The Coincidence 03 The Destiny of Violet and Luke ARC (8 page)

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 hell 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 ass 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 shit 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 pissed 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 button.

“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 pass on the street. It could be any of them and I worry that maybe they’ll recognize me. Even though I’m not sure, there’s always that question in my mind if one of them saw me that night, because they looked right at me, but never said a word. It’s something that’s haunted me to this day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure. Why not?”

“You’re such a sick freak.”

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

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

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

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