Brutal Obsession (3)

A sigh escapes before I can school my features into something a little more… regretful. “Well, I was embarrassed.”

That’s a lie. I just didn’t want to face whatever the fuck emotional roller coaster I was riding the last six months. Seriously. My life went from normal to shit in a split second. Adding Jack—and the life that I thought I had, the one that seemed to go up in a puff of smoke when I woke up in the hospital—would’ve been more pain than I was ready to accept.

“Violet!”

I step away from Jack, ignoring his wounded expression, and turn to my other friends. Half the dance team is here, and they all crowd around me. Someone pulls at my coffee-stained blouse, and another swoops in to clean the floor where my cup dropped. I had forgotten, in my Jack-shock.

“Lucky it wasn’t hot.” Willow nudges me.

“Luck and I aren’t on speaking terms.”

She visited faithfully every day while I was stuck in the hospital. Kept me sane, kept me looped in to the gossip. She’s the only one who knows what I went through, and I’m keeping it that way. I’m not in the habit of airing my dirty laundry—or my newfound nightmares. I’ve been plagued by bright lights, crunching metal, and snapping bones.

She rolls her eyes at my luck comment. “You need to change. We’re taking you out.”

Oh boy. My first instinct is to say no, but honestly? I could use a bit of normalcy. My therapist—the talk one, not the physical one—said something about getting back into a routine. Well, for the last two years, I’ve gone out with my girls on Friday nights. There’s nothing more normal than that.

I’m actually looking forward to it.

She leads the way to the bedroom I haven’t been in since… before. She steps aside and lets me do the honors. Opening the door is like cracking into a time capsule.

Fucking devastating.

Willow stands behind me, her hand on my shoulder, as I stare around at the remnants of the person I used to be. If I wasn’t aware of how different I was after six months away, I am now. Mentally, physically.

There are still clothes that I left on the floor. My chair is pulled out and covered in clothes. There’s a pile of books that I had planned to conquer over the summer in the center of the desk. My bed is made.

“I kept the door open sometimes,” Willow says. “Especially in the last week. So it shouldn’t smell too stale… Also, I changed your sheets. You’re welcome.”

I crack a smile. “Thanks.”

The luggage that I dragged inside earlier today is now at the foot of my bed—courtesy of Willow, I presume.

I step inside and go straight to the wall of pictures. Dance team competitions, selfies with my girls, photos of Jack and me at nearly every event you can think of—concerts and football games and the beach and house parties. Bonfires on the lake.

“You know I love surprises. So, thanks for that.”

Willow snorts. She and I met in high school, and we’ve been through thick and thin together. We’ve seen each other at our best… and worst. Evidently.

“The team wanted to be here when you got back.” She smirks. “Well, most of them.”

There are some girls on the dance team that Willow and I never vibed with. They’ve just got sticks up their asses, so why would we be friends with them? They only cared about chasing whatever team was doing well. Football, hockey, lacrosse.

Boring.

I go to my closet. “Jack and I broke up.”

“I know.”

“Of course you know,” I grumble. “You still invited him.” I yank it open and flip through clothes. I lost weight while I was away—but most of it was muscle mass. My body is soft where I used to be strong. Physical therapy helped, but not nearly enough. Not enough to give me back the muscles I had before.

“He begged. And he does look cute when he’s on his knees…”

I glare at her. “Seriously?”

She shrugs, still smiling. “I think he missed you. He made a point that you like to isolate when you stress, which is true. You can’t deny it. We’re just trying to prevent that from happening, is all.”

Freaking hell. I can’t explain the knotting high in my chest, but I need to explain it to her. “He missed the dance team, peppy version of me. I’ve been doused in…” I struggle to find the right way to explain, finally settling on, “gray.”

“Violet’s gone to the dark side, then? Well, to keep up with that thinking, how about this?” She plucks out a black sequined dress.

I’ve only worn that one a handful of times. It’s short and sexy, and immediately bile rises up my throat. I swallow hard.

“No.” My voice is flat.

She raises an eyebrow. “Is it because—”

“I’m not going to show off my leg on my first day back. Or ever.” My leg. I really don’t want to talk about my leg. “My days of shorts and skirts are over.”

I pick out black leather pants and a pink sweater. Compromise. There’s snow on the ground, after all, and if we’re going out, I don’t want to freeze to death.

Willow closes my door and leans against it, filling me in on the latest drama while I change. She doesn’t flinch when I pull off my pants and reveal the thick scar on my lower leg. The surgeons did their best, but they had to cut me open. My tibia and fibula were both broken—snapped nearly clean through.