36. Violet
THIRTY-SIX
VIOLET
Everleigh: How are fictional men so much better than the real life kind?
Violet: Because they’re written by women?
Violet: Also, where is this coming from?
Everleigh: Tristan drunk-texted me. Sent me a picture, too.
Everleigh: Sylvia and Fletcher are in the background of it.
Violet: Soooo what exactly does this sexy book boyfriend of yours look like?
Everleigh: I always knew you were a keeper.
I’m not typically scared of the dark. Next year I’ll be a twenty-two-year-old college graduate, for crying out loud, but it’s almost eerie how the guys’ apartment goes from lit up to stark black.
Chatham U’s tradition of hook and seek wasn’t what I was planning on getting into tonight, but Olive wanted to celebrate and go into the New Year with a big bang. I couldn’t bring myself to say no to her. Not when winter break will fly by, and she’ll be back in Florida before either of us knows it.
However, the idea of another guy’s hands on me…no, thank you.
Colson’s are the only ones I want sliding up and down my body. His soft, feathery lips are the only ones I seem to think about every time the game resets, and we enter another round. I always seem to find the same hiding spot—this one in the closet—and so far, no one has found me.
Sebastian told everyone Colson's room was off limits. He had this serious look on his face when he said it. No one challenged him, too excited to get the game started to care about one room. I’m the only one who has dared to creep into his space and shut the door behind me like I’m not betraying Sebastian’s trust.
For an unexplainable reason, I put an empty laundry basket on my lap, thinking it’ll keep someone from finding me but what does it matter? No one has come in here so far, and I think it’ll stay that way. I rest my head against the wall and wait for the commotion that comes at the end of each round when the seeker finds someone and gets in their make-out sesh.
The quiet and darkness envelops me the longer I sit. I wonder where Olive hides. Last round, she ended up in Webber’s bed unknowingly. Her eyes went wide, and she gagged when I told her whose room she exited. There was nothing I could do but stand there and laugh while everyone rallied to hear the seeker of the next round. At the start, we agreed that tonight’s seekers would only be guys.
Mostly, I’m glad Olive is enjoying herself and has found friends in mine. Even Everleigh came back for two days to hang out with us and bring in the new year. I just can’t help but feel disappointed that I’m not spending a minute of it with Colson.
I’m still trying to work through the betrayal over him keeping everything from me. But waiting for things to change is pointless.
I think back to last night’s phone call. It didn’t take long for me to realize something was wrong. That he was calling because he needed me. I wish I could’ve physically been there. We may have this line drawn between us. We may say we’re just friends, but I think we’re both fully aware that we’ll never be able to be only that. That six-letter word feels too wrong on our lips when we say it.
A sound sparks from the bedroom, a trace of two objects flicking together.
My breaths grow quieter.
What was that?
I listen intently for more details. Sebastian wouldn’t come in here. Why would he if he told everyone to stay out? That wouldn’t make sense.
Unless someone else is using Colson’s room as refuge.
My stomach swoops thinking about a stranger being in Colson’s space. I have this sudden urge to kick them out. To protect his vulnerability just like I wish I could protect his heart. I don’t because the sound passes by the closet door.
A moment passes.
Then another.
I think I’m in the clear but then the worst thing imaginable happens. The person walks into the closet, an almost inaudible sigh leaving them. The energy shifts, curling around me like a cloak. I can’t tell if it’s good or bad. But I do know that it’s uncomfortable in its own way. But also, maybe it’s not uncomfortable at all just…different?
The person bumps into one of the large trash bags. Then something knocks into the basket on my lap, and it shifts off me, one end of it sliding to the floor. I don’t reach out to catch it, thinking it’ll blow my cover, but my breathing is now erratic as the person invades my space.
And then I feel it.
A hand colliding with my knee.
A palm spreading over the bone.
My heart, the traitor it is, drums inside of my chest. My stomach hops into the same boat, going crazy like a fish out of water. I’d berate myself over having a reaction as strong as this with someone other than the person I truly want, but I can’t move. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to be found. I’m a whole hunk of stone. Even my mind freezes. The warm palm slowly coasts down my leg in the most delicious, drive-your-stomach-insane kind of way.
And.
I.
Am.
Not.
Okay.
A finger traces the bracelet clasped around my ankle. A dainty piece of jewelry I ordered from one of my favorite online boutiques. I can almost remember it like it was yesterday. Me on the edge of my bed, Colson watching from the other side of the room, his hair a wet mess after getting out of the shower. His towel so, so low that it made my belly burst with that same kind of need I’d always get when I saw a little too much of him. More so when he walked over and crawled his way up my body on the bed before he grabbed my ankles, yanked me down, and made himself at home between my thighs.
I didn’t get to submit my order until the following morning.
The person unclasps the anklet, and I’m so close to berating them for it. There’s no way I can give it up so easily with the memories it holds. But my words are stuck in my stomach, burning away from the flame that ignites when fingers circle my ankle and squeeze in a way that is all too familiar.
My stomach and heart switch places. It can’t be.
I look up as if light suddenly streams into the closet, giving the person away. He hung up on me last night, and we’re fooling ourselves if we think we’re okay, so why would he be here now?
He wouldn’t.
Not unless Sebastian invited him.
Wait…did he?
I reach a shaky hand up in hopes of finding a face. I end up touching a shirt instead. I breathe out a nervous but hopeful breath and whisper, “Is it really you?”
“Yeah, baby, it’s me.”
Relief moves through me at an unnerving speed when the voice sounds a lot like the man I got to know. I scoot over when he pats my leg in a way that asks me to make room for him. His warmth fills the space next to me, his arm brushing against mine. Seconds pass before his hand moves to my knee again, and it stays there, his thumb brushing back and forth tenderly.
It reminds me of the Colson I was lucky enough to get before his mom overdosed. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t crave more of it. If I said I’d be okay with never seeing that side of him again. Because truthfully, I’m dying for it.
My voice is so low I worry he won’t be able to hear me. “Why are you here?”
“Sebastian.”
So, I was right. He did invite him.
“You missed the ball dropping,” is what I choose to say instead of everything else I could pick from.
“Got held up.”
I try to imagine what that means. I consider the very real possibility of him being with another female, but that can’t be. He doesn’t even want me around, so how could he possibly want someone else?
I push it away.
“Why were you hiding in here?” he asks.
“Would you have preferred I hide somewhere Sebastian or anyone else could have found me?”
“No . Have you been in here the whole time?”
Call me a love-crazed girl, but I secretly love that he asks if my lips have touched anyone else’s. It shows he still cares. My heart runs with that knowledge, despite my memories reminding me of the secrets he kept from me.
I nod even though he can’t see, then give him the honest truth. “I’ve hid in this closet every round. Pathetic, right?”
“Not quite the word I would use to describe you.”
My admission is a featherlight breeze across my lips. “I miss you.”
He squeezes my thigh just above my knee. My heart mimics it, clenching painfully. I can’t tell if it’s in reassurance or because he’s hurting, too. All of this is asinine. That we’ve repeatedly pushed each other away. That we can’t step out of our own way to be happy.
Desperation clings to me. All at once, I’m needy to keep him close. To keep him here with me. I’m not sure if it’s smart to do what I do next—actually, that’s a lie. It’s dumb, but I’m tired of tiptoeing around him, worried each move I make will send him farther away.
I carefully push his hand off me, feel for his shoulder, then swing my leg over his lap until I’m straddling him. My skirt pushes up my legs from the motion. His hands find me effortlessly, magnetizing to my hips. He tugs me closer. I can’t help but notice the electricity zipping through my body at our connection, at the friction of us touching.
“I’m still me, Violet,” he murmurs, digging his fingertips into me and pulling me away from my admission. “I fucked up, and I’m doing shit that you hate. I don’t blame you for being pissed at me. And you sure as shit shouldn’t be crawling into my lap, but I promise that underneath it all I’m still the same person you got to know.”
The darkness requires us to forgo our sense of sight, which only enhances our touch. It’s all I can focus on as his fingers pinch into my waist. It’s encouraging, way too encouraging, and has me wanting to grind against him with a simple arch of my back as I ignore his reminders. I don’t but just thinking about it fills my stomach with undeniable arousal.
My hands skim up his shirt until they reach his neckline, the skin there so soft and smooth. My thumb traces up the center of his throat, curving over his Adam’s apple until I feel the scratchiness of his stubble. I go up, up, up until my fingers curve around his chin. Another centimeter or so and it’ll be his delicious lips against my fingertips. And God , I want to feel them. Not just on the pad of my fingers but everywhere.
My thumb moves until it stops over what feels like a cut. My brows push down in confusion and concern. The Battleground. I gently run along the rough skin and when he winces, I pull away.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
His hand finds my wrist so easily it’s like he has night vision. He presses my hand back to his neck. He wants this as much as me, and I could fucking cry, because this is so much better than him breaking up with me and constantly pushing me away. “You’re more than fine, Vi.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” is what he replies, but it’s a lie. When he showed up at my apartment busted up, he was so nonchalant over not being able to tell me. Like what happened was nothing, but if that were the case, he wouldn’t have been injured at all.
I don’t want to go through that same thing again.
“It’s not nothing. You’re hurt.”
His hand falls back to my waist. I love the weight of it there. “It’s expected when you get into fights with guys bigger than you.”
I try to say something, but nothing comes out. I hate the way my stomach sinks into a blackhole, wiping away the butterflies that were there a minute ago. “Why are you torturing yourself?”
“I told you…it’s helping me deal. My life is a clusterfuck. Mom dying. Finding out she was married to my dad all these years and never told me. On top of that, Aunt Bess knew and paid him off to stay away. And then there’s the fact that I have a half brother all these years. A brother, Violet. I had family out there and didn’t even know it. Tell me how I’m supposed to react to all that without losing it.”
My palm runs down the side of his neck. My thumb brushes higher until it smooths against his earlobe. I go as far as tracing his entire ear. “I hate all of that happened to you. I wish I could turn back time for you. Make it better.”
His hands drop to my thighs.
“What’s done is done.”
“You get to choose how you react to it. You don’t have to be so angry, Colson. No one is forcing anything on you. Not in a way where you have to push us away. We just want to be there for you when you need us. You matter.”
His hands brush higher until they’re under my shirt and on skin. “You say that, but you don’t deserve this bullshit. No one does. I don’t know how to rewrite reality. To turn it into a story where it’s good enough for you, Violet, or anyone else.”
“You spent years taking care of your mom, and I understand why, but don’t you think it’s time to take care of yourself? Isn’t that why you pushed me into my apartment that night and had sex with me? Because you were tired of giving up what you want for the sake of others? She’s gone but…” I’m nervous to say the rest, unsure of how he’ll react, but I need to get it out. “She’s still taking your autonomy from you. She’s stealing your choices, your love, and your ability to receive it all back. You’re letting all these circumstances victimize you.”
“I hate it when you make so much fucking sense.” His hands move up and down my sides, his thumbs rolling over my ribs before dipping back down and starting again.
“Stop fighting,” I blurt out, holding his face in my hands and bending forward until I can place a gentle kiss wherever my lips land. This entire time I’ve been trying not to think if there are more marks on his beautiful face. It’s hard for me to rationalize why it’s so easy for him to endure so much physical pain but impossible to face his emotions. I’m at the point where I’m not opposed to begging. I can’t stand the thought of him back in that candy warehouse or on the streets in the middle of the night, taking a beating that he never deserved in the first place.
“Don’t leave. Come back to my apartment with me and stay. We’ll work through what’s happened and figure everything out as it comes up. It can be that easy if you let it be. I’m so angry at you for not telling me what was going on, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want this, that I don’t want you. ”
I pepper kisses over his cheek, my lips brushing against parts of him I’ll never stop loving. Maybe I shouldn’t still feel this way. He took advantage of how easily I let things slide. He didn’t confide in me to the same extent I did him, but we have always been there for each other. What we had wasn’t fake. And I do believe that he’s the man I got to know. Underneath all the hurt and pain, he’s that person. He has to be.
He tips his head against me. I rock my forehead against his, our noses nudging one another.
I sigh. “Doesn’t this feel good to you?”
His hands slide back down to my hips, and like before, he tugs me as close to him as I can get. My knees bump into the wall behind him, but my pelvis molds against him perfectly, grazing a very hard something.
He rolls me into him, causing my heat to drag over him. The butterflies in my stomach revive, flapping up out of the darkness. “You always feel good to me, Violet. That’s the problem.”
“I don’t see how that’s an issue,” I murmur.
“Because you’re this beautiful fucking gem. Polished and sparkly, and I’m the tainted jeweler who will cut you in half and mold you into something else just because I can.”
“We’re all a little fucked up. Just not in the same ways.”
“I don’t want you fucked up at all,” he whispers, bumping his nose against mine again. God, how much would it take to seal my mouth over his?
My hands rest against his upper chest. He keeps my hips planted over his hard length. It’d take nothing to drag my panties to the side and revert back to who we used to be. “Colson.”
“Vi.”
“Ever think of yourself as the gem? But also the jeweler? You’re polished and sparkly in your own ways, but you won’t let yourself shine because you’re constantly dirtying your hands before handling yourself.”
“Mmm, maybe.”
I blow out a breath, my sigh rolling out of me like tumbleweed. I don’t know how else to make it clear that I want him no matter where he’s at mentally and emotionally. No matter what’s happened in the past, I want to forge a new and better future together. Why doesn’t he want the same?
It reminds me an awful lot of my mom and how she stuck by Dad, despite his issues. My words are a mumble out of my mouth. “Are you going to stop?” I almost don’t even want to hear the answer.
“This?” He grinds me against him again. My stomach coils tighter. I’d love nothing more than to keep going. To do things to each other in this dark closet, but…
“No. The fighting.”
“Maybe I can be convinced,” he teases, giving me a bigger glimpse of himself. This is who he is. Why can’t he see that? Why can’t he see that he can choose this for himself? That we can be us again?
“Liar.”
“Now you’re learning.”
I nibble on my lip, unsure of what to do next, but then Finn pops up in my head. “What happens when Finn turns out to be right?”
“Finn is a piece of shit who will say and do anything for his own benefit. Don’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth.” His tone is unrelenting, that prior flirtatious charm gone. “And don’t go anywhere with him again.”
“He told me you were in trouble, Colson, and when I followed him, you were in an abandoned warehouse with a mob of people chanting for you to beat the hell out of another guy. I get you have history with him, but how is that for his own benefit? Sounds to me like he’s trying to be there for you, and you won’t let him. You’re pushing him away just like you’re doing to the rest of us.”
“I told you the kind of stuff he did to me.”
“I know,” I sigh. “But don’t you think that people can change?”
Colson’s shoulders stiffen. I rest my hands on them regardless. I assume it’s from my prodding, from discussing topics that make him feel ashamed and uncomfortable. “Jesus fucking Christ, why are you pushing me when it comes to him?”
Annoyance builds in me. “Because there are people that care about you, and you’re too stupid to see it.”
“You never used to be this brash with me,” he comments.
“Yeah, well, you’re kind of not giving me a choice now.”
“I’m not forcing you to do shit,” he challenges back.
“Fine, Colson. You win. You fucking win. Waste your life away because you don’t want to take a single step forward. Leap backwards. Go fight. Do what those guys are doing and get stuck in the pattern of going out every night to kick people’s asses. Live a life where you wake up with nothing to look forward to and no one to turn to.”
I move to get off of him. I’m so done all of a sudden that I can’t be around him. The closet is too dark. Too stuffy. Too freaking small. I need out. To go back to my apartment and put this night behind me like I have all the others.
He doesn’t let me get up, though. His hands grip me tighter than they have in weeks, and when I push on his shoulders to stand, he keeps me glued to him.
“Don’t go,” he pleads.
I ignore it. “Let me up.”
He repeats himself. “Don’t , Violet.”
“I don’t want to do this with you anymore. Like, I’m done with the back and forth,” I choke out, sadness clogging my throat. I need to get away from him so I can let the tears fall. So I can let go of trying to be so goddamn strong for him. “So, please, I’m begging you. Let me go.”
He bends forward, pressing his forehead to my chest. I don’t give in to the need to run my fingers through his hair. I’m so exhausted with him settling on being so angry instead of working through his issues. With him being okay with me one second just to fight me the next. I’m not his human fucking punching bag.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes out in a rush. “I’m fucking sorry. Okay?”
My heart crumbles at his apology, at the conviction in his tone and how sad he sounds. “I can’t keep doing this,” I tell him. “I’m trying so damn hard, Colson. You push me away, and I still want to be there for you. I find out you’ve kept your deepest secrets from me, and I still miss you. I want to be with you. Do you know how heartbreaking it is knowing that it isn’t reciprocated? I don’t know why I constantly fall for guys who don’t want the same things as me. Who don’t mirror back what I feel for them.”
“That’s not true,” he’s quick to say. “I do feel the same about you.”
“No, you don’t.” My heart is so heavy, the agony of this moment searing into me like a branding tool. “If you don’t want this anymore then you have to let me go. For good. You can’t saunter back into my life when it’s good for you. You can’t call me in the middle of the night. You can’t show up and act like this. And I can’t do that to you. I can’t suddenly pop up in your affairs. If Finn shows back up, I’ll mind my own business.” I sniffle past the pressure of wanting to cry. “Good luck with everything, Colson.”
I didn’t think I could feel any worse than I have, but this is a knife to the chest. It’s soul-shattering and heart-wrenching as I sit and wait for a reply I know he isn’t going to give me.
Instead, he releases me, and I don’t stop walking until I make it back to my apartment and fall onto my bed in one big crying heap.