The Destiny of Violet & Luke

by Jessica Sorensen

  I frown. “You make me sound so insane.”

  “No, it’s not like that.” He rakes his hand through his hair, letting out a grunting exhale as he sits up. “God, this is coming out sounding so weird.”

  “That’s okay,” I tell him. “Weird is okay with me and there’s no one else around.”

  I feel him smile through the dark. “See it’s things like that that make me just want to stay here with you. Because whatever I say never fazes you.”

  “We could just sit here in the dark,” I say, trying not to think about the many times I sat in the dark by myself. “The dark can be comfortable.”

  “Yeah, we could do that…” He trails off and I feel the air temperature rise as he leans into me. “Do you want to do that? Just sit in the dark with me.”

  “Maybe…” I trail off as his lips connect with mine. He tastes different than usual, less smoky and tasting of tequila; instead he tastes salty from the French fries. I can taste the passion of the kiss and heat pools in my stomach. I clutch his shoulders as he pushes his weight into me and forces me down on my back. My head brushes the ground below and dirt gets in my hair as our legs tangle together and he barely supports his weight above me.

  He kisses me slowly this time, more deliberately than he usually does. It’s like he’s calculating each movement, each taste, each breath as his hands knot through my hair. He gently tips my head back so his tongue can explore my mouth more thoroughly, gradually, slowly. Jesus, he’s driving my body mad. I can’t think straight, my nails jabbing into his shoulder blades, his lower back, his sides, anything that I can get a hold of as my body becomes more and more impatient.

  Then he’s pulling away again, stroking my cheek with his finger, his other hand playing with my hair. “This is nice.”

  “You’re starting to sound like a softy,” I say, breathless.

  “Didn’t you accuse me of being a softy once?” He continues to play with my hair.

  “I did, but I didn’t really mean it.”

  “Well, maybe you were right all along.”

  “Maybe I was.”

  He continues to comb his fingers through my hair, his body positioned over me, and I get so comfortable I almost fall asleep in his arms, right there up on a rock. Then he lifts his weight off me and the cold seeps into my body, waking me right back up. He laces his fingers through mine as he pulls me to his feet with him.

  “Where we going now?” I ask, dusting the dirt off the back of my leg.

  He bends down and grabs the garbage. “How about home?”

  Home. Such a strange word, since nowhere has ever really felt like home to me. “Yeah, home sounds nice.”

  * * *

  The rest of the drive home we talk about mundane things, like what his favorite food is: tacos, which I already kind of figured out, since it’s his hangover food and he likes to drink. I tell him what mine is: chocolate chip cookies, the kind my mom used to make. It surprises me that I talk to him about my mom, just as much as it surprises him. Our entire conversation is so boring and normal, but the thing is I actually like it and I start to wonder if I could actually live a boring, normal, non-adrenaline-junkie life.

  When he parks the truck at our apartment complex, it’s still early, but Luke says we can continue our date in the house. Then he starts kissing me in the truck before we can even get out. Our mouths and hands explore each other’s body until it gets too hot and then we get out and head inside. It’s the perfect date, and I’m seriously reconsidering my whole theory on life, when I spot a guy sitting at the bottom of the steps that lead up to our apartment.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” I let go of Luke’s hand as I realize who the guy is. I leave a shocked Luke behind as I storm over to the steps.

  Stan Walice looks up from his notebook, looking nervous and tense. “Please just calm down. I just want to talk to you for a minute.”

  “Do I need to get a restraining order?” I ask as I arrive at the foot of the stairway.

  He rises to his feet and tucks his notebook and pen into his front pocket. He’s wearing wrinkled gray pants, old sneakers, and a red polo shirt, along with square-framed glasses. “Calm down. I just want to ask you some questions.” His glasses start to slip down the brim of his nose and he pushes them up with his finger.

  “I’m pretty sure I made it clear I’m not going to do that,” I say as Luke steps up beside me.

  “Who the fuck is this?” Luke says as his hand touches the small of my back, slightly calming me, but my insides still burn.

  Stan’s eyes dart to him, I’m sure comparing his out-of-shape body to Luke’s solid, tattooed body. “I just want to ask her a few questions about her parents.”

  “And I already told you to go fuck yourself,” I say, not with anger but with a silent plea in my voice. “Seriously, what is with reporters and being obsessed and determined to harass people?”

  “I really need this story,” Stan says, raking his fingers through his hair. “My job’s on the line.”

  “She says she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Luke steps forward, positioning himself in front of me, protecting me. “So take the hint and fucking get the hell out of here before I have to beat your ass,” Luke says and then he reaches back and grabs hold of my hand. As much as I would love to see him beat Stan’s ass, I also remember that unlike when he fought with Preston and the guys at the strip club, there will probably be consequences this time, so I squeeze his hand and hold on to him.

  Stan shakes his head, panic flooding his eyes as he skitters to the side so I can see him. “Look, I know I’ve probably been going about this wrong, but I really need this story or the paper’s going to let me go. I need something really good.”

  “Go find a story that’s easier to get, then,” I tell him, inching forward so I’m standing beside Luke. “Don’t chase me down when I don’t want to talk about my past.”

  “The easy ones are the ones no one wants to hear,” he says. “Girl who finds her parents murdered and stays in that house for twenty-four hours.” He moves his hand across the air, like some reporter in an old movie, making a headline. “Now that’s a story. I can only imagine the things in your head… the stuff you saw… And if people knew about it, maybe it’d help finally catch the killers.”

  Luke’s body goes rigid as flames flash through my body. He just told Luke my secret, the one that everyone wants to run away from once they know. Out of nowhere, I lunge for Stan. Luke’s hands slips from mine as I raise my fist, preparing to crash it into Stan’s face. I haven’t felt this much fury in a long time and usually I’d find another way to deal with it, but right now all I want to do is hit Stan. Ram my fist into him. Watch his nose bleed. Watch him hurt like I know I’m going to hurt in just a few minutes.

  Somehow, Luke manages to get his arms around my waist and he holds me back before I actually make contact.

  “Let me go!” I protest, squirming. “I’m going to kick his ass.”

  “No, you’re not going to.” He hugs me tighter as I struggle to get air into my lungs. I need to get away from him—need to breathe. I need to run, beat Stan, do anything at all beside feel what’s prickling up inside me. My parents. Luke knows. I’m fucked up. He knows now what lies beneath my skin of steel. He’s not going to want to be with me anymore.

  I push against him wriggling in his arms as he nearly crushes me against his chest. “Just breathe,” he whispers in my ear, smoothing his hand on the back of my head.

  I swear to God it’s like he knows what’s going on inside my body, like he’s in tune with it. “I can’t,” I choke. “I hate him.”

  “Just try.”

  I shut my eyes and block out everything else besides getting air into my lungs. I can hear his heart beating steadily, and I listen to it as I try to get my own to match it.

  “Get the hell out of here,” Luke growls at Stan, his chest rumbling.

  “I’ve been trying really hard to talk to her,” Stan says. “If she just w
ould, then we could get this over with.”

  “If you don’t walk away, I’m going to let her go and beat your ass myself,” Luke says calmly. “So take the opportunity to walk away now.”

  “You can’t threaten me,” Stan says. “I’ll call the cops.”

  “Does it look like I give a shit about the cops?” Luke replies. “Now get the hell away from her.” He enunciates each word to get his point across. Stan mutters something about taking his card and Luke adds, “If you try to contact her again, you won’t be walking away.”

  Moments go by, it feels like days, before either of us move or speak again. I’m the first one to pull away, and he releases me, giving me space. Luke watches me as I search around the yard for something that will make it easier to deal with what just happened, but ultimately my gaze travels back to Luke.

  “So now you know,” I say and blow out a loud, defeated breath. I search for the disgust in Luke’s eyes, the look everyone has when they find out, but his eyes look black against the night, the porch lights glaring behind him.

  The longer the silence goes on the more I feel like I’m going to cry. Tears sting at my eyes as I battle not to let them out, wanting to be that tough girl again, the one that doesn’t give a shit. I need her. She makes everything okay, even when it’s not.

  “I didn’t know reporters were like that,” Luke finally says quietly as he wraps his fingers around my arm. “He seems crazy and intense.”

  “Unfortunately a lot of them are intense,” I reply, biting on my fingernails, desperately wishing I could read what he was thinking. “But I’ve never met one so obsessed like that… he’s been calling me for weeks and he showed up at my work.”

  His eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks and I don’t even bother to answer. “You should have said something.”

  “Why? So I could tell you my sad story and you could look at me like you are right now.”

  “You can’t even see my face so you can’t see how I look.”

  “I know the look, though. It’s the one everyone has when they hear about me. The girl who found her parents dead and then sat in the house with their bodies for a day. The fucked-up girl that scares the shit out of people.” If he wasn’t planning on ditching me before, I’m sure he is now.

  His fingers spasm against my arm as he turns us slightly so I can see his face and there’s nothing there but sympathy and maybe even understanding. “Everyone has their dark past. I have mine and, trust me, I’d be a fucking hypocrite if I judged you for anything you did. I’ve done plenty of messed-up shit that most people wouldn’t understand.”

  I slip my hand out of his and hug my arms around my waist, wishing I could fold myself into myself, hide behind the steel walls that have been shrinking over the last few weeks. “Like what?” I honestly don’t expect him to answer me so when he takes a deep breath, preparing to speak, my pulses stills.

  “How about shooting your mom up with heroin when you were eight because she hated needles and so she made you do it for her?” he utters softly and I can tell he doesn’t want to say it, but it’s like his lips forced him to do it.

  I don’t know how to react. If I should react. If I should hug him. Run from him. What I should do. Thankfully, he reacts for me, his fingers leaving my arm and circling around my waist.

  “Do I scare the shit out of you now?” he asks and I shake my head. “And your past doesn’t scare the shit out of me,” he says. “Now you do, but for entirely different reasons. Ones that have more to do with me and how you make me feel.”

  I nod, the tears drying as he leans down to gently kiss me. And it’s strange, but in a good way, because for a moment all the bad that just happened doesn’t exist. I don’t feel it crushing against my chest. Luke’s the first person that’s ever been able to lift some of the weight off me and it makes me want to cling to him as long as I can. So when he picks me up and carries me into the house, I let him. Just like I let him undress me. Allow him to pull my shirt off and slip it over my head, so I’m surrounded in the scent of him. I let him lay me back on the pillow and climb into bed with me. Then we fall asleep. Together.

  Chapter 16

  Luke

  Violet and I fall into this weird rhythm over the next few weeks. We organize our room and I let her put most of the stuff where she wants it. She has this teddy bear that she insisted had to go on the dresser, right out in the open, even though it was purple and girly. But then she told me that her dad gave it to her and I gave her a hug because it’s all I could think to do. I’ve been hugging her a lot, partly because I like the feel of her, but partly because I’m afraid she’s going to disappear.

  I’m afraid she’ll finally realize that I wasn’t kidding about shooting up my mom and then she won’t be so willing to accept it. She’s subtly asked me a few times about my mom and what she’s like and I give her as few details as possible, because everything’s working for Violet and me at the moment.

  We kiss a lot, she lets me touch her wherever and whenever I want, yet I still hold back, afraid of crossing that line and fully accepting that I’ve changed inside. That I’m going to actually consider a real relationship with Violet, even knowing that at any moment she could take everything away from me. It’s harder than hell, though, not just to take control and slip inside her. It feels like every moment of every day I want to be inside her, over and over again. I want to see that look in her eyes again when she comes, only this time I want to be inside her when it happens.

  “You’ve been drinking a lot of beers lately,” she notes as she piles the dishes into the sink. Seth and Greyson have gone out to dinner to celebrate their three-month anniversary. They’ve been together longer than three months so I’m not really sure what anniversary they are celebrating, and I didn’t ask. “Is it because you’re trying to take better care of yourself?”

  I cringe at the fact that she’s subtly mentioning my diabetes—my weakness—but because it’s her, it makes it a little bit easier to relax. I plop down on the leather couch and tip my head back to take a swig. “Yeah, I decided to try sticking to just beer for a while and see how that goes… get a little healthier. Plus, I think I need a little break from the other stuff.”

  She glances up from the sink. Her hair is pulled up, leaving her shoulders and neck exposed for me to fully appreciate. She’s wearing a thin tank top with no bra and boxer shorts. I’m doing my best to keep my hands to myself, but it’s hard when she’s dressed like that. “A break from what?” she asks

  I shrug and set the beer down on the coffee table, reaching for the remote. “My obsession from… what did you call it… burning the shit out of my throat.” I flash a grin at her, not telling her the real reason I’ve cut back on the hard liquor. That I’m trying something different, aiming for a somewhat clearer head, so I can fully be aware of everything going on between us. It’s hard sometimes, though, and kind of painful, now that my nerves are heightened to everything.

  “Did I say that once?” She angles her head to the side, tapping her finger on her lip, pretending she can’t remember. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”

  “That sounds exactly like something you say,” I tell her, changing the channel.

  “You sound like you know me or something,” she teases with a grin as she shuts off the faucet.

  “Are you saying that I don’t?” I retort, picking up my beer again as I kick my bare feet up on the table.

  She pauses, wiping her hands off on a paper towel. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

  “So you’re saying I know you.”

  “As much as I know you.”

  “I don’t think I know you completely,” I say, peeling off the label of the beer. “Not yet anyway.”

  She stacks some plates in the dishwasher. “You know a lot of the important parts.”

  I toss the damp label onto the coffee table. “I know I do.”

  “And you’re still here.” She looks down as s
he says it, like she could care less about my reaction, but the nervousness of her tone suggests otherwise.

  “Of course I’m still here,” I joke in a light tone because I know it’ll make her feel better. “I don’t want to go back to being homeless again. Beside, where else do I get to sleep with a girl who purposely pushes her ass against my cock every night.”

  She looks up at me with feigned annoyance in her eyes. “I did that once and it was because I was having a weird dream.”

  “A weird dream about me fucking you?”

  She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue as she collects some dirty glasses out of the sink. “I’m surprised that you still want to sleep with me at all,” she says. “I thought you’d be sick of my crazy gasping ritual.”

  I tip my head back and gulp my beer. Every morning Violet wakes up the same way she woke up in my dorm room, gasping for air. It scared the living daylights out of me for the first week, but now I just want to know what’s causing it. All she’ll tell me is that it’s a nightmare, I’m guessing about her parents, but she won’t talk about it. “What can I say, I guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”

  “I guess so,” she muses, setting the glasses upside down inside the dishwasher. “You know, I feel like the maid around here. It always seems like I’m the only one who does the dishes.”

  “Hey, I clean a lot,” I protest, putting the empty beer bottle onto the table. “It’s Seth and Greyson who don’t do anything.”

  “Greyson at least cooks,” she remarks. “All Seth does is leave Kit Kat wrappers and energy cans all over the place.”

  “Yeah, I’m not going to argue with that,” I say as I watch her ass stick out of the bottom of her shorts as she bends over to load plates into the bottom rack of the dishwasher. “You know,” I continue, “I think if you’re the one who’s going to do the cleaning, we should get you a naughty maid costume.”

  She stands back up, straightening her shoulders. “Why bother with the maid costume, when I could just do it naked?”