The Destiny of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence, #3)(14)

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. Damn 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 class 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*cker,” 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 class. I want to accomplish something for once and that’s getting good grades and eventually doing something with my life other than wandering around, pushing my limits. I’ve managed to attend all of my classes 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 passed around to foster homes.

Sucking up every amount of strength in me, I force myself to try again. Shifting 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 bitch 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 shirt 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 pass 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 grass 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. “Damn 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, shielded, and unbreakable. Yet the memories get to me, force my shield 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. Fuck.

“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.