Me: Thanks man, but I can handle it for now.
Biggest lie I’ve ever told. I’m not handling it at all. Not even a little bit. In fact, Violet seems to be getting worse and worse, and it feels like I’m just standing there watching her destroy her life … I feel so damn helpless.
‘Fuck.’ I curse aloud as I drive down the road, frustrated and pissed off at myself for not doing a better job of keeping an eye on her. There are so many bad things that could happen at the moment, anywhere from her harming herself to Preston getting a hold of her. It sends a chill down my spine and slams me in the stomach hard. I can’t lose her – can’t lose the only person I’ve ever cared about. It’s terrifying to think about and I find myself wishing – hoping – that one day, somehow, things won’t be like this. That they’ll be better. Normal.
Please just let things get better.
Chapter 6
Violet
This is my last attempt to try and make the pain go away; the last attempt to fill the void in my heart. I just hope it works, because nothing else seems to.
I’m standing on the edge of the raging river, watching it flow powerfully over the rocks, curving around the bends, dipping beneath the bridge, beauty at its finest. I wish I was a painter so I could capture the beautifulness. Or a photographer. I wish I were a lot of things; or at least knew what I wanted to be, then maybe this would be easier – life could be easier. If I had direction, a purpose, other than always drifting like the leaves in the water.
I blink the long sequences of thoughts from my mind, ones created from the adrenaline coursing through me, along with an abundance of alcohol. Then I force myself to step up to the edge, where the rushing water meets the sandy shore. I’m only procrastinating, distracting myself from what I came here to do, another attempt after several failed ones. I’m not sure, but today it’s been hard to calm myself down. I’m not sure why. Am I more scared than usual? No. Have I changed my mind? Definitely not. Once I decide I need to do this I’m beyond going back. I’ve reached the emotional point I can’t deal with – don’t know how to deal with – and this is the only way I know how. It’s what I’ve been doing for years and it’s no longer a habit, an escape, but a part of me, engrained into my skin like my tattoos.
‘I need this,’ I whisper and then with a deep breath I wade into the violent water. It soaks through my clothes and hits my skin instantly, a thousand tiny needles, warning me to go back. But I keep going forward, until I’m submerged to the waist … the chest … the neck … I can barely keep my legs under me now, the power of the water fighting to tug me under, suck me up, take me away. Part of me wants to let it, wants to lift my feet up and get carried away into the unknown. I have no idea if I’ll survive and that’s kind of the point. The terrifying, intoxicating point. But the little will left inside me, the one that whispers that it’s not just me anymore, begs me to put up a fight.
‘I don’t know if I want to anymore.’ I call over the water. ‘I’m so tired of fighting just so I can tread with my head above the water.’ The sound of my voice gets lost in the roar of the water as I stand there waiting for … well, I’m not sure. An answer to what I should do? Where do I go from here?
There’s no answer though, and the only choice I have is to wade back to shore. Maybe it’s not the only choice though. After all, I could just give up right now, but I’m not. I’m choosing to go back to my life, to my home, to the people in it. What does that mean?
Unsure, I start to turn around toward the shore again, but mid-turn, my feet get ripped out from under me. A breath later, as my head slams against a rock, I’m engulfed in water. I try to grab onto something, desperately seek to get my footing, but I don’t stand a chance. The water’s too strong and my head is fuzzy from the bump. I can barely see anything … water … rocks … water … myself swirling in the center of it.
Oh my God, I’m going to die.
I’ve never had that thought before. Never truly thought I was going to die through all the things I’ve done. I’ve pushed myself to the edge, but I always knew the point where I’d cross the No Going Back Line and never crossed it.
But now I’ve crossed it.
And I’m going to fucking die right now.
I want to cry because I’m not ready for this, not ready to go. I try to open my mouth to yell for help, remembering that there were people just up the shore, but every time I open my mouth, I swallow huge gulps of water that I choke on. So instead I fight for my life. I fight like a Goddamn person who wants to live more than anything else in the word. I’m surprised how much I fight. How much I want to make it back to the shore. How much I want my life. How much I see the things I want … see the people I want. I swear in the midst of it I hear my father’s voice, telling me to be strong. I swear I see him too, swimming toward me, to help me get back to the shore. It’s just an illusion, though, the person’s face shifting into someone else as they get closer.
But it’s someone.
Someone who maybe can save me. Because God, I want to be saved.
There are people yelling in the distance and I can see the person getting closer. I reach for them and they reach for me, our fingers so close as water swishes over my head and rocks slam at my body. But suddenly a wave rips over me and just like that, they get ripped away, like the water rips me away.
Chapter 7
Luke
I manage to keep myself together as I drive toward the apartment, hoping she’ll be there, crossing my fingers that out of all the bad things that could be going on, it’s actually something that’s okay.
Please, just let her be okay.
I’m halfway there when I get a text. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I see it’s from Greyson.
Greyson: Hey, I have something of yours.
Me: Huh???
Greyson: A girl with black and red hair, a pierced nose, tattoos, a smartass personality. Goes by the name of Violet.
Relief washes over me. She’s with Greyson. Thank God.
Me: Glad she’s with you. I’ve been trying to get a hold of her.
Greyson: Yeah, she’s been busy. With what I have no clue, but she showed up here in wet clothes, with a swollen eye, a cut on her wrist, and drunk beyond comprehension … It’s really bad, Luke. I’m not going to lie. Something must have set her off today. Not sure what though since I can’t get her to talk about it.