When Our Worlds Ignite (An Our Worlds Spin-Off Book 1)

by Lindsey Iler

  Violet’s eyes spring up and catch our exchange. A hint of a smile appears on her lips, giving me a split second of hope. It’s our first interaction that hasn’t ended in animosity. Even though she’s quick to mask it with anger, something flutters in my chest. Her eye roll is so obvious it can almost be heard alongside her heavy breath.

  My stomach churns. I push back the chair with my full plate in hand, depositing it into the sink before storming out. I can’t fucking eat if I tried. And what was with that smile? Is she messing with me? At this rate, I’ll have whiplash from her mood swings. To think I could sit with her as if nothing has happened proves how stupid I am when it comes to that girl. Our history has already been written.

  Without a single word to anyone, I head upstairs. Once behind closed doors, I drop down on the bed, rethinking every word ever exchanged with Violet. Every I love you. Every whispered promise. Those moments and memories seem so far gone, almost as though they never happened. They merely existed for a blip in time and blew away like a brewing storm. Slow and unpredictable.

  My eyes pinch shut. Violet’s all too familiar perfume consumes my senses. When I sit up, the first thing I see is her luggage tucked in the back corner, almost hidden from sight.

  “Fuck,” I mutter. I don’t know where she plans on sleeping, but it’s not in here. My eyelids grow heavy. Exhaustion consumes me. Reminding her to get her stuff isn’t my problem.

  *****

  The sun beats through the large windows, stirring me awake. The smell of food wafting through the house makes my stomach rumble with hunger. Pretending what’s waiting for me downstairs isn’t real, I close my eyes and relive last night’s dream instead of facing reality.

  Violet’s skims a hand over my cheek, cupping my face in her soft embrace. Her hooded eyes gaze down on me. The fabric of my pillow scrunches in her grip.

  My vision of her isn’t clear, but I know it’s her. The way her tongue jets out to skim her bottom lip. The smile as she leans into me. Every move she makes tells me it’s Violet. With eagerness, her kiss encompasses me in an embrace I know only from my past.

  Not even a cold shower could erase the memory of that dream.

  What I want is to walk into the kitchen and wrap my arms around Violet’s waist, pull her in close, and kiss the small curls of hair on the back of her neck. Instead, I stare at the ceiling, refusing to allow my muscles to move an inch. The bleak reality in here is far superior to the torture down there.

  A knock at the door startles me upright. Violet’s here to collect her luggage, I suspect. My eyes bounce to the corner, but the place where her pink suitcase and plaid carry-on had been sitting yesterday is empty. What the fuck?

  “Yeah?” I call out. My fingers skim my lips where I can still feel the heat of her kiss from my dream.

  “Breakfast is ready,” Kennedy shouts through the door. The knob turns, and her head peeks around the edge. “Rico’s made French toast with a banana glaze that might be the closest thing to heaven.”

  I throw the covers off and stand. Lucky for her, I’m wearing sleep pants. “Is it possible for you to bring me a plate?” The way Kennedy huffs, her hands perched on her hips, amuses me. “No, then?” Her frown makes me grin.

  “No, I’m not making you a plate. Pull up your big boy tighty-whities, prance your sweet ass downstairs, and suck it up. The girl isn’t going anywhere.” She shrugs, not enthused by my lack of desire to face her best friend.

  I pull on a t-shirt and waltz by her. She pats me on the shoulder, and I twist to face her.

  “For the record, I wear briefs.” Although childish, I stick my tongue out at Kennedy. She mumbles under her breath the entire trip down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  “Look who’s decided to wake up.” Rico places a plate in front of me.

  Graham slices into a mound of French toast. When Kennedy sits beside him, he feeds her a forkful. These two are so fucking disgustingly in love, it makes my head spin.

  “Where’s Violet?” I ask.

  “What, did you miss me last night?” Violet saunters into the kitchen. Her hands grip the marble countertop. “It was hard to tell when you stormed out of dinner like a little baby.”

  I tilt my head, examining the smirk plastered on her face, taunting me. The small gesture has me second guessing whether my dream had been real or a figment of my imagination. Is she messing with me?

  “What did you expect? You sat as far away from me as possible like I have some incurable disease or something,” I scoff, rolling my eyes when Graham dares to glance at me.

  “Maybe you do. Who knows what you’ve been up to in our time apart.” The way she crosses her arms and turns her body away makes me want to punch a hole in the drywall. Now she’s resorted to cutting me off?

  “I should probably be asking you the same thing, seeing as how you broke up with me for no good, goddamn reason, but somehow found yourself going on dates soon after. If any of us have an incurable disease,” my eyes roam the length of her body, “then it’s probably you.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Her arms tighten, hiking her boobs up higher, and I force myself to look away.

  “No, I’m not kidding.” I jam a fork into a slice of French toast and flip it onto my plate. “Have you been tested?”

  “Dan,” Kennedy squawks, pulling my attention from Violet. She glances at her best friend to see if she needs rescuing, even though she knows just as well as I do, Violet doesn’t need anyone to come to her defense.

  “Maybe you should be the one getting tested. Heard STD’s spread like wildfire on your campus. Wouldn’t want your dick to fall off.”

  When I turn, she’s gone.

  “Unlike you, sweetheart,” I stand, leering at her back as she disappears, “I’m not ready to be with anyone else. Lord knows, you were handful enough. I could use the time to recover.”

  Violet’s back stiffens, and when she spins to face me, her red curls dance around her head.

  Rico clears his throat, nodding his head toward the back door. “Let’s give them a minute.”

  “But,” Kennedy protests.

  “Come on,” Graham says, helping her from the stool. His hand lands on the small of her back.

  Violet and I glare at each other. Neither of us moves or speaks until we’re alone.

  “You want to go there, then let’s go there.” Violet inches back into the room. “Yes, I did break up with you. You’re allowed to be upset. Hell,” she shrugs, “you’re allowed to hate me, for all I fucking care, but at the end of the day, I did what I needed to do.”

  “We loved each other. We had everything.” My shoulders slump in defeat, the weight of our reality truly sinking in for the first time. My toughness wavers with every second spent alone with her.

  “We thought we had everything. There’s a difference between actually having it and thinking we did. It’s not my responsibility to make you happy. I wish it were.” She whispers the last part, knowing it will sting. “I’m not happy. I’m fucking miserable, and all you do is suffocate me.”

  Okay, now that hurts. More than anything else she’s ever said. Violet has always been passionate. Any argument or disagreement can get the best of her. But this isn’t some random fight over something that won’t matter in the morning when we wake up. This is about me not mattering to her anymore. When did this happen? When did I stop making her feel the way she’s always made me feel?

  “You have to do whatever you have to do.” I clear the island of the dirty dishes. Most of them are still full of food. I’m in desperate need of busy hands to fend off my natural reaction to Violet. All my body wants is to wrap her in my arms and figure out how to fix this. You can’t.

  “Dan.” My name sounds like venom pouring from her mouth. I brace myself on the countertop, readying my heart with a deep breath. I twist, only to watch her fidget. Her hands fold into each other, wringing them together. She’s nervous. “I need you to know I never meant to hurt you.”

&nb
sp; “But you did.” I focus my attention on cleaning the counter. Her footsteps fall lightly against the tile, and without looking in her direction, I say something that will change everything for good. “I’ll be okay, but when you’ve figured yourself out, I won’t be here.”

  I won’t be here. Those four words create a void inside me. Do I mean them? A very small part of me believes them to be true. If she’s going to build a cement wall around herself, armed with guards and weapons aimed at my heart, then I should do the same. I can’t sit around waiting for her to decide if I’m good enough.

  Five months later - September

  “Violet, I need to see you before you head out,” Vicky shouts from across the hall.

  Having my boss’s office a stone’s throw away is not only annoying but also makes it impossible to leave without notice. I drop my purse onto the chair inside my tiny cubicle and head to see what meaningless task she has to distract me from my escape plan.

  “Did you need something?” My spine straightens, and I try to project a confidence I’m not really feeling.

  “Actually, yes.” She doesn’t bother looking up from her desk. “I need you to work this weekend. There are a few accounts that need a complete overhaul, and you’re just the girl to do it.”

  Take a deep breath.

  Now, take another deep breath since the first didn’t work.

  Nope, not helping.

  Through a strained smile, I agree like the obedient employee I’ve become, and leave her office without a single complaint. By the time I stop in the middle of my hole-in-the-wall, the pounding of my heart drowns out any other noise. My hands cramp from the tightness of my fists, and pressure grips my shoulders and neck. A tick twitches my right eye.

  “It’s okay. Not a big deal. Who needs a vacation anyway?” I mutter under my breath.

  I’ve only been planning this for months. Who cares, right? My friends, the ones I’ve been staying away from, will understand.

  “Fuck this.” My angry words catch the attention of the interns loitering at the copy machine. I flip them the bird and stomp back into Vicky’s office.

  “I’m not working this weekend,” I state. My shoulders straighten as I prepare for her reaction to my rebellion.

  “Excuse me?” Her eyebrows pinch together. “You will work, and you’ll do it with a smile on that pretty little face of yours. I need you here.”

  “I’m sorry, Vicky, but I’ve run myself ragged the past few months. I have plans for this weekend and all of next week. Plans that can’t be rescheduled, and even if they could, I wouldn’t. I’m going as far from here as possible for an entire week. You’ll need to figure out a way to make it work without me.” I spin on my heel and march out the door.

  Since moving to the city, this is where I’ve worked, starting as a lowly intern running stupid coffee errands and picking up samples from designers. With my lack of desire to go to college, this is the perfect career opportunity for me. The people Vicky employs almost always end up in higher positions. She’s a tyrant who works her employees to the bone. I know first-hand. Under this tailored jacket and jeans, my ribs are plainly visible. Who has time to eat when you could be busying yourself with work?

  “If you leave, don’t bother coming back,” Vicky shouts, standing from her swivel chair and slamming her well-manicured hands on the top.

  “I’ve spent the last five months trying to figure my shit out, and I’ve gotten nowhere. I’ve been lost. I don’t know my ass from my elbow, but what I do know is that I’m not going to let some bitch with a God complex tell me I’m not going on a vacation I’ve earned,” I bellow. Holy shit. Did I just say that? “Now, if I don’t have a fucking job when I come back in a week, then so be it. Because at least I’ll know I’m not a miserable, wretched woman who wouldn’t know a good time if it crawled up her ass and ripped her insides out.”

  A round of applause breaks out at the copier, and a sliver of power rushes through me. Their response makes me laugh. I take a deep breath and shake my head. I can’t believe I just did that. What did I just do?

  Vicky stomps out of her office as I grab my personal belongings. I roll my eyes and walk past her.

  “You’re fired,” she shouts for all my colleagues to hear.

  Without turning around, I shout, “And you’re a whore. Everyone knows you’re fucking Bobby, the nineteen-year-old intern.” I offer him a smile as I pass. “Sorry for spilling the beans, buddy.”

  “It’s okay. She is a whore,” he murmurs in support, but not loud enough for her to hear his southern accent.

  Pussy.

  With my arms swinging and a sense of self-confidence for the first time in several months, I stroll out of the building. The sun shines down on my face. The sounds of the city surround me, a city I’m so disconnected from, but still feel attached to.

  By the second block, three Help Wanted signs have caught my attention, reminding me of the huge mess I call my life. I’m an unemployed twenty-one-year-old with no idea what I want in life. By the fourth sign, my heart begins to race, and my palms drip with sweat. My breath grows shallow with every inhale I attempt. I don’t have any job prospects. I’m not in college. What am I going to do now? As if my life isn’t messed up enough.

  “Home early today?” Richard, our doorman, races to open the door. His happy smile always makes me feel better, but not today.

  “Would you be surprised to hear I got fired?” I force a smile, hoping to keep the tears at bay.

  “Actually, no.” He shakes his head, and the concern on his face makes my breath catch. “Violet, you’ve been miserable the past few months. You slink in and out of this apartment like a robot. Always in bed before nine, and never enjoying the nightlife this city has to offer. Not exactly the life of a normal twenty-one-year-old.”

  “It’s been that obvious?” I tighten my grip on my purse strap and slide it up my shoulder. “And how do you know I’m in bed by nine, Richard? Is that part of your duties?

  “It is if I want to keep my job. Your father’s a powerful man.” A sincere, worried smile forms on his face. “Violet, dear, you have to figure yourself out before anything else will fall into place. The right job. The right guy. None of it will be worth a damn if you aren’t happy. Are you happy?” he asks. “You deserve to be happy.”

  “I promise I’m working on it, Richard.” I rush past him into the building I’ve called home for the last few years.

  When I reach my apartment, Amanda, one of my best friends, is in the middle of slamming her body down on an overfilled suitcase and forcing the zipper shut. The girl doesn’t know how to pack worth a damn.

  “You know, if you rolled your stuff, you’d not only fit more, but your clothes wouldn’t be wrinkled by the time we get to Tennessee.” I walk past her room to my own. Amanda’s giddy squeal floats down the hall.

  “Does that mean what I think it means? Are you going with us?” She bounces through my door and does a weird dance in front of my closet.

  Amanda’s surprise makes me feel guilty about the invisible wedge I’ve driven between my friends and me. Our group of friends has only known Dan and me together. To say our being apart has been an adjustment is an understatement, and not everyone is willing to accept the way things are now. Since my break-up with Dan, I’ve become somewhat of a recluse to avoid making everyone feel weird around me.

  My luggage lands on the bed, and she jerks my dresser drawers open and starts tossing items on the comforter.

  “I can pack for myself.” I rip the clothes from her grip.

  “So, you’re going to Tennessee? It’s supposed to be sunny all week.” Her attempt to use the weather to persuade me is endearing but unnecessary.

  “I didn’t get fired not to go on vacation.”

  At my confession, Amanda’s dancing halts, and she slowly spins in my direction.

  “Did you just say you were fired? What happened?” She jumps onto the bed, readying herself for my story.

  “It’s no
t worth talking about.” I roll my favorite pair of white shorts and tuck them into the back corner of the suitcase.

  “How do you feel, though?” Her hand covers mine, stopping my obsessive compulsive packing.

  “Confused. Excited. Stressed.” Would she be surprised if I say I don’t know how I feel? Unlikely.

  “What better time than the present to go on a vacation. We’ll lay out in the sun. Drink mimosas early in the morning. Read books. Jet ski.” Her eyes light up at the idea. “It’s sort of perfect timing to hit rock bottom.” Her attempt to hold back her smirk is futile. It pops through when she laughs.

  “Thanks for the support.” I roll my eyes at her candid outlook. Leave it to Amanda to find the positive pile of shit in the barn of life.

  “Speaking of support, I’m going to have to fly out in a few days, so you’re on your on in the morning.” Amanda slides off the bed and heads into the living room. Her arms swing in an exaggerated rhythm.

  “And why is that?” I ask, confused, as I trail behind her. Our plan has always been to fly out together. That is if I ended up going in the first place.

  “The boss said I need to work, or else I’ll get fired.” She grabs the remote off the coffee table. “Those skeevy, old men leave the best tips. Besides, I can’t lose this job. Only an idiot would do something like that in this economy.” She scurries out of my reach as I attempt to whack her with the strings of my bathing suit.

  Amanda’s worked in the same restaurant since she’s been in the city. How she tolerates having her ass pinched by men older than her father is beyond me. Of course, she rarely complains because the tips they leave allow her to splurge on things like the handbag she bought last month that cost more than our rent.

  “Thanks a lot.” I fall back against the soft couch cushions, fighting the panic that’s kept me on edge.

  “You know what I mean. You can afford to be jobless. I can’t. I have tuition to pay.”

  Amanda has no idea how wrong she is. Now is not the best time to beg for a handout. My father would be happy to help me, but I can’t even bear to look at him right now, much less ask for money. I’d rather starve. Get used to that grumbling in your belly. You’re about to know what it means to live on a budget.