The Probability of Violet and Luke(4)

My hand twitches with this aching urge to ball my hand into a fist and punch the casualness off his face. But I bury the urge and zip up my knee-high boot, then get to my feet, reaching for my bag. “I actually need a ride to class, unless you just want to lend me your car for the day.” Please say a simple yes with no strings attached.

“You know I hate doing that unless it’s for dealing,” he says, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms, giving me that look—the one that comes before he asks me to do something for him. “Then I’m just stuck here without a vehicle.”

I swing the handle of my bag over my shoulder. “Well, can you give me a ride then? That way you’ll still have your car.” School has only been going for a few days and it’s already becoming a pain in the ass to get there. I should have just gotten a dorm room, but I stupidly waited to long, thinking I was going to just live in the apartment with Luke, Seth, and Greyson, but that brilliant plan went to shit.

Preston ruffles his hair into place as he crosses the room and comes to a stop in front of me, too close and I can smell him—I hate the smell of him. “I hate doing that because then I have to wait around for a couple of hours to pick you up.”

“Don’t you have anything in town you need to do?” I subtly lean away from him, his scent becoming too nauseating.

He shakes his head. “Not really.” He reaches for his car keys on the coffee table. “But I do have shit to do over at Dan’s.”

My mood plummets. “Dan the pervert?”

He nonchalantly shrugs, swinging his keychain around his finger. “You say pervert. I say a guy who just likes to have fun.” He winks at me. “Just like me.”

“He pays women for sex.” I say it like it changes something, when it clearly doesn’t.

“Money, food, a roof over their head—a lot of people trade stuff for sex.” There’s accusation in his eyes.

Please someone get me the f*ck out of this goddamn place.

I notice how red his eyes are, which means he’s more than likely stoned and that having any form of argument with him is a lost cause. I sigh, giving up, and back toward the door. “Fine, I’ll just hitchhike a ride.” I both love and hate the idea of doing this. Love it because of the thrill. And hate it because I love doing things like this—love the danger because it’s all I have left anymore. Risks. Well, really they’re not risks anymore because what do I have to lose?

Preston rolls his eyes. “Don’t be overdramatic. I’ll drive you to school, but you’re on your own for the day because I have shit to do.”

Finding my own ride anywhere else means probably hitchhiking, since I don’t have any friends, except for maybe Greyson, who I still talk to at work and hang out with sometimes, but I don’t think he has any class today and I hate asking people for favors—it’s bad enough I have to ask Preston.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” I force a chipper tone as I turn for the door, ready to get the day over with.

The last month has been really intense, especially with my parent’s case being highly investigated due to Luke coming forward and giving them information about Mira Price, his mom. I haven’t talked to Luke about it because I can barely look at him as it is, without feeling both agony and something else that I don’t think I’ve felt before. The case still hasn’t gone anywhere. Mira Price has been questioned and detective Stephner, who’s in charge of the investigation, is trying to get enough evidence to get a search warrant for her house. When I asked why Luke and I couldn’t just testify, he said he wasn’t sure if a song would hold up in court—they needed more. DNA proof or something better. I wonder what the hell would be left in her house after all these years—I’m sure she’s destroyed any evidence—so I’m pessimistic at the idea that an arrest will ever be made. However, what the case has done is spark tons of media attention, which has made my life a living hell, people like Stan, the reporter who harassed me through phone calls, popping up left and right. It’s nerve racking, especially because any of the text could be from the real killer since there’s two people out in the world that did it and they could still be lingering around, watching me.

What if he finally comes looking for me?

During one brief, semi-intoxicated meltdown, I told Preston my fears about this, which led to me stupidly divulging more than what I intended, like what went on between Luke and I, which he uses against me. So not only am I constantly looking over my shoulder, but I have Preston reminding me of what I’ll have left if I leave him—absolutely nothing. Still, sometimes I want to take the nothing.