The Destiny Of Violet And Luke Part 2

"Did not."

"Did-"

"Stop." I cut him off because this could go on forever and J is starting to stir. "Look, I really want to get out of here. I've got a final to study for. And a life to get back to." The last part is kind of a lie, but it sounds like a good point to make in theory. "So should I take the pills and the cash or just the cash?"

He pauses. "How much does he have on him?"

I sigh and pat the front pockets in J's slacks, but they're empty. Pressing the phone between my cheek and my shoulder I use both my hands to rotate him on his side and then I check his back pockets and find his wallet in one of them. I take it out and step away from the bed, opening it and counting the money inside.

"There's a hundred bucks in his wallet." I frown, knowing what it means.

"Well, isn't that interesting, since I told him it was going to be two hundred bucks for a bag," Preston replies in a calm voice.

"So you want me to take the pills, too," I say flatly. Sometimes when I'm doing something I'm not totally comfortable with, like stealing from an unconscious guy, my conscience tries to wake up on me.

"I think it's only fair," he replies simply. "Especially since he was obviously going to screw you over."

"Maybe he has the money somewhere else," I suggest, but even I can hear the doubt in my voice.

"Or maybe he was just going to try and f.u.c.k you over," he says. "Literally."

I blow out a breath and take the cash out of the wallet, feeling the slightest bit guilty. Then I drop the wallet onto the bed, reach over J, and s.n.a.t.c.h up the bag of pills. I put the cash and pills into my pocket, then head for the door.

"Give me like a half an hour and I'll be at your house," I tell Preston, opening the door.

"Sounds good," he replies as the music in the hall drowns over me. "And, Violet, remember, I'm a nice guy and everything but don't try to screw me over." He always says this as a warning, reminding me that business comes before our friends.h.i.+p... our foster-parent bond... whatever the h.e.l.l we have. He used to not be this intense when I was younger, but now he'll say just about anything. It makes me nervous and uncomfortable, but I never say anything about it, worried I'll lose the only family I have.

"I remember." I step out into the hall, but halt when I spot a group of guys I'm pretty sure I've scammed before, standing at the end of the hall. "Look, I got to go." I hang up and stuff the phone into my jacket pocket.

One of the guys with a really thick neck points at me, saying something, and the rest of their gazes wander in my direction.

"Hey, I know you, don't I?" the tallest one says as he strolls down the hall in my direction. "You're that girl, right? The one who sold me the stuff at that party a month ago. The one that f.u.c.king screwed me over." I spot anger in his eyes at the same time I note the thickness of his arms that can easily hurt me. For a moment, I just stand there, letting the group of them get close to me, feeling the beat of my heart accelerate inside my chest, alive and thriving-finally awake.

But when they're almost within arm's reach, I whirl around and run back into the bedroom where J's sleeping. I lock the door and then search through the dark for a solution.

"Open the door, you f.u.c.king c.u.n.t!" One of them bangs on the door as they shout loudly over the music and J lets out a loud snore.

It's not the first time I've been in this kind of situation, and I doubt it will be my last. I wonder what my mom and dad would think of me if they were here now? Would they be ashamed? But they're not here and there's no one else in the world that really gives a s.h.i.+t what I do with my life. I can't just wait around here and wait for something-or someone to show up and miraculously help me. I'm in this on my own, which is for the story of my life.

Striding over to the window, I pry it open and pop the screen off. Tossing it onto the floor, I lean over the edge and look down the two-story drop to the wooden fence right below the window. It's not that far of a fall, but if I land on the fence things could go badly, like one of the pieces of wood could get lodged in my body or I could land the wrong way and hit my neck or head on it. They're such morbid thoughts, but my mind always goes to that dark place. The what-ifs of death. Those random occurrences that no one can control. Most of my life has been based on one random occurrence of death.

I know if I jump, either I'll safely land on the gra.s.s just over the fence or I'll mess up and get hurt, maybe even killed if random occurrences really hate me. Either way, I don't care what the h.e.l.l happens to me, so I climb up onto the windowsill, letting destiny take over as I slide my legs over the edge. I hear the lock on the door click and open. My time here at this place is up.

My heart speeds up and I breathe in the rush of knowing that something tragic could happen to me. It makes me feel alive and without any hesitation, I jump.

Luke (Freshman year of college) My night has been filled with shot after shot. Empty gla.s.s after empty gla.s.s. I knock back one after another as the sound of the music vibrates inside my chest. With each scorching swallow of Bacardi, tequila, Jager, I feel more at ease, letting all my worries and the fact that I haven't checked my insulin slowly erase from my mind. My tongue becomes numb. My lips. My body. My heart. My mind. It's a f.u.c.king beautiful state of mind to be in and I wish I could never leave it-most days I don't.

After I lose count of how many shots I've downed and how many a.s.ses I've had grind up against me, I ditch the club with the woman I've been dancing with for the last two songs, debating what to do-f.u.c.k, wander around, go find a place to gamble. There's a familiar burn inside my chest as I drown in a sea of alcohol, where nothing bothers me. I relax and breathe the cool night air and just exist without all the weight of my past inside me. I've been drinking more frequently, especially since my past has been forcing its way into my life again. Stuff's been happening with my sister, Amy, specifically questions about her suicide that happened eight years ago. I thought it'd been put to rest, but it was brought up a month or so ago, questions mainly about what really drove her to throw herself off the roof that night. Plus, on top of it, my dad's decided he wants to become a huge part of my life again, after being pretty much absent since I was five. It's bulls.h.i.+t and I don't want to think about it or deal with it. I just want to get trashed, f.u.c.k as many women as I can, and live my life the way that I want to.

I lose track of how much time has gone but somewhere along the lines I stop walking and end up with my back against the tree. I'm not aware of too much going on but there are three things I'm sure of: (a) It's nighttime, since I can see the stars, (b) I feel very relaxed and in control at the moment, and (c) there's a blonde kneeling down in front of me with her mouth on my c.o.c.k.

I have a fistful of her hair as she sucks me off, muttering something incoherent every once and a while. As she moves her mouth back and forth I feel myself verging closer to exploding and I let myself go as I approach it. It's the only few moments of peace that I have, where I don't have to think about the past, the future, just the G.o.d d.a.m.n moment. Once I'm done, though, the silence of the night tears at my chest as there's nothing left to do but think. I'm back to that place where my past and who I am haunts me. The only thing that gets me through is the fact that my body is numbed by the potent amount of alcohol in my bloodstream.

I zip up my pants as the blonde gets back up to her feet. She mutters something about that being amazing, biting her lip as she tracks her fingers up my chest, looking like she's waiting for me to return the favor. I'm not going to, though. I only do things for myself and no one else. I spent too much time when I was younger living under restrictions, never living for myself, never enjoying things, and I refuse to go back to that place again.

I shove her hand off and head down the sidewalk, hoping she'll just stay behind. But she follows, her high heels clicking against the concrete as she rushes to keep up.

"G.o.d, it's such a beautiful night," she says with a contented sigh.

"If you say so," I say. "Don't you need to go back to the club and catch a ride home?"

"You said you were going to take me home," she reminds me, rus.h.i.+ng to keep up with me.

"I did?" I sway as a maneuver around what looks like a bush in the middle of the sidewalk... no, that can't be right. I b.u.mp my hip on a fence and stumble off the gra.s.s and back onto the sidewalk "Yeah, you said you'd love to give me a ride." She braces herself by grabbing my shoulder, then giggles. G.o.d, I hate gigglers. I really need to start paying more attention when I pick them up to avoid getting stuck with a Miss f.u.c.king Giggles.

"I'm pretty sure you misunderstood me." I move my shoulder out from under her hand, stepping back onto the gra.s.s, and causing her to miss a step. She looks stunned, but still grins at me as she adjusts her b.o.o.bs in her dress, pus.h.i.+ng them up so they bulge out. I'm sure she does it on purpose, trying to remind me what she's giving me if I take her back to my place, but what she doesn't realize is that I've already had it. A lot. And I don't care about what she gives to me as much as I care about what I took from her back behind the tree.

There's a party going on in one of the townhouses nearby and music booms and vibrates the ground. We're walking in the ritzier side of town, made up of two-story townhouses, the yards matching, and the sidewalk is lined with trees and a fence. I'm not even sure how I got here, nor do I know the way back to my dorm. Sometimes I wonder how the h.e.l.l I get into these messes.

I really need to stop drinking.

I laugh at my own absurd thought as I stop to retrieve my cigarettes from my s.h.i.+rt pocket. The only time I can actually deal with the chaotic aspects of life is when I'm drunk, otherwise I panic for some structure. I never had structure when I was a kid. I had a crazy mom who did crazy s.h.i.+t and dragged me into her crazy world, making me feel crazy with her. I still have nightmares about some of the stuff I saw or heard her do and I need order, otherwise the vile, sick feeling I experienced when I was a kid owns me.

I pop a cigarette into my mouth and light the end with a lighter I dig out of the back pocket of my jeans. I light the end, deeply inhale, and blow out a cloud of smoke. I start walking again, zigzagging back and forth between the sidewalk and the gra.s.s just to the side of it, running into the fence a few times "Where are we going?" the blonde asks as she tugs on the bottom of her dress, hurrying to keep up with me.

I graze my thumb on the end of the cigarette and ash it onto the ground. "I'm going to my place."

"That's cool," she says with a slight slur to her speech, not taking my not-so-subtle hint. "We can just walk wherever."

She doesn't look that drunk and she only drank girly fruity drinks at the club, but her voice is portraying otherwise. She's putting a lot of trust in me at the moment, to get her wherever it is she's going and whatever it is she's looking for. Maybe s.e.x. The best o.r.g.a.s.m of her life. A fleeting escape from reality. Maybe she's looking for love or someone she can connect with. From the needy, I'll-do-anything-you-want look in her eyes, I'm guessing it's the latter. And if it is, she's not going to get it from me.

I consider my two options. I can take her back behind a tree again and just bang the s.h.i.+t out of her until she's crying out my name and I get a few more moments away from the helpless, drowning feeling inside me-get the control I need. Or I can call my friend and roommate, Kayden, to come pick my drunken a.s.s up, because I'm getting exhausted.

I'm battling my indecisiveness when I hear this strange swoos.h.i.+ng sound coming from above me. I look up just in time to see something tumble out the window of the townhouse we're pa.s.sing.

I stagger back onto the gra.s.s as it falls toward me and stick out my arm out to push Blondie back. The tips of a pair of clunky boots clip my forehead and I stumble over my feet as something lands on the gra.s.s in front of me and rolls down the shallow incline toward the sidewalk.

"What the h.e.l.l," Blondie says as she rolls her ankle and her foot slips out of her shoe. She quickly works to fix her hair, smoothing her hands over it.

Catching my breath, I shake my head, which is going to hurt like h.e.l.l in the morning when I sober up. Usually when I'm this wasted my heart goes still, but my pulse has forced its way through the multiple shots I hammered back and suddenly I feel sober.

Blowing out a tense breath, I focus on whatever the h.e.l.l just fell from the window as I mentally tell my heart rate to shut the f.u.c.k up. At first I think I'm seeing things, so I blink my eyes a few times at the... person... a girl lying on her back, groaning as she clutches her ankle.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it... that hurt," she moans, rolling to her side.

My heart is still racing and I move my hand toward my mouth to take a drag, hoping nicotine will settle it down but realize I've lost my cigarette somewhere. "s.h.i.+t, are you okay?" I drag my fingers through my cropped brown hair as I glance up at the window she fell from, then back at her, wondering if I should help her up or something.

She releases a grunting breath as she gets up on her hands and knees and pushes to her feet. Her legs wobble as she gets to her feet, then she limps forward, trying not to put weight on her right ankle. "Yeah, I'm fine." Her voice is tight, and normally I'd back off from her leave-me-the-f.u.c.k-alone att.i.tude, but she just fell out of a f.u.c.king window and a painful sense of deja vu hits me square in the chest as I wonder if Amy fell the same way.

"Did you hurt your foot or something?" I follow after her as she limps down the sidewalk. Blondie calls out that she can't find her shoe, but I ignore her, walking after the girl. I'm not even one-hundred-percent sure why other than I'm worried she might be hurt or that she might have been trying to hurt herself on purpose, like my sister Amy did, only she never walked away from it.

"I'm fine," she says and then picks up her pace when a guy shouts something out the window she fell from. "Now go away."

I look down at her ankle, hidden under her boot. It's obvious it's causing her pain by the way she won't put pressure on it. "You shouldn't be putting weight on it if it hurts. You could f.u.c.k it up more."

At the corner of the sidewalk, she veers to the left, and steps into the light of the lampposts surrounding the parking lot. I finally get a good look at her and recognition clicks. She's got long black hair with streaks of red in it that match the shade of her plump lips. She's wearing a leather jacket over a tight black dress and her boots-the ones that put a lump on my head-go all the way up her long legs, stopping at her thighs.

"Hey, I know you," I state as we step off the curb. "Don't I?"

"How should I know?" She peers over her shoulder at me, giving me a once-over. I can tell she does know me, by the recognition in her expression, just like I'm almost certain I know her.

She continues to hobble toward a row of parked cars and I walk with her.

"Wait... I've seen you around at UW... We have Chemistry together." I make the connection as she stuffs her hand into the pocket of her jacket. "And I think you're Callie Lawrence's roommate?" I point a finger at her. "Violet... something or other?"

She shakes her head as she removes her keys from her pocket. "And you're Luke Price. The stoically aloof and somewhat intense man-wh.o.r.e/football player who dorms it up with Kayden Owens." She stops in front of a battered up Cadillac. "Yeah, we know each other. So what?" She extends her hand toward the lock on the door, holding the key, but I grab her arm and stop her.

"Wait, 'stoically aloof'?" I ask, slightly offended. "What the h.e.l.l does that mean?" I've crossed paths with her quite a few times, but never actually talked to her. I've heard Callie say she's intense, which I'm getting right now. But people say that about me, too, and it's for a reason. A dark reason I don't like to talk about. I wonder if she has a reason, too, or if she's just a b.i.t.c.h. Plain and simple.

"It means whatever the h.e.l.l you want it to mean." She jams the key into the lock and unlocks the door, glancing over the roof of the car. "Now will you please let go of my arm?"

I'd completely forgotten that I was touching her and I instantly let go, tracking the line of her gaze to the sidewalk and a guy heading toward us. When I look back at her, there's panic in her eyes, but when she notices me staring at her, the look quickly disappears and is replaced by indifference.

"Is that guy messing with you?" I ask. "Because if he is I can kick his a.s.s if you need me to." I cringe as I say it because most of the time when I start swinging punches I have a hard time stopping.

She seems shocked for a very intense split second but then again the look vanishes. "I can take care of myself." She leans into the car and falls into the driver's seat. She puts her hand on the steering wheel and takes a breath before looking up at me. "Look, I'm sorry I kicked you in the face during my fall." She carefully pulls her leg in, wincing from the pain. "I didn't mean to."

I touch my finger to my forehead, feeling the forming lump. "It's not a big deal," I tell her. "But I'd really like to know why you... fell out the window." I'm not sure if "fell" is the right word. She could have jumped. On purpose. For so many reasons.

"I didn't fall... I jumped." She stares up at me and I see something in her eyes. I have to search my hazy brain for what it is, but finally I get there. Detachment. Like she feels and cares about nothing. For a brief second I envy her.

Before I can say anything else, she glances through the winds.h.i.+eld at the guy who's reached the border of the parking lot and then she slams the car door. She revs the engine and I have to jump back as she peels out of the parking lot, driving away like her life depends on it and all I can wonder is what the h.e.l.l she's running from.

Chapter 2.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Terrible, horrible monsters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I trip to the side and drop my book. "d.a.m.n it!" I shout, bracing my hand on a nearby tree as the pain spreads up my leg.

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

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

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

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