’m sure it was an excellent tape.”

God, what I would give to see the expression on her face as she sits back in the seat, tucking her legs under her, her thighs barely covered as her dress rides up and makes me want to slide over and finish what we started back in Geraldson’s bathroom.

Now is not the time to get a hard on.

“And besides, I wasn’t talking about an actual sex tape,” Violet continues. “But that music tape I found in here once that was labeled fuck me or something like that.”

Hearing her say fuck me makes my dick go rock hard. But there’s no trust between us anymore, no basis for her to want me to touch her, no nothing except my longing to get through her impenetrable wall so all it’s going to get me is a severe case of blue balls.

I try to discretely adjust myself. “Oh, I think it’s still under the seat from…” From when you were with me and we were in this very truck, heading out on our very first date. My chest tightens, air constricting, and all I want to do is drink until I can no longer feel my body.

Violet leans forward, lowering her head toward the floor as she reaches under the seat. She rummages around until she finds the tape. “Yep, right were you threw it.” She sits up and reads the label. “My Fuck Tape.” She turns it over in her hand, a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s funny you actually have tapes. Hardly anyone knows what they are anymore.”

“The truck came with a tape player and I’m too cheap to put a new stereo in,” I explain. “Maybe one day though, I’ll change it out.”

She shakes her head as she feeds the tape into the deck. “Don’t. It gives the truck character.” She presses play then sits back, waiting for the song to come on. For the life of me, I can’t remember what the hell’s on there.

Seconds later, I cringe as the first song thumps through the speakers. Violet instantly suppresses her laughter as she covers her mouth with her hand. She stays that way, listening to the lyrics until finally she lowers her hand. “So… is that what you call your special man part?” she asks, choking back her laughter as she slaps her hand over her mouth again.

I shake my head at her and playfully reach over and give her a little shove, knowing I’m being flirty right now, but hey, she started it. “Even if I did have a name for my cock, trust me it’d be a lot better than that.”

She continues laugh, her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she uses her free arm to shove me back. “I can’t believe you’ve had sex to this song.”

“Hey, I never said I had sex with anyone to this,” I protest, even though I have no clue if that’s true. I’m trying not to grin, because I never thought this would be happening again, things being so light between us and I don’t want to get all excited when I know it’s going to crash down at any moment. “And they’re not all bad. Some are actually pretty good.” I reach forward and fast forward to the next song. Nine Inch Nails “Closer” comes on and I let it play, relaxing.

She lowers her hand to her lap and absorbs the lyrics silently. I’m guessing if she wasn’t so good at shielding her emotions, she’d probably be blushing, but it’s not her style. I remember when she told me she was a virgin, back before I took her virginity. She said it so bluntly, so unashamed, that I ended up spitting my drink out on the floor in surprise. The only time I’ve ever seen her show her raw emotions was the one and only time we had sex. It was the first time I didn’t try to hold any emotion back too, which made the moment perfect until a few hours later when everything fell apart. Another time, another place, where I wish I could have stay, because for a moment everything was perfect, but it was just the calm before the storm.

“Okay, this one’s not so bad,” Violet remarks as she lets her head fall back against the seat, her lips part, she’s so relaxed. “In fact, I could see how having sex to this could be good.”

God, what I would give to have sex with her right now. Right here. To this very song.

I could act on it, but I don’t, trying to be the decent guy she was turning me into a couple of months ago. The one who took better care of himself, who didn’t drink so much, who wasn’t so angry.

As I struggle to keep my horniness to myself for the next hour, this weird sexual tension builds between us as she insists on going through the entire tape. Deftones “Change” Nickelback’s, “Something in Your Mouth,” “Addicted” by Saving Abel, the list of songs goes on and on, getting hotter and sexier with each one. It reminds me more and more of the one and only time Violet and I had sex. God, I want her again. Seriously, who’s idea was this? It’s getting so hot in the cab of the truck I crack the window, pretending it’s because I’m going to smoke, when really it’s to cool the hell down, otherwise I’m going to end up having an orgasm while I’m driving.

I’m saturating my lungs with nicotine when finally Violet slides forward on the seat to turn the music down. “You have a really dirty mind, Luke Price. Seriously. Where did you find all those songs?”

I shrug. “I was bored one day, so I made the tape. Took a while, but I was pretty proud of it.”

Her eyes glide to me and twinkle mischievously in the moonlight shining through the windows. “How many times have you had sex while the tape was playing?”

I squirm uncomfortably in the seat as I ash the cigarette out the window. “I feel a little uncomfortable talking to you about this,” I admit.

“Well, it’s a lot easier than talking about all the things we aren’t talking about don’t you think?” She sighs tiredly as she slumps back in the seat.

“We could talk…” I take a long inhale off my cigarette and gradually let it out, smoke circling my face. “If you want to.”

She tenses as she shakes her head and stares out the window to the side of her. “I’m not ready to just yet.” she says quietly. “I want to play make believe for just a little bit longer.”

God, I’ve never felt my heart shatter for someone else more than I have at this moment. I want to pull the truck over, wrap my arms around her, and just hold her. But that’s not really what she’s asking me to do, is it?

So instead I eject the tape and toss it up onto the dash. “You know I have three more of these in the glovebox.”

A smile touches her lips as she sits up and gets the tapes out, going back to playing make believe, pretending that everything is okay, when it’s not.

Violet

I fall asleep sometime around two o’clock in the morning and crash right into my nightmares. The one where I’m in the basement, hiding, listening to the sounds of what I think are fireworks but turn out to be my parent’s deaths. The nightmare has changed over the last two months into something I don’t like.

Luke.

He’s the one who comes into the basement that night, just a boy my age, but he’s not there to hurt anyone. He wants to help me—always wanting to help me.

“Take my hand,” he says as he stands in the middle of the basement, looking right at me hiding in the corner, surrounded by boxes and toys. I don’t understand how he can see me or how he can tell that I’m afraid, but he can. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you—I’ll protect you.”

I shake my head, not daring to move. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he encourages, stepping toward me. “It’s going to be okay.”

“But I’m too scared,” I whisper in horror as sounds fill the house, one’s of pain and destruction.

He kneels down in front of me, his hand still extended out. “She scares me too, but if there’s two of us, maybe things won’t be so scary.”

I hesitate, then finally place my hand in his, crawling out of the corner. There’s a moment where I feel safe as he holds onto my hand, but then I hear the bang. I jerk back, my fingers slipping out of his and the safeness slips from my body as he’s pulled away from me. Stolen by his mother as she starts to sing that stupid song, the one that ruined my life.

My eyelids snap open as I suck in a large breath of air, fighting my lungs to keep breathing, my body to keep thriving, my mind to stay intact as I grasp into the edge of the seat.

“Violet, breathe,” Luke says from beside me. The truck has stopped moving and the sun is up in the bright blue sky, so I can see the worry on his face. He opens his arms to lean in and hug me, but I can’t let him right now, not when the feelings from the nightmare still linger under my skin.

“I’m okay,” I say in a hoarse voice, leaning back against the door and catching my breath. “I was just having a nightmare.”

Luke is the one person in the world who knows what my nightmares are about and I can tell it’s difficult for him not to say anything about it, but he manages to keep his thoughts to himself and grabs the door handle to get out of the car. “The truck needs gas,” he mumbles, trying to shake off my refusal to let him help me. “Why don’t you run in and get something to eat?”

I nod and then wait for him to get out before I climb out myself. I still have my dress on and heels on from yesterday, which are getting really uncomfortable so I grab some fresh clothes from my bag that’s in the back of the truck and head inside the gas station bathroom to change. I put on my Nirvana T-shirt and a pair of jeans, then slip on some flip-flops and pull a beanie over my head so I don’t have to waste time doing my hair. I don’t bother with makeup but I do put some deodorant on before heading out.

I wander up the aisle, checking my phone messages before deciding to call and ask Greyson if he can fill in for me at work, despite how much I don’t want to because it’s asking for a favor. But I don’t have another choice right now.

He answers after four rings, obviously just waking up because I can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “What’s up?” he says with a yawn.

“I need you to take over my shifts at the diner for the next week,” I say, grabbing a bag of Cheetos from the shelf.

“Why? What’s up?”

I pick up a bag of M&Ms as well and then head for the soda section. “Nothing really. I just need a week off.”

He hesitates then says firmly, “No, I’m not going to.”

I’m opening the door to get a Dr. Pepper, but freeze. Greyson’s usually not rude like this to me. That’s more Seth’s thing and even he’s toned it down since we first met so I’m a little thrown off. “Why not?”

“Because you won’t tell me the real reason why.”

“There’s no real reason.” I grab two sodas then let the door shut as I head toward the cash register. “I just need a break. I already told you this.”

“I can tell when you’re lying, Violet,” he says and it makes me cringe. I’ve never been one for letting people get to know me enough to read me, but apparently Greyson can. “Now, if you want to tell me the real reason why, then I’d be more than happy to fill in for you. But if not, then I guess I’ll see you tonight at the diner.”

“Fine.” I grimace. “I can’t make it to work because I’m on a little bit of a road trip.”

“With who?”

“Someone…”

“Violet.”

“Oh my fucking hell.” I drop the food and sodas on the countertop, ignoring the dirty look the fifty-year-old cashier lady gives me for my language. “I’m on the road with Luke okay… heading to Vegas.”

“What?” He’s shocked and I don’t blame him. During one of our little after-work-drinking-sessions we’ve been having, I’d accidentally let it slip out what happened between Luke and me, well some of it anyway. I’m usually good at keeping secrets to myself, but apparently having friends meant turning into a babbling girl who can’t keep her mouth shut or her problems to herself. “How the hell did that end up happening?”

“A freak accident, caused by destiny once again,” I say as I lay a ten-dollar bill down on the counter. “Look, I really don’t want to give anymore details because they’re really not mine to give. But you can call up Luke and see if he feels like telling you what’s going on.” The cashier lady gives me my change and the bag with my stuff as I put the money into my pocket.

“Fine.” Greyson sighs. “I’ll fill in for you, but you’ll eventually give me the details of how this happened and what happens while you’re on the road.”

“Alright, it’s a deal.” I push out the door and head for the truck, noting that Luke’s not there. He must be inside in the bathroom or something.

“And Violet?”

“Yeah?”

“If you need anything, you can call me whenever, okay?” Greyson says. “In fact, promise me you’ll check in.”

I have my hand on the door handle of the truck about to climb in when he says it, but I pause. I’ve never had anyone say that to me. Never had anyone worry about me enough to say it, well besides Luke. Not since my parents died. It makes me feel uneasy, out of my element, exposed, and I’m on the verge of tearing up like some kind of sap. God, what is happening to me? I used to be so tough.

I clear my throat several times before I speak again. “Okay, I will.”

“Good. And be careful... And try to stay out of trouble.”

“You sound like a parent.” I roll my eyes as I toss the bag of food into the truck and hop inside.

“That’s because I worry about you,” he says as I shut the door. “And care.”

I’m not sure how to respond and start choking up again, so I avoid saying anything. “I’ll call you later, okay.” I hurry and say then hang up, my hands slightly shaking as I put my phone into my pocket. Then I roll the window down, letting in some fresh air, and rest my head back, trying to figure out when Greyson and I became friends. I still haven’t told him a lot about me, like the stuff that’s been going on with Preston, my drug dealing, my adrenaline addiction, but apparently we’ve crossed some sort of line where he worries about me and where I agree to try and ease that worry by checking in. “That’s a new one,” I mutter.

Moments later my phone vibrates from my pocket. I think it’s probably Greyson again, wanting to know what times and days I work since I forgot to tell him. But when I take the phone out and see the message is from an unknown number, a chill goes up my spine and all the feel-goods I had in me, vanish.

Unknown: So I’m guessing by your silence that u don’t want to know who did it.

I want to respond that I already know, but I also don’t trust the person on the other line. It has to be another bored reporter, trying to get a story.

Unknown: Tell me Violet, how disgusting does it make u feel, knowing you’ve slept with her son.

My heart stops—dies inside my chest. I forget to breathe. They have to be talking about Luke in reference to being Mira’s son. But how do they know about him? No one does outside of the police, Greyson, and myself. And the police don’t know that I’ve slept with Mira’s son, just that I know him, nor do they fully believe that she’s guilty yet, so why would they text me something like this—why would anyone text me like this?

My heart starts thudding inside my chest, blood howling in my ears.

There was someone else there.

There was someone else there.

There was someone else there.

They know.

They know.

They know.

My breath falters as I text back.

Me: Who the fuck are you?

Unknown: You haven’t figured that out yet? I guess I’m not surprised, considering who your parents were. It always took them a while to figure out things too.

I start to shake with rage and chuck the phone without thinking. It ends up going out the window and when it hits the ground, the back pops off and the battery goes flying into a puddle.

“Dammit.” I shove the door open and hop out of the truck. Then I pick up my phone and stare at the battery in the puddle. It’s useless now. And so is my phone for the moment.

“Is everything okay?” Luke asks as he walks up behind me.

I shake my head. “Not really.” Part of me is relieved that they can’t get a hold of me anymore but the other part is frustrated, worried they actually know something and now I’ve ruined my way of finding out. I need to call Detective Stephner and at least tell him, but his phone number is saved in my contacts.

Sighing, I turn around and face Luke to show him my phone, then point at the battery on the ground behind me. “I think it’s broken… I’m going to have to find a way to get a new one as soon as we get to Vegas.” I flip the phone over in my hand, trying to figure out if it’ll still work with a new battery. There’s a scratch or two, but that’s it. “Maybe just a new battery though.”

“That’s fine, but…” He frowns. “What happened? Did you drop it?”

I shake my head. “No, I threw it out the window.”

He struggles not to ask why, crossing his arms, an energy drink clutched in his hand. “Can I ask why?”

So polite. “Because I got a text message that made me angry.”

He wants to drill me with questions—I can see it on his face. But he doesn’t. “Should we hit the road? We still have a couple more hours to go and I’d like to get there before lunch time.”

He’s changed his t-shirt, but still has the same pair of jeans on. There are bags under his eyes, his lips look chapped, his skin pale, and he’s kind of hunching to the left, probably because it hurts where the guy hit him. “Do you want me to drive?” I offer. “You look tired. And sore.”

He shakes his head and raises the energy drink. “No, I’m good. I just need to drink this and… check my blood sugar… I might need a shot… then I’m good to go.” Even his voice sounds weary.

I stick out my hand. “Let me drive, so you can get some rest.”

He hesitates, then stuffs his hand into his pocket and gets out his keys. As he hands them to me, his knuckles graze my palm and I find myself shivering even though I’m not the slightest bit cold. It’s obvious to him by the look he gives me, but he doesn’t say anything about it as I get in the truck and he grabs something out of his bag. When he climbs into the truck, he has this small leather case in his hand. He takes out the pen-shaped object that checks his blood sugar and pricks his skin, reminding me of the night when I found him in the bar and had to do it for him. He checks the screen then shakes his head, clearly annoyed as he retrieves another object out of the bag that has a needle at the end. He takes the cap off, lifts his shirt, but then hesitates, glancing over at me with a mount of wariness in his eyes. I half expect him to tell me to look away. I almost want to too, but I can’t seem to break eye contact, our gazes somehow welded together.

He ends up squeezing his eyes shut like a scared child afraid of needles. His hands quiver as he puts the needle into his abdomen and injects himself. There’s something strangely intimate about the moment; I can’t even explain it. Like no one has ever seen him do this to himself and he’s afraid to let me see it, but also afraid to be alone. I remember how he told me his mother made him inject her with heroin. Doing this has to be hard for him, painful, aching, and not just physically.

This bubble starts to form around us. Reality slips away. I find myself drifting toward him, wanting to hold his hand, wanting to comfort him, but then suddenly he’s done and just like that the bubble pops and reality comes rushing back to me and weighs me down once again.