5. Violet
FIVE
VIOLET
Violet: Where are you?
Violet: Please let me be there for you. We don’t even have to talk.
Violet: I’m heading back to Spring Meadows. At least tell me you’re okay?
I watch as the streetlights pass by in a blur. After spending another hour with Sebastian and his parents with no signs of Colson, I decided it was time for me to go home. Thad called one of the cars to the front, and Sebastian walked me out, promising to message me with updates.
It was too uncomfortable standing around while Bess and Thad were saying their goodbyes. It was too intimate, and mostly, I just want to be with Colson and make sure he’s okay. To offer my shoulder if he needs one to lean on. To give my strength because I know he’s bracing himself, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I watched as his control crumbled to the ground on Thanksgiving. The way his fist cracked through the drywall wasn’t just a shock but a sign that as much as he can hold himself together, he too has his limits. I’m afraid this is one of them, and without someone there to talk him down, he’ll succumb to urges he doesn’t typically respond to.
It’s a constant thought as we drive over the Sycamore River and follow the 401 back to Chatham Hills. I rest my head on the window and take in the beautiful Renaissance design of the buildings, their rigid symmetry beautiful all on its own and the darkness of the night casting them with an eeriness that adds to their charm. It’s one of the reasons I love this college town so much. Everywhere you look, there’s beauty to be found.
Although, right now, I’m not as pressed to pick out the little details I’ve done thousands of times before. I’m too distracted, especially since I’ve sent Colson multiple texts and have gotten zero replies.
He’s out there, who knows where and doing God knows what. Alone.
My stomach dips at the thought, and again I brighten my phone's screen to check if there’s an unread message I didn’t hear come through. There isn't. The only thing starting back at me are my own string of desperate pleas.
I reprimand myself over my last text.
At least tell me you’re okay.
Of course he’s not okay.
It’s crazy how in seconds an entire life can change. One tiny little action can rip apart a person’s world and have them teetering on the edge of facing their truths or pushing them away.
The driver flicks on the turn signal. It click, click, clicks in the silence then stops when he makes the left turn into Spring Meadows’s parking lot. He drives up to the entrance and puts the car in park. “We’ve arrived, Ms. Adams.”
“Just Violet is fine,” I tell him as I dim my phone and shove it into the clutch I brought with me for the night. “Thank you for the ride.”
“Of course. I’ll wait until I see you’re inside and safe.”
As I slide out of the back seat, I murmur, “Have a good rest of your night.”
I barely hear his, “You as well,” as I shut the door, heft up my dress so I don’t step on it as I climb the curb, and swipe my keycard. I make sure the entrance door is shut tight and glance over my shoulder at the SUV blanketed by the darkness. It’s late, nearing midnight, and my feet ache from being on and off them all evening. Dressing up always makes me feel like a thousand bucks, but with the way my toes are on the brink of bleeding and blistering, I’m ready to toss my heels in the nearest trash can so I never have to wear them again. I settle for leaning against the wall as I wait for the elevator and unclasp them.
I sigh in relief the second they’re off, and I can wiggle my toes. When the elevator dings open, I trail inside barefoot and press the button for my floor. I ruffle through my clutch for my key. It falls to the ground just as the doors slide open. I grab it then turn out of the cab, my eyes following the long hall toward my apartment.
My movement short circuits, every muscle in my body screeching to a halt at the glob of black further down the corridor.
Colson.
Sitting with his back against the wall and his knee drawn up, he appears calm. Like the shit didn’t hit the fan a couple of hours ago. Like he didn’t walk out of the hospital. Like he hasn’t ignored my messages for the better part of the last hour.
Ever so slowly, because I don’t want to spook him, I make my way closer. My breaths are tame, but my chest still quivers under each breath. His shoulders stiffen, and I know it’s because he knows I’m here.
I drop my heels to the ground in front of the door and lower to my knees, my hands moving to grasp his arm stretched out over his leg. “You don’t know how relieved I am to see you.”
He looks at me then, his eyes replicating one hell of a tropical cyclone. I’ve never seen the color in them so dark, the brightness in them swept aside. “I’m fine.”
I do a quick assessment of his face, appreciating that there isn’t harm done. He looks the same as he did when I last saw him, and his suit is still as pristine as it was when he picked me up, though now there’s this heaviness that clings to it in the form of a sporadic wrinkle here and there.
“How long have you been waiting?”
“Don’t know.”
It couldn’t have been that long considering I left the hospital soon after he bailed. Which makes me wonder how he made it over the Sycamore Memorial Bridge. He couldn’t have walked that far.
“How’d you get here?”
“Grabbed an Uber.”
I rub my palm over his forearm, my heart pinching from the sadness on his face. “Why don’t we go in? It can’t be comfortable sitting on the floor.”
He stands in response. I unlock the door and toss my heels off to the side before locking up behind me.
Quietly, we make it down the hall and into the privacy of my bedroom. When I close the door with the heel of my foot, I sense how off the energy is between us. It’s frail and distressing. Brittle. Like this connection between us will reduce to nothing if I take an unsteady step or say the wrong thing.
I’m torn between not knowing what to say and wanting to hold him in my arms while offering him every word of comfort I have in my arsenal. The only problem is…I don’t know what he wants. I don’t know what will help or what will break him more, so I choose walking on eggshells, thinking it might be what he needs most even though it makes my calves cramp.
I head over to my dresser, walking around him without brushing against him. I’m careful with my distance, and it’s so unlike what I’m used to. I’ve grown accustomed to his affection when he’s near. To him giving me every ounce of his attention. I can tell he doesn’t want to talk. That he doesn’t have much to say and is still processing one of the biggest changes a person can experience. So, for now, I’ll give him his space. At least until I figure out how to be there for him.
It could always be worse , I remind myself. He could have gone somewhere else. Instead, he showed up at my apartment which speaks louder than any word he’s spoken since leaving the fundraiser.
I tug open a drawer and take out a pair of cotton shorts along with its matching shirt. I don’t miss the sardonic joke in the smiley graphic printed on the front. Long gone are grins and laughs and happiness.
A chill runs down my spine, and when my skin pebbles with the familiar pimples of goosebumps, I rub my hands over my arms to chase them away. My palms aren’t what makes them scatter. It’s the warm breath that slips down over my shoulder when pressure presses into the center of my back where the zipper of my gown is located.
I take in Colson’s presence behind me as he gently drags the zipper down to the small of my back. When his finger slips under one of the straps, and he drags it off my shoulder, my stomach bursts with a familiar sensation of desire. When he does the same thing to the other, I close my eyes and hold onto my clothes a little tighter.
Is it crazy that with all the emotion trying to steal us away from each other that I might possibly want this man more than ever? When I pressed my lips to his the first time in Lucy’s, I had no idea it would lead to this moment, but now that I’m here there’s nowhere else I want to be.
“Colson,” I breathe out softly.
He presses a tight circle of kisses on my left shoulder then trails the tip of his tongue to the side of my neck where he nips my skin with his teeth. He gives me a soothing, “Shhh,” then peppers three kisses to my earlobe. My stomach tightens. My thighs clench for what’s to come. He’ll never not be able to do this to me, to drive me completely mad and make me crave him so desperately.
But as much as I want him to take over and give me all of him, I need to know he’s okay with this. “Are you sure this is what we should be doing right now?” I ask carefully.
His voice is a low grumble. “There’s nothing else I want.”
His hand slips down inside my dress and glides down my side, his palm curving against my ribs and waist. My dress pools at my feet and leaves me standing in nothing but the thong I slipped on so underwear lines wouldn’t be visible through the material.
He continues kissing me.
My shoulders.
My neck.
My back.
“Maybe we should talk,” I suggest as fireworks light my skin wherever he touches.
“No talking,” is his curt reply.
“It’s been a hard day.” I cringe when it comes out, because I don’t need to remind him. His palm smooths over my ass before he pulls the string at my hip and lets it snap back at my skin. It leaves a sting that adds to the pressure between my legs, and as much as I want to say it doesn’t make me hotter—because, hello , he just found out his mom died—I can’t. Every way Colson touches me makes me fall for him a little more, and while I want to get to the bottom of how he’s feeling after being told Janie overdosed and having to say goodbye to her, I want more of this. More of him. More of us.
“You’re sure?” I ask again because I realize how messed up this is.
His voice hardens, and it reminds me of when his car broke down and he wanted nothing to do with the help I offered. “Goddamnit, Violet. All I want is you . I’m not asking for a conversation. I don’t need you to try and decipher how I’m feeling right now.” He pauses as if he’s reeling in his emotions. “I don’t need a fucking therapist. I need my girlfriend. Is that too much to ask?”
I swallow the lump in my throat and twist around. Standing toe-to-toe with him, I notice the slight flush in his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to be here for you right now. I wish you’d tell me what you need. You don’t have to carry it alone.”
His bottom lip trembles. He silences the wavering by clamping his teeth down on it. “I just told you what I need.” His eyes flick between mine, and it takes everything in me not to rip my heart out of my chest and hand it over to replace his broken one. To wipe that look of heartbreak off his face and fill the void in his eyes.
“You already have me,” I whisper. “You always will.”
He grips the back of my neck and drags my mouth to his. His kiss is rough and desperate and so different from what he’s given me in the past. He kisses me like it’s the only thing he has to cling to, like it’s his oxygen. I let him take it. I let him breathe in every ounce of air I can give, and when he lowers to suck on my breasts, swirling his tongue around my hardened nipples over and over again, I hold his head there and appreciate the way he makes my body come to life.
“I need more of you,” I murmur, loving the way he clamps his teeth down on me before my nipple pops out of his mouth.
He rises to his full height and grips my chin. “On the bed. Ass in the air.”
Hearing him tell me he wants me in his favorite position has my panties dripping wet. When I go to slip out of them, he grunts, “No. Keep them on.”
I pad over to the bed and prop myself on all fours. His suit jacket finds a spot next to my dress but that’s as far as he strips. He unclasps his belt and pulls his zipper down while he stares at my ass. He licks his bottom lip, and I know for a fact it’s the reason he’s rock hard when he shifts his pants and boxers down enough to let himself spring free.
He spits into his hand and palms himself with a slow, lazy twist. Then he climbs behind me and grips the string of my thong nestled between my butt cheeks. Yanking it to the side, he exposes my slick seam and wastes no time running his thumb over it to spread me.
I moan in delight. In the way his touch always lets off an array of sparks that start deep in my belly and make my core come alive. I imagine his words of praise, the kindness he always gives me when he sees me bare but doesn’t come now.
His thumb circles me slowly. Lazily. I drop my forehead to the comforter and breathe through the delicious pull in my abdomen before I hear the rip of a condom foil. His tip nudges my entrance seconds later, and I’m so ready for him to fill me that I arch my back and press back into him.
His hand moves to my hip and bites into my flesh. “Don’t move,” he grunts.
Those two words tell me he wants full control. I don’t blame him. It’s the one thing he hasn’t had all day, and if it takes me giving him a semblance of normalcy, then I will.
I position my forearms on the mattress more comfortably and hold myself up. When he finally sinks into me, my walls wrapping tightly around him, a moan works itself up my throat. I don’t move. I don’t dare shift my hips or push back into him the way I want. In the way he enjoys when he’s turned on.
I follow his orders, including spreading my legs a tiny bit wider to allow him better access. It only opens up space for more pleasure.
“Yes,” I whimper. “Harder, Colson.”
I expect him to groan at my request or give me some kind of sign that he likes what he hears. He doesn’t. The way we normally communicate when we have sex isn’t present. His throaty groans are nowhere to be found, and my neediness for more catches in my throat each time I want to voice it.
He fucks me raw.
Like the entire world is out to get him, but instead of taking it out on them, he takes it out on me, ramming into me harder, deeper, faster. I ignore the burn of my thong’s fabric cutting into my hip as he rocks into me and takes what he wants. It’s almost like I’m the only person he’s comfortable enough to lose himself to. Which is the very reason I give myself to him, aside from being irrevocably turned on, of course, because it’s him that’s filling me.
I’m partly ashamed at how impure this is—giving myself to him so he can selfishly forget about his grief, but I’m one hundred percent okay being the person he lets go with. It makes my heart beat erratically, the blood in my body pump faster, and my clit throb uncontrollably when he fucks me fiercely and reaches around to rub my sensitive bud. My vision eventually wanes, and all that’s left is the sensation of falling over the edge.
I forget to breathe through my orgasm and focus on the way my body convulses around his thickness. His palm slides up my back and grips the back of my neck. His body forms a cocoon around mine, his weight pressing into my back, and an animalistic groan rips through the room at a decibel I’ve never heard from him before.
His body stills, but like mine, a set of tremors work through him before he peels himself off me. The mattress dips, and he pushes up to his feet.
An ache settles into my lower back as I roll over. I shift my thong back into place and lift up on my elbows. He pulls the condom off, ties it and wraps it in a tissue, then drops it into a small wastebasket I have beside the bed.
I watch as he tucks himself back into his pants and zips them.
I clear my throat, not caring if my breasts aren’t covered. I’ve never hidden myself from him before. I don’t want to start now. “I can start the shower, and we can wash the day off before we crawl into bed.”
He doesn’t meet my gaze. “Gonna pass on that.”
My heart hiccups.
He never says no to showering together.
Ever.
A ripple of hurt moves through me as he grabs his suit jacket off the floor without looking at me. He swipes his hand over the material like the fabric wrinkled in the few minutes it was mindlessly discarded. “You're going to pass?”
“That’s what I said.”
“So that’s it?” I push up and sit tall, this new feeling of irritation claiming me. “You’re going to fuck me then just leave ?”
A nasty sting—one much worse than when my thong slashed into my skin—settles behind my eyes. I pretend it doesn’t exist. As much as I was okay offering my body as comfort, I figured he’d at least stay. That it would help us clear the fog surrounding our connection and let us get back to normal. Or as close to it as humanly possible considering the circumstances.
“I can’t be here,” he tells me, pushing his hands through the arms of the jacket. He doesn’t bother to fix the lopsided lapels. Just checks his back pocket to make sure his wallet is there. The one he got the condom from.
“You can be here,” I insist, scooting to the edge of the bed.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re fucking disappointed.”
“Then don’t give me something to be disappointed about, Colson.” His jaw tenses—it’s been doing a lot of that tonight—and I take in the way the muscle ripples from my abrasiveness. “We’ve always had each other. Don’t push me away because things are hard right now. We can weather the storm together.”
He scoffs. “Things aren’t hard , Violet. They’re royally fucked, and they have been since before you walked into my life and forced your way into my fucking head.”
“Forced?” A hurt-filled laugh leaves me. “Wow. Here I thought this was a mutual thing. That you wanted this as much as I did.”
He cocks his head to the side and dips his fists into his pockets. “I warned you,” he says, walking over to stand in front of me. He grips my chin. “I told you that the shit in my life would ingrain itself in you. That it’d follow you wherever you went. Surprise, Violet, it’s now a part of your shadow.”
“What does that have to do with this moment?”
“What does it have to do with now?” He shakes his head, looks away, then drops his hand from my face. “Every-fucking-thing. Your eyes don’t lie to me, Vi. I see how much hurt is in them. How badly you wish you could wipe away what I’m going through. That you wish you could turn back time and give me a different life. A different mom.”
“Yeah, because I care about you,” I choke out, somehow holding back the sob that wants to rip free.
“Those feelings will follow you everywhere. They’ll never be easy to shake. I did that to you. Gave you hope when I shouldn’t have. Let my walls down when I should've secured them like a goddamn naval base.”
“I don’t care if they follow me. Let them.”
“I fucking care. That’s why I’m leaving.”
He says it so effortlessly, but I hear the depth in what's to come.
He’s leaving .
My heart nearly cracks in half. This insurmountable pain fills me and as much as I want to let the emotional sting take over the corner of my eyes, I don’t let my tears fall. There’s still time for us to talk about this and work through it.
“Don’t do this,” I plead, reaching out for him and missing when he steps back. “You told me you weren’t going to let life take things from you anymore. That you were going to take what you wanted. What happened to that person?”
“He’s gone.”
“Please stay. We’ll sleep then talk in the morning after we’ve had a good night of rest.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. What’s done is done. I’ll cherish what we had, but it’s time for me to move on.”
“You know that’s not how this is supposed to go.”
“My mom wasn’t supposed to overdose while she was a fucking inmate, but that still happened.”
“Colson.”
He gives me one last glance before rounding the foot of the bed. I stand and watch him go. Each step wreaks havoc on my heart. When he twists the handle and opens my bedroom door without hesitating or looking back at me, it fully shatters.
Because I knew this would happen.
I knew life would catch up to us.
I just didn’t think it’d happen this fast.