Chapter 3
Violet
Right after my parents were murdered, I used to come up with reasons why their lives were taken. The police’s theory was that it was a freak accident when we were getting robbed—for some reason the robbers thought no one was home. My parents had woken up in the middle of it and saw them. Panic ensued. Then gunfire. They never caught who did it and as far as I know these people are walking around in the world, living their lives while my parents were left to rot.
It drives me absolutely insane when I think about it, but sometimes my mind opens up on its own. Thoughts of the people I pass on the street. It could be any of them and I worry that maybe they’ll recognize me. Even though I’m not sure, there’s always that question in my mind if one of them saw me that night, because they looked right at me, but never said a word. It’s something that’s haunted me to this day
I always wonder what I’d do if the murderers were actually caught. Freak out. Celebrate. Be filled with overpowering hate toward them because now I had a face to link with the event. Be terrified. I’m not sure and every time I analyze it too much, my habit kicks in and I seek comfort in the one thing that can give it to me. Danger. Pushing death. Parasuicidal. Adrenaline junkie. Insane. There’s so many different things it could be called and I honestly don’t know which one it is. All I know is what I do—what I need—to get through my life.
I haven’t been doing it over the last few days, though, since I can barely limp around let alone walk. It’s becoming an inconvenience and making me feel weak. But my ankle’s refusing to heal, so I have no option other than to hobble around in pain. The worse part was work. I’ve never been that great of a waitress, since my dazzling people skills are lacking. Add pain to the lack of people skills and my supervisor, Johnny, was threatening to tell our boss about my bitchy attitude toward the costumers. Thankfully I charmed him with a dime bag and that seemed to smooth things over.
I’m headed to the nearest McDonald’s to feed my junk food addiction, wearing a pair of cutoffs and a FROM AUTUMN TO ASHES T-shirt I’ve worn so much the letters are starting to fade. My hair was untamable so I pulled a beanie over it and I’m still sporting the flip-flops. Not my greatest of fashion moments, but I’ve never tried to claim to be some sort of fashionista.
It’s hot and my ankle is swelling from all the weight I’m putting on it, but I’m starving and I don’t have Preston’s car anymore because he only lends it to me when I’m dealing, so my only form of transportation is on foot. I’m counting how many blocks I have left in my head… five or maybe it’s six…
My phone rings and I answer, knowing the ringtone belongs to Preston. Part of me doesn’t want to answer it because I know he’s going to want me to do something I probably don’t feel up to and I won’t tell him no, because I owe him for taking me in when no one else would.
Before Preston came along, I was living with Mr. and Mrs. McGellon, a foster family who liked to lock me in the basement for hours whenever I smarted off or did something wrong. I would have been okay with sitting in the dark listening to the drip of the pipes, but I’ve hated basements ever since I was six. One time when Mr. McGellon threatened to put me down there, I’d shoved him out of frustration and when Mrs. McGellon threatened to call the police, I took off. I lived on the street for about two weeks, and then got busted when I stole some food from a grocery store and ended up spending time in juvie anyway. After I got out, when no one else wanted to take me in, Preston and his wife stepped up. They were young and I think social services was looking for a reason to get rid of me at that point, so they more than willingly turned me over to them. Still, they were there for me.
I answer the phone and put it up to my ear right before it goes to voicemail. “What’s up?”
“Kelley’s getting remarried,” he announces in an irritated tone.
“What do you mean she’s getting remarried?” I drag my foot down the sidewalk. “I thought she left you because she felt trapped.”
“Wow, thanks for painfully reminding me why my ex-wife packed her shit and left,” Preston says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Jesus, Violet, sometimes you’re too blunt for your own good.”
“Blunt?” I pause at the end of the sidewalk. “You’ve always told me what a liar I was.”
“You’re a liar when it comes to you,” he replies. “But with everyone else, you’re blunt. I swear to God you like witnessing people in pain.”
I cross the street and trip onto the curb. “Maybe, or maybe I’ve never been taught to censor myself.”
“You’re so full of it right now. You know exactly what you’re doing so don’t try to pretend you’re all naïve and innocent.” His voice drops an octave. “And speaking of innocence, have you finally lost yours yet?”
I fidget uncomfortably, tugging the bottom of my T-shirt down, glad he can’t see me right now. “Don’t be a creepy old man.”
“I’m not that old, Violet,” he says. “And besides I was just making sure you’re okay and that no guys have f**ked you over. Asking about your love life would have been Kelley’s job but since she ditched us, I gotta step in and play the part.”
I shake my head. “Play the part of my foster mom?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“You’re such a sick freak.”
“Coming from the girl who refused to eat anything but pork ’n’ beans for two straight weeks when she first showed up at my house.”
I swing around a couple holding hands blocking the sidewalk. “What can I say? I was missing the foul taste of prison food.”
“You weren’t in prison,” he clarifies. “Just juvie. Don’t try to make yourself sound more badass than you are.”
“Hey, I’m badass,” I protest, not bothering to wind around water spraying on the sidewalk from some sprinklers in a yard. “I could kick your ass.”
He snorts a laugh and it gets under my skin. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. The next time you come here for a visit and we have some time, I’ll take you in my bedroom and you can try to show me how tough you are.”
I wipe water droplets off my arms. “Why would we have to go into the bedroom?”
His laughter drops to a deep throaty sound. “Think outside of your naïve innocent brain, Violet, and maybe you’ll get it.”