The Destiny Of Violet And Luke Part 3

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 d.a.m.n 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 s.h.i.t," someone says from beside me and I stop. "I can see you didn't take my advice and stay off that d.a.m.n 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. "G.o.d, 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.

"s.h.i.t." 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 cla.s.s 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 amus.e.m.e.nt-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 cla.s.s."

He crooks his eyebrow. "To chemistry?"

"Yeah," I say. "The cla.s.s 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 st.u.r.dy arms. Even though it would have hurt worse, I would have rather face-planted into the gra.s.s and injured myself, then let my pride be wounded like it is now.

"What are you doing?" My flip flop sc.r.a.pes against the gra.s.s 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 cla.s.s." 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 cla.s.s," I argue, then hold my breath because the scent of his cologne is delicious. "It's important."

"Why? It's just one cla.s.s."

"Because I don't miss cla.s.s. Ever."

He searches my eyes for G.o.d 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 cla.s.s."

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 cla.s.s, 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 s.h.i.t, 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 pa.s.s 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 cla.s.s, 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 a.n.a.lyze 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 a.s.s if I asked her anything personal. Although, the idea of her trying to kick my a.s.s 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 f.u.c.king 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 a.s.s.

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 s.l.u.tty, 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 c.o.c.ky look like she knows I was looking at her first. I'm not sure how to react to this, because usually I'm the c.o.c.ky one. p.i.s.sed 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 cla.s.s and when the professor lets the cla.s.s 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 cla.s.sroom.

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 f.u.c.king 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 f.u.c.king 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 cla.s.ses. 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 cla.s.s and I'm thrown off by her c.o.c.ky att.i.tude again. I almost break down and ask her what the h.e.l.l 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 b.u.t.ton 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 h.e.l.l 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 a.s.s 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 s.h.i.t 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 p.i.s.sed 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 b.u.t.ton.

"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.

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 pa.s.s 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 a.n.a.lyze 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 b.i.t.c.hy att.i.tude 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 bas.e.m.e.nt 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 bas.e.m.e.nts 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 s.h.i.t 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 G.o.d 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 naive 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."