Chapter 21 Violet
VIOLET
My eyelids feel heavy.
Tired.
Almost as if I haven’t slept in ages.
I open them with agonizing difficulty, and all I see is…white.
Too much white.
Clean.
Sterile.
The oppressive color coats the walls, the ceiling, and the sheets tangled around my legs like restraints I don’t remember getting trapped in.
My breathing is too shallow, too controlled, as if my body is relearning how to function.
I try to blink away the fog, but my lashes are heavy, my lids sluggish.
My muscles ache in places I don’t even recognize, deep inside my bones, like they’ve been frozen solid and only now decided to thaw.
Where…am I?
My fingers twitch against the stiff sheets; my limbs feel like two slabs of stone I can no longer control.
I’m so disoriented, I feel disconnected from my own body, like I’m an imposter in someone else’s skin.
The air smells like linen and faint cedar laced with emptiness and everything that’s… wrong.
I try to sit up.
Pain punches through my ribs, the ache spreading to my shoulders, my legs, everywhere. My stomach clenches, nausea clawing at my throat with every sharp inhale.
Is this a nightmare?
A different type of nightmare?
My arms tremble as I push myself upright, breathing through the sharp, electric pulses overflowing my nerves.
I move like I haven’t moved in a long time, and that’s when the first spark of recognition hits me.
Memories of the attack, Julian, and his stupid Nietzsche book slam through me. That was hours ago, right?
Swinging my legs off the bed is an effort. Cold air bites at my bare feet and zaps through my bones, and I press a hand against the wall as I push myself up, my legs shaking like they might buckle at any second.
Like I’m learning how to walk all over again.
Still grabbing onto the wall, I walk out of the room, and the farther I go, the tighter my chest gets.
Everything about this place feels wrong.
The house is small, painfully neat, like a picture someone arranged for the sake of appearances.
A single untouched gray couch sits in the living room.
A fireplace stands cold and empty. Through the large glass window, the outside world is coated with snow, the sky a vast, unforgiving gray that stretches endlessly.
I swallow hard. My heartbeat pounds in an erratic, stuttering rhythm.
Snow?
It’s…September. Why is there snow?
The outside world feels out of sync with my internal one. Like I’m playing catch-up with reality, but something isn’t adding up.
I nearly fall, and I hold on to the sofa for balance. My gaze flicks to a small stack of newspapers on the sleek black coffee table.
I don’t realize I’m reaching for them until my fingers skim the top one. The pages feel thin and strange under my fingertips, new, even—
My hand clenches around the paper when I read the date.
Late December.
No.
It was September. Fall.
It was just a few hours ago when Julian was sitting beside me, flipping through a book and watching me like I was nothing more than cattle lined up for slaughter.
But now…it’s December?
Three months?
My stomach plunges.
The room sways and warps around me, and I collapse onto the sofa, my breath ragged and sharp, every inhale slicing through my ribs like shattered glass.
I’ve been gone for three whole months, but my brain refuses to recognize it.
A sharp, shrill ring shatters the silence, and even my jumpiness is sluggish as I see the phone that’s sitting beside the newspapers.
My fingers shake as I pick it up, pressing it to my ear.
Silence.
Then a low, controlled voice fills my ears. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Violet.”
Julian.
“Where am I?” My voice is hoarse, fractured, almost alien.
“Rhode Island. The start of the new life I promised. You need to lay low for a while as I arrange your transfer to Seattle.”
“D-Dahlia. Where’s Dahlia?”
A slow exhale filters through the receiver like he’s indulging me with the bare minimum of patience. “She will join you shortly.”
Oh, thank God.
She’s okay.
And I’m alive.
Does this mean it’s all over now? Am I allowed to breathe properly?
“Before then, you’ll be visited by my doctors for a final checkup to assess your body’s regenerative capabilities.”
“What about Mario?”
“In a real coma. Will probably never wake up.”
My throat closes.
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
God. What have I done to poor Mario?
My jumbled thoughts start to filter in. Memories? No—words. Dahlia’s mostly, but also…
My heart thuds as fragments of dark promises and a deep voice I could never forget filter through.
Jude.
He was there somewhere.
My head hurts the longer I think about it. I think I woke up at some point, opening my eyes, even, but how long ago was it? I remember seeing the snow outside, the TV was on, and the Vipers were playing.
Jude slammed someone, and I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. I was surrounded by people in white and…
“Her pulse is unsteady,” one of them said mechanically.
And then Dahlia was kissing a player on TV—Number 19, Davenport.
Why was Dahlia kissing someone from the Vipers…?
The memory slips through my fingers as fast as it appeared, like sea foam, disintegrating with each of my breaths.
And then another grainy, distorted memory hits me—a large hand on my face, hot breaths skimming my lips, and unintelligible words.
I inhale and exhale harshly into the phone. “Was Jude by my side recently?”
“Yes. He kidnapped you, but I saved you in time. You owe me a considerable number of favors, Violet.”
“Kidnapped me? Why?”
“You know exactly why.”
To finish what he started and kill me.
But if he wanted to kill me, wouldn’t he have had many chances to do that while I was sleeping?
Yes, Julian mentioned that Jude would have no access to me while I was in a coma, but knowing how resourceful Jude can be, he could have found me.
And why does my chest ache? Is it a side effect of the coma?
This feels the same as when I learned he sent those people to kill me and Mario.
Those emotions of betrayal I’d hoped to never experience again, because they’re beyond stupid. I’m the one who chose to have na?ve thoughts about Jude and his motives.
“Listen, Violet. I better not see you or your sister around here again. Not in Stantonville and certainly not in Graystone Ridge.” Julian’s voice is still calm, but it’s a threat wrapped in silk.
And then, like a knife pressed against my throat, the last words slide in. “For your own good.”
The line goes dead.
I stay there, the phone still clutched in my trembling hand, the silence pressing in around me. The white walls. The untouched furniture. The frozen world outside.
I’ve been gone for three months.
Mario is in a coma because of me.
And Jude still wants to kill me.
Even though I woke up, I want to go back to the nothingness of whatever I was in.
Things didn’t go as Julian planned.
And I’m not sure whether it’s a blessing or a curse.
It’s been over three weeks since I woke up from the coma, and I’m now living in Graystone Ridge.
It’s due to many reasons.
For one, Dahlia is dating the Vipers’ captain and Jude’s best friend, Kane Davenport. They got together because she approached him to avenge me.
For Dahlia’s sake, Kane offered Jude the rest of the folders containing names of the people who were present during Susie’s death with the sole condition that he wouldn’t hurt me.
Also, for Dahlia’s sake, Kane somehow pulled strings to have me admitted to GU in the second semester and paid for it in full.
As if that weren’t already too much, Kane bought us a huge penthouse that I live in alone because, in reality, Dahlia lives with him now.
He also told me not to worry about Julian and that he has the situation ‘under control.’
Kane wanted to pay for my expenses as well, but I drew a line at that. However, something tells me he’s arranged for my acceptance into a well-paying part-time job at a youth charity, even though I have zero experience.
I’m deeply uncomfortable with him giving me things, even if it’s for Dahlia. My sister, who’s become even more overprotective since I woke up, told me to just take it.
“I know it’s tough, and I also thought I shouldn’t accept his money in the beginning, but, really, should we be so pressed about it? It’s the first time we’ve had a chance to live a better life. After being in survival mode all these years, I think we deserve to stop struggling and just be happy.”
I don’t know about that, but what I know for certain is that Kane worships the ground she walks on. I’ve seen the way he looks at her when she’s not paying attention and the constant smile he wears when she’s talking nonstop.
He loves her deeply, and she’s head over heels for him, which I never expected Dahlia to ever be.
She used to treat relationships like an afterthought, and she has worse trust issues than me. So seeing her this happy and in her element lately has warmed my heart—which is probably the only good result of my coma.
I still hate third-wheeling them, though, and I feel guilty when she comes to spend the night instead of being with her boyfriend because she’s worried about me.
Or right now, because she ditched him and is walking with me from campus because it’s our ‘movie night.’
She’s grinning at her phone, typing with super speed, her cheeks slightly flushed, her lower lip trapped beneath her teeth.
God. She’s glowing. Her light-green top and pale-beige jacket contrast against the tones of her olive skin, and she has the most beautiful complexion, especially lately since she’s not stressing out.
“Oh,” I say, pretending to scroll through my phone. “I have a mock test tomorrow.”
Dahlia looks up and then narrows her eyes. “Don’t you dare cancel our movie night.”
“I’m sorry.” I side-hug her. “You know I’ve been trying to catch up, especially with the new school and everything.”
She pouts. “Are you sure you’re not doing this because you don’t want to spend time with me or something? You can tell me if I’m annoying, Vi.”