A ripple of guilt sweeps through my body, so powerful I have to pull over the truck and collect myself before driving down the road to avoid getting into an accident.
Me: Where are u guys exactly?
Greyson: At the diner. Thankfully the bars pretty empty so I can keep an eye on her, but it’s going to pick up around three or so. Can u pick her up? I’d take her home myself but we’re understaffed as it is.
Me: On my way now.
I drive like a bat out of hell down the streets of Laramie, breaking too many traffic laws to count. But I’m flipping worried, not just about Violet being drunk, but because she showed up at the diner with wet clothes and bruises. I know enough about Violet to understand that she could have done this to herself. I thought she’d been taking it easy on the adrenaline seeking, but now I’m not so sure.
It takes me half the usual time to get to the diner and by the time I get there, I’m all jacked up on my own adrenaline, my mind racing with a ton of ideas of what Violet was doing while I was at class. I never should have left her home alone. I should have stayed with her.
I hop out of the truck and hurry to the back door of the diner. It’s cloudy, the sky grey, the wind chilly, and I swear to God I can hear thunder rumbling in the distance like a goddamn omen. When I open the door and walk inside the diner, the first thing I notice is how quiet it is. It’s unsettling and the feeling only amplifies when the first noise I hear is the muffled sound of cries. I turn the corner and step out into the shelf area that’s tucked between the kitchen and the bar and find Violet huddled in the corner with legs pulled to her chest. Her hair is a tangled mess and there’s dirt on her clothes. Her bloodshot eyes are focused on empty space and tears are streaming down her cheeks. So much sadness pouring out of her yet she looks so empty inside.
‘Jesus Christ.’ I don’t even mean to say it aloud. It sort of slips out, but it’s a little bit of a shock to see her like this. I’ve only seen her cry a couple of times and she hated that even I saw it. Out here in the open where anyone can see her … whatever happened must have been bad.
I approach her like she’s a skittish cat can’t but she doesn’t even notice me until I’m pretty much standing in front of her. Then she tips her chin back and looks up at me, eyes big and water, so lost, swarming with confused.
I have to work to keep myself composed. ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, crouching down in front of her. When she doesn’t respond right away, I reach for her, but she shakes her head and hovers back, turning her face to the side. I see the swollen area Greyson was talking about. Already deepening to a bluish purple, which means whatever happened, she was probably hit hard.
‘Please don’t touch me,’ she whispers. ‘Not right now.’
I’m feeling about as lost as she looks when I spot the scratch on her wrist Greyson told me about, only it’s not a scratch but a wound, jagged and open across her flesh and still bleeding a little. A switch flips inside me and I nearly lose control over myself as I grab her arm.
‘What the fuck happened right here?’ I demand, not meaning to sound so angry, but I can’t help it. I hate that she does this to herself, hurts herself. She’s deserves so much better than that, yet she can’t see it.
She winces from my grip and I realize how roughly I’m grasping onto her, so I loosen my fingers a little. ‘Sorry, but …’ I swallow hard and shake my head. ‘It looks like you did this to yourself … like you cut yourself.’
‘I did,’ she responds hollowly. ‘I’m sorry … but I tried to turn it off another way, but this time … this time it was too much and I couldn’t deal with it … couldn’t make the pain stop no matter how hard I tried, so I went further … did things I never thought I’d do.’
I grind my teeth as I attempt to keep myself composed, but the idea of hurting herself makes me sick and angry. Not angry at her but at everyone else that helped destroy Violet over the years. All her foster parents that abandoned her. Preston. My mother.
‘What happened?’ I sit down on the floor in front of her, still holding her arm. I can hear someone in the kitchen, banging pots and pans around, but Violet seems to not notice. ‘And where’s Greyson?’
‘He’s working in the bar,’ she tells me, staring at the space of floor in front of her feet. ‘He doesn’t know I fell apart like this … I waited until he got too busy to check on me.’ She sucks in a breath, attempting to stop the tears, but they keep pouring out.
‘How did you …’ I gently brush my finger across her wrist where remnants of the wound are. ‘How did this happen exactly?’
She inhales then exhales before finally her gaze resides on me. Her expression is empty – so detached it’s chilling. ‘I cut myself.’ She slides her arm out of my hold, tugs the sleeve of her jacket over it, then hugs her wrist against her chest. ‘I tried everything … standing on the top of a building, leaning over the edge, dangling my feet over it. When that didn’t work, I tried to cut myself.’ She shrugs indifferently. ‘But it didn’t help.’
I’m trying to ignore the fact that she’s acting way too nonchalant over the fact that she hurt herself, but it’s really fucking difficult. I just want to yell at her, tell her to stop, tell her she’s too important and too good to be doing that shit to herself. ‘How did you get the bruise on your face?’ I gently brush the spot with my fingers.
Her face twists with perplexity as she reaches for her cheek, almost as if she’s forgotten it was there. ‘Oh that … I bumped it on a rock when I dove into the river.’ I notice she has a hospital band on her wrist. ‘It kind of hurt.’
I slip my fingers through the hospital band, my eyes widening. ‘What the hell is this?’ I ask, but she just shakes her head, refusing to tell me. Shaking my own head, I move my hand to her face and cup her cheek, trying not to be so angry, but I can’t help it, not when she doesn’t seem to care about herself. Doesn’t she know how important she is … to me? How could she, though, when I’ve never actually told her … told her … that I …
That I love her.
‘Your skin is freezing …’ My hands travel down her body, to her neck, arms, her fingers, which are equally as chilled. ‘You’re freezing baby … What happened to you?’