Chapter 3
Three
VIOLET
“Eyes open. Eyes open."
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, I hold on to lucidity for dear life, no matter how much I don't want to. I don't want to be awake. I’d rather not think or feel.
Convincing myself I can make it to my mom's house safely gets harder and harder as the drive goes on.
The sun is long gone, and my back pinches from hovering close to the steering wheel in fear I'll hit a deer.
It's tedious and requires continued motivation to stay awake.
My eyes simply want to close and block out the pain in my heart, mind, and body.
I've been driving for so long, I'm not positive I'll make it to Chicago on this second tank of gas. I've been so focused on keeping myself alive and moving forward that I let my tank get dangerously low a few hours ago.
Darkness clouds my eyesight, blocking out the lights on my dashboard. A gasp makes me choke as I fling my eyes open once again.
I don't think I can do this. I really don't think I can do this.
I have to do this.
"Almost there," I remind myself, needing all the encouragement I can get. Except my throat feels thick with so much emotion, I'm not sure how I've managed to stay alive this long.
It feels like my body is trying its best to give up and give out against the steering wheel. I've had to turn my phone on do not disturb because each time someone called me, I'd cry all over again.
Just when I think I have no tears left, more flow fast down my cheeks. I thought I was done crying. Everything was good. We were all happy.
Or was it all an act?
Fool the bitch named Violet into thinking she deserves love and happiness, then rip it right out from under her? How long were they planning on keeping up the ruse?
And Jamie...
He must have known. They met the night we got into our big fight. Was he just so done with me and angry enough that he had to hurt me?
I can't believe it never even crossed my mind that he would do that to me. Nate and Ellis, maybe, considering the fact that I really hurt them.
Nate's betrayal confuses me. I don't understand. He was so kind and caring...how does someone fake that for so long? Did he go home and shudder at the concept of touching me?
Ellis? I can picture him doing this. I knew when I saw him for the first time last month that he was different.
Angry and emotional. Strong feelings have the ability to change people.
Ellis is proof of that. He concocted a plan to destroy my trust, and it worked, all because I destroyed his seven years ago.
The city lights soon melt away into trees and neighborhoods of nice homes. I blink furiously to stay awake, all while my ankle throbs and my ribs make me nauseous with pain.
My teeth hurt with the ferocity I've been clenching them. Anger, sadness, and complete confusion battle for dominance in my mind every second.
How am I supposed to feel?
Sometimes I feel like I'm losing three people who have become so precious to me.
Other times, I'm mad because I remind myself that those men I fell in love with never existed.
Finally, when my mind tries to wrap itself around the information and match it to my experiences, I'm confused. So, so confused.
How could someone make me believe they loved me, cared for me, and were comfortable with me, just to rip it away? It's cruel. A cruel, horrible joke that has sent me running once again.
Am I making a mistake?
Should I have faced them? Called them back and demanded they give me the pieces of my heart back that they stole? And it was stealing because it was fake. They lied. They deceived me.
My gosh...They got their revenge. I ghosted them, so Ellis sucks my almost boyfriend's cock.
I'm not so screwed up in the head that I'm going to take the blame for this fucked up situation. But I can acknowledge that I set this in motion a long time ago when I chose to run away from my problems rather than face them.
Here I am running again.
It's too late to change my mind. The light on Mom's porch shines through her row of trees, and suddenly everything hurts.
My teeth chatter and my vision blurs. Somehow, I manage to put the car in park and not drive right through the front door.
Fumbling for the handle, I can't open it fast enough. Let me out, let me out, let me out!
A ringing in my ears startles me enough to shove the door open. I barely get my feet under me as I stumble out the door and slam it closed. Then, as if finally realizing just how messed up my foot is, I shout, reaching for the house.
"MOM!" I scream, giving my cry for help every last drop of energy I have. That's it. I made it. I'm done.
I recognize this scene from every good book I've read. Incessant beeping is usually what the characters call the sound that wakes me.
First, I realize I'm in the hospital. I have half a moment to wonder who all is with me before I blink open my eyes. But like in the stories, the blinding white light absolutely burns my eyeballs.
Squeezing my eyelids shut forces me to take note of the pounding in my head. Whether the headache is from banging it on the ground multiple times as I tumbled down the hill, or not eating or drinking water for the better part of an entire day, I'm not sure, but it hurts.
Next comes the dull ache of the injuries I've sustained, but it's nowhere near as bad as the stabbing in my heart.
I know my ankle, ribs, and possible concussion will be all that everyone talks about once I open my eyes. Which is fine. Although I know from experience that shoving heartbreak away never actually does any good.
My brain is a mess, and I've only been awake for a minute. I would sigh if I thought my ribs could handle it.
"Violet?" Mom. My eyes burn, and I have to swallow repeatedly to keep a sob from escaping. "Sweetheart, open your eyes."
"No," I croak, feeling way too emotionally distraught to face her.
Warmth encompasses my right hand, and the sob that I was trying to keep at bay comes tumbling out in a fresh wave of sorrow. My ribs protest the expulsion of feelings, making my eyes fly open.
"Hey, hey," Mom coos, leaning over me and blocking out some of the bright lights. "Shh."
"Mom," I whimper as tears soak my cheeks. "They—"
My voice won't function beyond a cringy croak, so she interrupts me. "I know, V. Cassidy told me."
Cassidy...I suck in a shuddering breath as guilt slams into me. I've ignored so many of her calls. I'm horrible.
"You aren't horrible," a deep voice on my other side declares. Twisting my head, I find Felix frowning down at me with so much emotion in his eyes. "You're hurt on too many levels. No fucking way are you the horrible one."
"He's right," Mom murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Violet, what happened? Did someone hurt you?"
Yes. I don't say that because I know she's asking about the physical hurts. "No..." But I also really don't want to tell them what actually happened.
"Violet." Mama narrows her eyes at me, concern still prevalent.
Glancing around the room, I cringe when I see her other three men.
Roman is the one I'm worried about. You'd think Felix would be the overprotective one—nope.
Roman won't let me do anything ever again if he finds out I fell down a hill.
I'm beginning to think it was actually a cliff, but no way am I going to say that word.
"I tripped on my hike," I relent and watch as Roman crosses his arms. My temples are throbbing, yet the vein peeking out from his dark hair seems to pound harder than my head.
"You have a grade one sprained ankle, bruised ribs, and a multitude of cuts and bruises from tripping?" Roman deadpans.
I cringe and shuffle on the uncomfortable hospital bed while Mom scolds Roman for his bedside manner. Before they can cause a four-way argument, I relent. "I fell down a steep hill..."
Roman curses as do the other three men in the room, but I turn to my mom. "When can I leave?"
Just as she opens her mouth to answer me, the door opens, and a female doctor walks in with a soft smile. "Hello, Ms. Bennett," the woman greets.
I'll never not love hearing people say my name like that.
Blue adopted me within a few months after hearing that my biological mother, Linda, had passed away.
Blue was already my mom, but when she approached me on my twenty-first birthday and asked if we could make our bond official, I said yes please!
"Hi," I whisper, palms sweating with anxiety. How long have I been here? Confusion swamps me with the lack of knowledge I have; still, my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. I just want to go home.
The doctor's face softens, and she introduces herself. It was easy to ignore how much I hate hospitals after what happened to my mom when I was scared to tell Roman I fell down a cliff. But now, faced with the kind older woman who holds my charts in one hand, I'm scared.
"I'll submit your discharge paperwork shortly, Ms. Bennett. For the next two weeks, you will need to rest your ankle and your ribs. Compression on both, along with painkillers, will help. Ice will be your best friend as well."
She hands my mom a packet of instructions, but I'm more focused on controlling my breathing. As they discuss the importance of rest and keeping activity light, I wonder if this is a blessing or a curse.