“Come on, Alex. You’re a notorious ladies’ man.”
“I’m not really.”
“There’s quite a significant amount of photographic evidence to the contrary.”
I need to be careful how I word this. “I think people see what they want to see. Just because I’m standing beside a woman in a photograph doesn’t mean I’ve had a relationship with her.”
“Are you saying your reputation—”
“—Is based on conjecture. I won’t say I’m not at fault for perpetuating it, but it’s not an accurate representation of who I am, and it’s not how I want to be seen. Not when it jeopardizes my relationships.”
“You’re referring to Violet, specifically?”
“I miss her. She’s my Q on a triple word score.”
“I’m sorry; I don’t understand the last part.”
“It’s a Scrabble thing. Never mind. I just want her back in my life.”
“What are you going to do to make that happen?”
“Whatever it takes.”
VIOLET
I allow myself some time to mope post epic televised humiliation. I even take a few days off work and lie around in ratty sweats and a stained hoodie, eating copious quantities of junk food. I refuse to wallow in self-pity for long, though. I made the choice to be with Alex even with Buck’s warning and all the red flags waving right in front of my face. Between bouts of uncontrollable sobbing and some mild self-loathing, I scour the classified ads for an apartment. I need to make some life changes, and I’m starting by getting my own place.
Sidney secures a realtor who finds the perfect building only two blocks from my work. It’s a tiny little one bedroom, barely more than five hundred square feet. The rent won’t kill me, and it’s in a decent neighborhood. There’s a Thai restaurant and a candy shop two doors down, so I’m set. It’s also available immediately, which is a plus.
As unhappy as my mother is about me moving out of the pool house, she helps me pack my things. Three weeks after I was publically dumped, Buck and Sidney load up the U-Haul while Charlene, my mom, and I head over to clean my new apartment. It’s exactly the kind of distraction I need. As much as my heart hurts, the best thing I can do is move forward. I’ve changed my cell number, blocked Alex’s email address, and stayed far away from social media.
Alex has come by on more than one occasion—not just at my house but at work, as well. So far everyone has been good at keeping him away from me, and I’m grateful. I don’t want to see him because I don’t think I’m strong enough not to cry all over him yet.
“What do you want to do with this box?” Charlene asks.
It’s labeled with a biohazard sticker.
“You can put it in my bedroom closet. I’ll figure out what I want to do with it later.”
She and my mom exchange a look.
“What’s in here?” Charlene rifles through the contents.
“All the stuff from Alex. I’m not ready to get rid of it, okay?”
My mom puts her arms around me and gives me a hug. “It’s okay, Vi. When you’re ready, we can get drunk and burn it all.”
I laugh and sniffle. Heartbreak is aptly named. The thought of burning the Waters beaver makes my stomach clench. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for that.
My mom does a little jump, like a yippy terrier and claps her hands. “I picked up a few new things for you!” She opens a box filled with brand new glassware. It’s another diversion, and I gladly take it. Thinking about Alex makes me emotional.
It turns out she went on a shopping spree with Sidney’s credit card, so I have a whole bunch of new things I didn’t anticipate. Including a flat screen television and an awesome leather couch. Once my living room and bedroom are set up, and most of the boxes are unpacked, we crack open some beers and order pizza.
Charlene stays long after everyone else goes home. We watch bad sitcoms on my hi-def TV until her eyes get droopy and she calls it a night. As soon as she leaves, the tears I’ve been holding onto all day begin to fall. I want the ache in my chest to stop, but I know it’ll take time. I torture myself by watching hockey highlights until my eyes are puffy and I’m too tired to keep them open. In bed, I toss and turn, unable to sleep.
I stare through the darkness at the closet. Several minutes later, I get out of bed and open the door. I flick on the interior light and kneel on the cold parquet floor to open the box. The Waters beaver is on top. I bring him back to bed with me. I want to hate Alex, but my heart hasn’t quite caught up with my head.
Apartment living takes some time getting used to. It sucks when I forget something and have to wait for the elevator to go back up and get it. The walk to work is nice, though, and having my own place affords me some much-needed independence.
A few days after I move in, Buck stops by to play video games. It’s his way of making sure I’m okay. He also brings treats.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I brought options.” He hands me a tray with a milkshake and a chocolate sundae topped with peanuts.
“That’s a hard choice. I’m gonna have to go with the sundae.”
Buck follows me into the living room, which is about six feet away from the door, and we lounge on my couch. I dive into my sundae while Buck sets up the Xbox.
“How’s it hangin’ these days?”
“Limp and to the left.” I don’t even crack a smile.
“That bad, eh?” He’s adopted some Canadianisms from talking to Sunny.
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t know if I believe you, Vi.”
“This one’s gonna take a while for me to get over, that’s all.”
“Look, Violet, I know you feel shitty, but Waters is a huge dildo. You can do way better.” His phone rings. He holds up a finger and answers it. “Hey, babe . . . I’m with Violet . . . no, no way.” He shakes his head vehemently. “I’m not telling her that. He’s a dick—sorry. I know he’s your brother—” He chews on a hangnail while he listens for a few seconds. “I don’t—okay, Sunny. I miss you, too . . .”
There’s another minute of back and forth, followed by an air smooch. “Bye, Sunny Sunshine.”
I make gagging sounds as he hangs up. I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help myself. “What did Sunny say?”
“Nothing important. Let’s play something violent.” He hands me a controller and picks up his own.
I don’t argue or push for more information. It’s better if he doesn’t tell me.
“I know it hasn’t been long, but maybe you need to go on a date or something. Get out there and have some fun.” He’s trying to be helpful; it’s nice but not realistic.
“This is fun.” I gesture to the screen where Buck is running over a pedestrian.
“You know what I mean. Sometimes you need to get back in the ring and fight.”
I raise my eyebrow; a boxing metaphor for relationships is actually quite fitting.
“I know you’ve had some bad luck recently, but there’s this guy, he plays for New York, they’re looking at trading him—”
“Buck, I don’t want to date another hockey player.” I set down my controller so I can shovel more of the sundae into my mouth, uncaring of the suffering that will follow this frozen dairy heaven.
“Not all of us are dogs, Violet. Randall’s a great guy.”
“His name is Randall. How awesome can he be?”
Buck mows down a group of people playing road hockey. “He goes by Randy.”
“Even better. His name is another word for horny. Sounds perfect for me.” I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry.
It’s not Randall’s fault his parents named him in relation to horniness. I can’t even entertain the idea of dating anyone else right now. Besides, I could never get serious with a hockey player again, or a dude named Randy. I’d make thrusting motions every time I said his name. It’d be awkward.
“Wait a minute. Didn’t Alex get suspended for kicking the sh
it out of some guy named Randy?” I’m almost positive this is the case.
“That was Randolph Cockburn. This is Randy Balls.”
“Are you serious?” What’s with these guys with terrible last names?
“Yeah, why?” Buck, my perverted stepbrother, doesn’t connect the outlandishly pornographic last name with the first name.
“Randy Balls?” I burst out laughing. “You want to set me up with a guy named Randy Balls? Can you even imagine what would happen if we got married? My last name would be Balls. Violet Balls!”
“Huh.” He makes a scrunchy face. “That wouldn’t be so good, would it? ’Specially if you hyphenated. Hall-Balls.”
I continue to laugh until I start crying, which turns into hysterical, desperate sobs. I don’t want to end up as Violet Balls. I wanted to be Violet Waters—it sounds so romantic—and Alex ruined it all.
My life sucks Randy’s balls.
Buck has no idea what to do. He offers to go out and get more ice cream, but my stomach is already cramping thanks to my dairy intolerance.
“I’m sorry, Violet. I didn’t realize how serious you guys were.”
“It’s not your fault.” I swipe my tears away, but there are new ones to take their place.
“I introduced you to him. I should’ve stopped you from meeting up with him.”
“How were you supposed to know I was going to hook up with Alex? Besides, you tried to warn me. I’m too much of an idiot to take your advice, that’s all.” I believed he was a hockey whore in the beginning, and I still slept with him.
He flexes his biceps. “I can punch him in the balls if you want.”
“That’s kind of you to offer, but if I ever see him again, I want to do it myself.”
Buck pats my shoulder and gives me an awkward hug where my face ends up in his armpit. I hold my breath until it’s over.
“I’ll totally let you beat me.” He motions to the TV.
I indulge Buck in a few rounds, but he has to work pretty hard to lose. After an hour of Xbox, it becomes pretty obvious I’m not invested in the game, and my stomach starts to gurgle.
Buck puts a beefy hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
“The sundae isn’t sitting well.”
“Shit. You’re gonna have the moops, aren’t you?”
I grimace as another stomach cramp rolls through. “Yeah.”
“I should probably head out and leave you to it.”
I follow Buck to the door and watch while he shoves his feet into his massive shoes. We exchange a quick hug, and I open the door. We’re immediately assaulted by the stench of body odor. Melvin must have been in the hallway recently.
Buck frowns. “What the hell is that smell?”
“That’s my next door neighbor Melvin.”
“That’s from a person? It smells like a rotting sweaty corpse was dragged through the hallway.”
“I know. Rank, isn’t it? That’s nothing compared to his taste in music.” As if on cue, the death metal starts up.
“Is this guy for real?”
“The music doesn’t last too long.” Only two or three hours. I don’t tell Buck that Melvin also stops by almost every night to see if I want to hang out.
“You let me know if you want me to have a word with this guy,” Buck says with a shake of his head.
“I’m good. Thanks, though.” I give him another hug, mostly because I’m desperate for affection, and send him down the hall. He stumbles past Melvin’s door—the odor is horrendous—and then rushes on to the elevator.
After a lengthy time-out in the bathroom, I go to bed. The ensuing ice cream coma is neither restful nor peaceful. I dream of Alex and his air hockey table, except in my dream it’s not me he’s banging, it’s some other hockey hooker.
Two days later, there’s a knock at my door. I assume it’s Melvin because it’s about the right time of the evening for him to come knocking. If that’s the case, I can’t even pretend I’m not home because he can hear my television through the wall much like I can hear his death metal serenades. I peek out the peephole and discover it’s not Melvin, but Alex.
All sorts of weird things happen inside my body. I feel like my stomach is going to come out of my throat. My heart is pounding like I’ve had a massive orgasm. My beaver is so excited she’s gnawing at my underwear—which, incidentally, are hideous—and tears spring to my eyes. After almost a month I should have a better handle on my emotions, but I don’t.
He looks exhausted but gorgeous, as usual, even with the full beard he’s currently rocking. Especially with that damn beard. He’s all rustic and lumbersexual looking.
I squeak when he raps on the door again and clamp a hand over my mouth.
“Violet?” His forehead comes to rest against the door so I’m only able to see his fuzzy jaw, and I hear him sigh. “I know you’re in there. I saw your 4Runner in the parking lot and I heard you make a noise.”
Hands pressed against the steel panel separating us, I say nothing. Even though I hate him, I love him, and it fucking hurts so bad. I just want it to stop. I wish he hadn’t done this to us; I want him to leave, but I want him to stay. I also want to know how the hell he managed to get up here.
I have to bury my face in the crook of my elbow and bite my hoodie to stifle my pathetic sob.
“I know I fucked up, Violet. I just want to talk to you. Please, baby? I miss you. I made a mistake. If you let me explain, maybe we can work things out. I wanna work things out.”
I take two or three deep breaths and clench my fists so I don’t reach for the doorknob. I want to talk to him. I want Alex to have a reason for what he did to us. But whatever it is, it can’t be good enough. There’s no justification for that kind of humiliation.
Knowing this doesn’t prevent the ache in my heart from flaring until it reaches yeast infection levels of discomfort.
“Baby, open the door. You don’t have to let me in. I’ll stay here in the hall. You can even leave the chain lock on. I only want to see you.” He pauses and waits a few endless seconds. His head thumps against the door. “Everything sucks without you. I was under a lot of pressure. I didn’t mean what I said—”
“Then why did you say it?” I scream and then cover my mouth with my palm, horrified I’m too weak to maintain my silence. I put my eye back to the peephole in time to see him lift his head and brace his hands on either side.
“Because I’m an idiot. Please, Violet. Don’t make me talk to you like this. Give me a chance to explain.”
“Why bother? Everything you say is bullshit anyway.”
He stares directly into the peephole as if he knows I’m on the other side, coveting his beautiful, annoyingly perfect face. “You know that’s not true. People make mistakes. This is a really huge mistake, and I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I close my eyes, the pervasive ache inside rippling outward. I want so badly to believe him, but I’ve learned my lesson. “But you did, Alex, and you’re right, you can’t take it back. Nothing you say is going to change that.”
“Baby, please. Hear me out.” The desperation in his voice is echoed in his eyes.
“You need to leave.” My words are at complete odds with what my heart wants. More than anything, I want to open the door and do exactly as he’s asked: hear him out. If I do, there’s a good chance I’ll be tempted to give him the second or third chance he’s looking for, and my poor beaten-up heart can’t take that right now.
“All I want is five minutes. Can’t you give me that?”
I have to hand it to him; he’s persistent to the point of infuriation.
I’m about to threaten to call Buck and have him escort Alex out of the building by his balls, when the door across the hall opens. It’s Ms. Bullock. She’s a feisty little old lady with a mop of white, permed hair.
She eyes Alex with suspicion. “Excuse me, young man. Do you need help with something?”
“He was leaving!
” I shout through the door.
“Violet, please.” Begging might have worked once, but it isn’t going to now.
I rest my forehead against the door and cringe at the crack in my voice. “Just go, Alex.”
Ms. Bullock takes a long drag from her cigarette and raises her drawn-on eyebrow at Alex. “You heard the young lady. It’s time for you to go.”
Alex rubs a palm over his face and winces. “I’m not giving up on us.”
Ms. Bullock goes back into her apartment, but leaves the door open. Alex returns to the peephole. “I get it if you need more time, but I care about you too much to walk away.”
“You sure have a shitty way of showing it.”
My hand is on the doorknob. Thankfully, Ms. Bullock comes back with a whisk broom. She doesn’t give Alex a chance to leave peacefully. Instead, she starts whacking him on the shoulders.
“When a lady asks you to leave, you leave, dammit!” Ms. Bullock shouts.
God bless her violent, ancient heart.
Alex covers his head with his arms. “Okay! Okay! I’m going.” He stumbles out of my line of sight. “I’m not giving up, Violet. I’ll find a way to fix this.”
“Good luck with that,” I mutter as Ms. Bullock follows him down the hall, still beating on him.
I wait about thirty seconds before I turn the lock and crack the door. Ms. Bullock is still in the hallway, wielding her broom like a sword. From down the hall, Melvin sticks his head out, death metal and rank body odor seeping into the hall with him.
“Is he gone?” I whisper.
She purses her lips and gives her head a quick, almost imperceptible shake. Her cigarette is perched precariously between her lips. Her bright orange lipstick has bled into the creases around her mouth, making it look like a messy starburst.
I hear the ding of the elevator from the other end of the hall. After a few protracted seconds, Ms. Bullock clamps her lips around her cigarette again and takes another haul. Blowing out the smoke in a long stream, she finally gives me the nod. My shoulders drop, and the tension leaves my body.
I unlatch the chain lock and open the door. “Thank you.”
PUCKED Page 28