Chapter Eight
Violet
WHEN HE TAKES off his shirt, my eyes are immediately drawn to the purple flowers tattooed over his heart; the only piece of art on his body I’ve seen with color.
Suddenly, I’m fifteen again, sleeping over at my best friend’s house.
· · ·
Eight Years Ago
As I’m making my way back to Alyssa’s room from the bathroom, I pass her brother Damon’s bedroom. I pause when I notice sniffles coming from behind his closed door.
Except, those aren’t sniffles. Is he laughing?
Concerned, I knock on his door. “Damon?”
After a moment, he answers. “Hi, Violet.” His face is blotchy like he’s been crying, but those were definitely laughs I heard.
“Sorry. Are you . . . are you okay? I thought I heard crying?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I can tell he’s lying by the way he avoids my eyes.
“Anything you want to talk about?” Damon and I are almost as close as Alyssa and I, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t want to talk to me about what’s going on. He is, after all, a boy.
“It’s, um, kind of a long story.” He grabs the back of his neck as he looks down at the floor.
“Well, Alyssa’s out cold, but I can’t sleep, so I have nothing but time.” Damon’s always been there for me when I need someone to talk to, and I want to be here for him.
“All right.” He opens the door all the way, letting me in. It’s not the first time I’ve been in his room, but I’m always pleasantly surprised by how tidy it is. And it smells good. Like cedarwood and body soap. Like Damon.
He closes the door behind me, and we both sit on the edge of the bed, facing each other. But he’s looking somewhere far away.
“So, what’s going on?” I ask after he’s silent for a minute.
He steels himself. “Has Alyssa told you anything about our dad?”
I’m surprised by the question for a moment, but then I think about it and realize she hasn’t. I know their parents divorced, and that’s why they switched schools, but other than that, I don’t know anything about the man. “She hasn’t told me much, why?”
“He died.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” Fuck, no wonder he was crying.
“I’m not,” he states.
My eyebrows knit in confusion at his response. “You’re not?”
He gives his head a little shake. “No. He was a terrible man.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what else to say to that. “Terrible how?”
“He was physically and emotionally abusive to my mom. That’s why she left him. And he was to me, too, but I never told my mom about it.”
“Why not?” I don’t mean to interrupt him, but the question just slips out.
He gives a little shrug, like it’s no big deal.
“I didn’t want to add to her suffering. Plus, he enjoyed reminding me that no one would care enough to stop him.
No one loved me enough to give a shit. He got off on making me feel small and alone.
Made sure I knew the only love I deserved was what he had for me, and that wasn’t really love at all. ”
What do you even say to someone who has gone through this?
I’m sorry doesn’t feel like enough, and there’s also nothing I could have done to help him.
I can’t imagine what that must have been like for him.
My parents aren’t particularly affectionate, and my dad can be strict at times, but neither of them would ever hurt me like that.
I want to go back in time and give little Damon a hug, tell him his dad is wrong and he is loved.
The best I can do now is be here for him, to listen to his story and make sure he knows he’s not alone now. So I grab his hand and hope it provides some comfort.
He squeezes it in acknowledgment, giving me a little side smile.
“Anyway, as I got older, I realized he was just a terrible man who enjoyed making people feel weak and small, and no matter what he said, the way my life turned out was entirely up to me.
It was my responsibility to be a better man than him.
I did what I could to take the brunt of everything so he would leave my mom alone, and luckily he never touched Alyssa.
Then, thankfully, my mom divorced him and we were free.
“But I always had his voice in the back of my head. Telling me I’m a fuckup, that no one could ever care about me. Despite knowing what he was doing, I can’t help but feel like he was right sometimes. That no one will ever care to know me, that I’ll always be alone.”
A few tears have escaped Damon’s eyes, tracking slowly down his cheeks. My heart aches for him, and I get the urge to reach out and wipe away his tears, to tell him how much I care about him. But I don’t want him to stop sharing his story with me, so I stay still and silent.
He takes a deep breath, like he’s recentering himself, before speaking again.
“And today, my mom told me he died. Said it was a drunk driving accident. He was the drunk driver, and thankfully no one else was hurt. I hadn’t thought about him for a while, and when she told me, it just stirred up all those feelings I had tried to push away, to get over.
It all came rushing back, and I just broke.
But then I started laughing, because I’m finally, completely free.
He’s dead, and I feel like I’ve taken a full breath for the first time in my life.
He can’t hurt me, can’t hurt anyone, ever again. ”
I take a moment to process everything Damon just told me.
It breaks my heart that he’s ever felt like that.
He’s one of the kindest, funniest people I know.
And to know that it’s all despite what happened to him makes me respect him even more.
A lot of people who are hurt like that end up hurting others, but I know Damon could never.
I squeeze his hand, and he looks up at me. “I’m so sorry you went through all of that, Damon. You didn’t deserve it, no one deserves that. I’m glad he’s dead, too. And if he wasn’t, I’d kill him myself.”
He lets out a little laugh, and warmth spreads through my chest. I’ve always loved Damon’s laugh. “Thanks, Vi. Thanks for saying that and for listening. Sorry I put all that on you.”
“It’s okay. We all need help carrying our burdens sometimes.”
I look around his room, unsure of what to do now that he’s dumped all of this. I want to stay and comfort him, but I’m not sure if he wants that.
He purses his lips and sits up straight. “Do you . . . um . . . Do you mind hanging out for a bit longer? I don’t really want to be alone right now.”
“Of course.” I’m relieved he asked; I don’t want him to be alone right now either.
He lies back on his pillow, making space for me next to him.
I curl up next to him, finding familiar comfort.
Every time we all watch a movie together, I always find myself with my head on Damon’s chest, seeking his warmth and the steadiness of his rhythmic heartbeat.
His fingers play with the ends of my hair, and we lie there, both okay with the silence that settles between us.
After a while, his breathing starts to even out and his body relaxes. I stare at his peaceful, sleeping face for a minute before I gently untuck myself from his arm and get out of bed.
On his desk is an open notebook. I grab a pen and leave him a note that I hope he’ll take to heart.
You are not alone. -V
· · ·
Present
“Damon?” I whisper as my fingers trace my handwriting over his heart.
“Hi, Violet.”
My name still sounds so sensual coming through the voice modulator, and I think for a moment I can almost recognize Damon’s familiar cadence underneath it.
I can’t believe I just hooked up with my best friend’s brother, without even realizing it was him.
This explains why I felt so safe with him, though; Damon always made me feel that way.
Panic seizes me as I think of what Aaron would do if he found out I just hooked up with Damon.
“I-I’m not . . . I have to go.” I hop off the table and adjust my skirt. My legs wobble underneath me—whether from the intense orgasm I just had or from the fear now coursing through my veins, I’m not sure.
He rips off his mask, gently grabbing my arm as I stumble my way out of the room. “Violet, wait, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you it was me.”
“That’s . . . that’s not the problem. I’m not supposed to be anywhere near you.”
“Who the fuck told you that?” Now he’s angry. Not at me; even when I was an annoying teenager, Damon never got angry with me. He’s mad at Aaron, he just doesn’t know that.
I look into his eyes, the blue so familiar, like coming home after a long vacation. Damon was always someone I trusted with everything that was going on in my life. Someone I knew I could confide in without judgment. I could tell him. I could tell him what’s going on.
But my thoughts are interrupted by my smartwatch vibrating with an incoming text. It’s from Aaron. A pit of dread fills my stomach at the idea of Aaron even knowing Damon is in town. I have to get out of here.
“I’m sorry, Damon. I have to go,” I repeat, more urgently this time.
His fingers slip from my arm as I continue toward the exit.
By the time I make it back to my car, tears soak my face and my entire body is trembling. I finally pull out my phone and check the message from Aaron.
Aaron:
I’m sorry about the other night. Can we talk tonight?
What the fuck have I done?