The Certainty of Violet & Luke(13)

‘I have to get out of this damn room,’ I mutter to myself as I hurry over to my closet and get my leather jacket and boots. I put them on then head out, grabbing the keys and my wallet off the kitchen counter on my way. I momentarily hesitate before stepping outside, with the slightest ping of guilt for bailing without telling Seth where I’m going like I promised Luke I would. I don’t want to explain to Seth, though, why I’m freaking out at the moment. So I hop over the threshold and close the door behind me, the guilt building inside my chest like bricks of steel. I know going out alone isn’t necessarily the safest thing for me to do, and deep down I know Luke has every reason for me not to go out by myself. Detective Stephner would agree with him. Preston’s obsession with me is beyond creepy … that room with all those photos of me, some from when I was young. It’s disturbing and anyone would worry, except me. Plus he continues to text me from random numbers and then of course there’s the box from last night. I also wonder if there might be more to it that I’m not even getting told. The fact that the police send a cop car over here every night has to make me wonder, but what Detective Stephner would keep from me, I have no idea.

‘I should just walk back into the house and lock the door,’ I say, trying to convince myself, but it doesn’t work and I end up trotting down the stairway. Because I’m twisted, broken, messed up. A million different things. The voice inside my head is not my own, but a choir made up of my foster parents over the years. This is what I do. I mess up. I do everything wrong. I shut down because it’s easy and I’m the kind of person that takes the easy way out.

Needing a distraction from the voices, I retrieve my phone out of my pocket and text Greyson, figuring I can tolerate hanging out with him right now. Plus, he can also tell Seth that I’m with him, that way I’m keeping my promise to Luke without having to go explain to Seth that I’m freaking out and need to get the f*ck out of the apartment.

Me: Where r u at?

I head down the stairs, waiting for his response. It’s chilly, autumn rolling in and crisping the leaves and grass. I can feel the Wyoming breeze stinging my cheeks and can hear wind chimes singing from somewhere nearby. It seems peaceful. I wish I could freeze. Never take a step forward, never take a step back. Just hold onto this moment, stop moving, stop breathing. Forever. But the phone buzzes from inside my pocket and I have to move again. Sucking in a breath of air, I swipe my finger across the screen, noticing that along with the text message, I have a voicemail. I have no idea when I missed the call but decide to open the text first, since it’s from Greyson.

Greyson: At work. What’s up? U ok?

Me: Yeah, just bored. Took a break from class today. Mind if I come chill at the bar?

Greyson: U know Benny will probably get u to work if u show up here. We’re understaffed.

Me: Better than sitting in the house.

Greyson: Alright, come down then. I’m bored anyway. Bars always slow in the afternoon. Not even sure why Benny insists on keeping it open. The dining side is mad crowded though.

He keeps it open for people like me who want to start drinking early because that’s what I’m going to do if I go there.

My hand trembles at the revelation. Is that where I’ve gotten? Am I that bad? Do I care? About anything? I’m not sure – I’m not sure about anything anymore. I used to be so anti-drinking. And I dealt drugs but rarely dabbled in substances, mainly because it f*cked with my head and my head’s already too f*cked up to begin with. But ever since the thing with Preston I’ve been living in a cloud I chose to create, because it helps me forget all the dirty things I did with him …

‘Wow, I’m a real freaking mess.’ Reality slaps me across the face, cold and hard. I stand there on the steps for a while, motionless.

Always motionless.

Never moving.

It’s not anything new, but it still gets to me every time I think about it – what I’ve become – and my fingers are a little unsteady as I type a response.

Me: C ya in about 15 min.

I listen to the voicemail as I trudge the rest of the way down the stairs, the weight of my life crushing down on me. Things only get worse when I listen to Detective Stephner’s voicemail. At first I think it’s just him giving me an update, even though I’m usually the one that calls him. But when I realize what he’s saying … no I had to have heard him wrong. I have to replay the message. I replay it again and again.

‘No … It can’t be …’ His words slam against my chest, crash over me like a fierce ocean wave that makes me feel like I’m drowning. And instead of fighting it, I just stand there letting the water take me away.