The Probability of Violet & Luke

“Shut the f**k up,” I grumble back at Seth, running my hand over my messy brown hair. It’s getting sort of scraggily since I haven’t been in for a haircut in a while. But I haven’t cared enough to go.

Seth flips me off, then rolls his eyes. “You need to get over this shit. Seriously. It’s going to kill you.”

“Get over what?” I play dumb.

He rolls his eyes again. “I’d tell you but I don’t dare say her name because you’ll give me that wounded Bambi look and then rip my head off.”

“I’m not a wounded Bambi,” I snap harshly, but have to swallow the lump forming in my throat. I snatch my jacket off the counter, before going over to the fridge. “Where the hell did the bottle of Jack Daniels go? And the Vodka?” I ask.

Seth puts his laptop aside, stands up from the sofa, and walks over to the counter area. “You finished it off last night before you went out to wherever it is you go.” He pauses like he’s waiting for me to tell him, but I don’t because I can barely remember myself what I did five minutes ago, let alone five hours ago.

I slam the fridge door and open the cupboard next to it where Greyson, Seth’s boyfriend, and my friend and roommate, keeps his stash of Cherry Vodka. “You think he’ll mind if I drink some of this?” I ask Seth, reaching for the bottle which is only about a quarter of the way full.

Seth shrugs as he leans against the counter. “I don’t think he’ll mind that some is gone since he barely drinks.” He wavers. “But I think he’ll mind that you’re drinking.”

I grab the bottle, wanting—needing—to get some in my system. I’m starting to shake just thinking about it—starting to think way too f**king much. “I always drink.”

“Yeah, but…” he trails off, massaging the back of his neck tensely.

I scowl at him. “But what? Just finish whatever it is you’re going to say.”

He sighs, letting his arm drop to his side. “Look, I get the whole drinking thing. I do it myself a hell of a lot, but Greyson and I have been talking and it seems like…” He shifts his weight, appearing uncomfortable. “You’ve been doing it more lately, particularly in the last month or so.”

“You mean since Violet left.” I ignore the knife slashing at my chest and it’s easier with the vodka in my hand.

He reluctantly nods. “Yeah, pretty much.” He blows out a breath, tugging his fingers through his blond hair. “Look I don’t know what happened between you and Vio…” He trails off when he catches sight of my face. “Her. But it’s obvious that you’re having a hard time dealing with it and you might… You might want to think about taking it easy on the shots and whatever the hell it is that you do all night.” He gives a pressing glance at my unwashed jeans and my wrinkled plaid shirt, then at my face. “It’s starting to show. Seriously, you looking like the walking dead all the time. I don’t even know how the hell you manage to go to school. And what about football practice? Doesn’t the season start in a couple of weeks? Shouldn’t you be getting in shape or whatever the hell you athletic types do to get ready for game season?”

He’s telling me things I already know and that I don’t care about, so I disregard him and start to unscrew the cap off the vodka. “I’m fine. I don’t do anything I can’t handle. And I work out all the time.” Lie. I’ve been slacking, something my best friend Kayden noted the other day when I didn’t show up for workouts. But not enough that I’ve lost a lot of muscle tone or anything and I honestly have a hard time finding the will to go, which is strange for me. My normal need for structure and order all f**ked up, the only thing on track at the moment is school.

Seth shakes his head. “That’s the biggest bunch of shit I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth. You’re not fine—nothing is fine with you anymore. In fact, I think you’re about two seconds away from falling apart.”

I tip my head back to take a swig, the sweet burning liquid instantly coating my mouth and I feel twenty times better. I take a long gulp, ignoring the bland cherry flavor, then lower the bottle from my mouth. “Since when did you become so concerned about my life?” I wipe my lips with the back of my hand.

He shakes his head, disappointed by something. “Since you obviously stopped caring about yourself.”

I drop the bottle of Vodka into my bag, swing the handle over my shoulder, and brush by him, heading for the front door. “I care about my life.” Lie. “Otherwise I wouldn’t get up every day and go to class.” Another lie. The only reason I do is a) because I have a weird issue with needing structure and school is the only thing that gives it to me anymore and b) It’s the only place I get to see Violet—seeing her consistently for the last week has been worth the pain in the ass of getting up to go. And even though it hurts like a motherfucker every time I see her, I must enjoy self-inflicting pain because I still want to see her.

Seth opens his mouth to argue, but I turn away from him and walk out the door. Luckily school’s within walking distance otherwise I’d have to ask Seth for a ride. It’s a decent day and I attempt to focus on that fact as I make the way to school. But then I hear my phone ring from inside my pocket, a familiar tune, and the possibility of having a good day diminishes. Even though I don’t want to answer it and talk to her, I want to hear what she has to say—I always do—but only because I hope that she’ll finally let something slip that will help the investigation lead to her arrest.

“What do you want?” I snap into the receiver after three rings as I stumble up the sidewalk.

“Hey Luke,” my mom singsongs, either delusional or high—it’s hard to tell anymore. “How’s my little boy doing?”

“I’m not your little boy.” I make my way across the street, stumbling over the curb in the process. “So stop calling me that.”

“Oh, you’ll always be my little boy,” she replies as I approach the other side of the street and then start down the sidewalk. “When are you coming home?”

Rage burns inside me, a violent fire in my chest, as I think about everything she’s ever done to me in that hellhole she calls home. How she’s always acted like it meant nothing—that everything she did to me and to my sister Amy meant nothing. How she managed to ruin my life even when I wasn’t living at home. How she might have f**king killed someone, or at least been a part of it. All the harm she’s done. All the lives she’s ruined.

“I’m never f**king coming home,” I snap at her, causing a guy walking down the street to sidestep and put space between us, like I’m the crazy one. “I have a life now. Here. Away from you and everything you did and do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She sounds hurt, just like the day she called me up and asked me why I’d told the police she might have been part of a murder that happened almost fourteen years ago. I told her the truth, that I knew what she did and called them. She denied everything; the song, the night where she came home with blood on her clothes, even though I saw her. And by our next phone call, she was already denying I’d told the police anything. Like she thinks if she pretends it didn’t happened than it didn’t. But it did. She ruined a life. She stole lives. She did things that she needs to pay for and that I’ll always pay for being her child.

“You know what it means,” I say. “So stop playing stupid.”

“No I don’t,” she lies. Or maybe she’s not lying. Or this is all a game to her. Maybe she’s ill. Needs help. I honestly don’t know but I’ve wondered it most of my life. If maybe there’s something wrong with her head. Regardless, she needs to be locked up somewhere, where she can’t hurt anyone.

“Have you talked to the police lately?” I cut across the lawn in front of someone’s house and ungracefully hop the fence, taking a short cut down a narrow alley.

“No, not since that night I called you about a week ago… why?”

“Just wondering if you were still in trouble,” I say flatly, grabbing onto a fence when I get a killer head rush and the world starts to spin. “Or if you finally admitted what you did.”

“I was never in trouble. They told me they had the wrong person and that it was all over and that the person that called was never going to call again.” She pauses. “Lukey, please come home. I’m lonely. Remember how Amy left me—left us. I need you. Don’t be like her—don’t leave me.”

“I’m not coming home ever.” When I reach the end of the alley, I jog across the street to the campus yard, filled with trees, green grass, and people going to and from the parking lot.

“You have to,” she whines. “I can’t take this empty house anymore… being alone… it makes me think about doing bad things.”

I pause on the sidewalk right before I step onto the lawn, fear and anger blasting through me that she’s doing this again. “Knock that shit off, mother.”

“You need to come home before something bad happens.”

I hate her even more. I didn’t think it was possible, but apparently it is, feeling the anger simmering inside me, possessing me. “I’m never coming home. That’s where all the bad shit happens!”

“Yes, you are! You are!” She starts to sob hysterically and with each sob my hatred for her expands and I grow even angrier until I’m drowning in it, struggling to get above the red blinding me. Finally I can’t take it anymore and hang up on her. But the anger still burns under my skin, simmering, festering, killing me.

I take a deep breath then another and finally reach for my bag to take out the Vodka. I chug the remainder of it, knowing I’m going to push my body to the brim of being able to function, but I need the numbness more than I need air. I need to erase this hatred stirring inside me.

After I finish it off, I discard the empty bottle into a nearby garbage can and cut across the grass of the campus yard, bumping people out of my way, sometimes accidentally and sometimes intentionally, but none of them utter a word to me. By the time I arrive at the main entrance of the campus, the trees and brick buildings are starting to become blurry and all I can see is red. Anger. Red. Hatred. More anger. I seriously almost turn around and walk back home, deciding I’ve overdid it and it’d probably be best to just go back and let myself pass out. Then I see something that stops me dead in my tracks. A beat up grey Cadillac pulling up at the curb just in front of the main building.

Violet.

It’d be okay—in fact I’d welcome it—except for the fact that Preston the f**king as**ole is dropping her off. The guy’s a creepy old pervert, who sells drugs and also has Violet sell drugs for him. Not to mention he’s hit her before. I still can’t believe she went back to him when she took off. Just thinking of them under the same roof makes my skin crawl like it’s full of infected wounds. I tried to get a hold of her when I found out she’d moved back in with him, but she would never answer her phone or return my messages. When I finally did see her again on my first day of school, she pretended like I didn’t exist and it’s been that way every damn day.

I stop near the trees and watch her as she climbs out of the car. She’s wearing tight black pants, a vest, and a purple shirt that’s just short enough that I can see a speck of her side that I know is covered with a tattoo, patterns of curves and flowers inking up her ribcage. Her black and red hair is down and I can’t help but remember the few times where I ran my fingers through it and pulled on it and she moaned in response.

God, the way she moaned was incredible. What I’d give to hear it again. Touch her again… my fingers ache just thinking about it. But instead I’m stuck at a distance, watching her as she shuts the car door and turns for the entrance of the school. Then Preston gets out for some reason and when he says something to her, she pauses, halting near the edge of the sidewalk. She doesn’t turn around, just staring straight ahead at the brick building as he winds around the back of the car and toward her. If I didn’t know any better I’d think they were a couple, by the way he moves up behind her, puts his hands on her hips, and leans over her shoulder, getting close to her and pressing his body against hers.

I see a bright flash of red. Feel the fire in my chest ignite and burn through every part of my body. I want to walk over there and slam my fist into his face repeatedly, see how badly I can hurt him, especially when he whispers something in her ear. Then he adds fuel to the fire scorching violently inside me when he takes his hand and stuffs it into Violet’s back pocket, either touching her or putting something in there. Either way, it’s annoying and the compulsion to go over there and tell him she’s mine nearly consumes me. Still, I’m too drunk and am losing control of my thoughts and actions. I take a step toward them and another, stepping out of the shadows of the trees—God knows what I’m going to do—but then I come to a cold stop as Violet turns around and lets Preston lean in and kiss her.

The redness in my vision dissipates. Everything around me goes out of focus and nothing makes sense anymore. I feel cold inside and I wonder if I’ve died as I painfully realize that over the last month, while I’ve been hung up on Violet and what we had, she’s moved on. Moved forward. While I’ve been stuck in the past, unable to escape it no matter what I do.

Violet

I can’t believe what just happened. Preston kissed me in public. Of all the places he could have done it. It’s one thing for him to do it in the house, where I can shut my eyes and fall into myself, but out in the open, in front of people, it feels so real. So warped and wrong. Makes me feel so disgusting.