The Probability of Violet & Luke

“Violet, this is Dougford, Carson,” Gerald starts with introductions as he sits down at the table and then each guy reaches across the table to shake Violet’s hand. Then he goes to me. “And this is Luke.”

Violet turns her head in my direction, her eyes sparkling. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess she was enjoying this. But how could she be when she can barely look at me in class? “It’s nice to meet you, Luke.” She raises her eyebrows slightly then sticks out her hand for me to shake.

Okay, so I guess we’re pretending like we don’t know each other then. “And it’s nice to meet you, Violet.” I exhale as I take her hand. Our skin comes into contact, the first time in two months. I think I’m going deaf. Blind. Or maybe it’s that she’s taking over all of my senses. My thoughts are swirling so fast that my pulse starts to pound and between that and the amount of alcohol in me, I think I might blackout.

“Breathe.” I swear to God she whispers this under her lips, but I’m not sure if it’s to herself or me. Then she flinches, blinking her attention away from me, and calmly pulls her hand away from mine.

Roy goes over to the bar area and pours Violet a drink. Whiskey I think by the amber liquid in the cup, then takes a seat himself. Violet casually gives the drink a sniff, then takes a large swallow, forcing back a gag before setting the glass down on a coaster. Then she sits back without so much as a glance in my direction as the cards are dealt, talking to Geraldson about quantities and other shit that makes me so infuriated I get distracted and more sloppy with each hand. I’m not being as careful as I should.

Get your act together. But it’s difficult when she’s chatting to a man with a gun tucked in the back of his pants about drugs.

“So you think you’d want how much on a regular basis?” Violet asks Geraldson. I wonder if Violet’s planning on screwing him over like she does with some of her clients. If so, I need to stop her. These are not the kind of people to be doing that to.

“An ounce to a quarter,” Geraldson says as he studies the cards in his hand intently.

Violet’s jaw tightens while I tense myself. It’s a big amount, definitely not those little dime bags she usually deals. She quickly reaches for the glass of whiskey and finishes it off to hide her nervousness and I have to wonder is she even knows what she’s getting into.

After a few large swallows, Violet sets the glass down on the coaster and collects herself. “Did you mention the amount to Preston?” she asks coolly.

Geraldson nods, nodding at the dealer to turn over the river card. “Yeah, he said you’d bring some samples with you today that we could test out.”

Violets nod, appearing composed on the outside, but I know her better than that. She’s uneasy, out of her element, as she reaches into her bra, pulls out a bag of weed, and tosses it onto the table on top of the chip pile.

“Nice,” Roy says, eyeing her br**sts and the weed while Dougford nods in agreement.

Geraldson sets his cards face down, picks up the bag, opens it up, and smells the inside of it with an approving look on his face. “Mind if I light a bowl?” he asks Violet. “Just to taste for quality?”

“That’s what it’s for,” she replies, starting to fidget with her hands below the table.

Geraldson gets up to get a pipe and Violet glances around the room as if she’s searching for an escape route. “Could one of you boys point me to the ladies restroom?”

Nodding, Roy eagerly gets to his feet. “Yeah, let me show you.” There’s an excited look on his face, like a guy going to get a blowjob as they walk out of the room together and that stupid fire erupts inside my chest again and I’m unsure how to put it out. Or whether I even should.

Violet

I want to bang my head against the wall. “God dammit, Preston. That’s too much weed to deal without some heavy consequences.” It makes me wonder who the f**k these guys are exactly that they’d need that much weed. One of them is carrying a gun for hells sakes. Yeah, I’m a tough ass and have seen it all and it’s not like I’m terrified. In fact, the danger adds adrenaline. But the idea of going to jail is not appealing, even for an adrenaline junkie.

After I get into the bathroom, blowing off Roy’s remark of how perfect my mouth would look on his cock, I lock myself in and try to decide what to do. I want to bail, not just from this place, but from this lifestyle, but how do I escape the only thing I know?

“Things were so much easier when I was with Luke,” I mutter under my breath, grasping onto the edge of the bathroom counter as the truth nearly sends me to the floor. “Dammit, this is bad.” I rest my head against the mirror behind me, thinking about how Luke is here and how destiny is a real bitch, putting us together like this again. But deep down I know it’s not destiny. The probability of us ending up together like this, under the same roof, has always been high, since we both live the same risky lifestyles in the same damn town. I just wish the probability of us working out was higher. “What the hell am I going to do?” I mumble.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Go away, Roy!” I shout, knowing I’m being unprofessional, but not caring at the moment. “I’m not giving you a blowjob.”

There’s a pause. “Violet open up.” Luke’s voice floats through from the other side of the door. “It’s me… Luke.” Like he has to say his name—his damn gorgeous voice is branded into my mind for all eternity.

I raise my head up and scowl at the door. “Go away Luke.”

“No… Look, I get that you don’t want to have anything to do with me—I really do—but you’re in over your head here.”

I inch over to the door and place my hand on it, closing my eyes and picturing him on the other side doing the same thing, even though I’m sure that’s not true. But I can see him in my mind, the most intense brown eyes I’ve ever seen. His lips that I know are the softest and gentlest I’ve ever kissed. His lean arms that made me feel safe once. And it’s okay for me to picture this as long as we have a barrier between us like the door. “You don’t think I know that? I know I’m in deep shit. Trust me. I knew it the moment I walked in.”

It takes a second for him to answer. “I think you might think you know that, but you’re not walking away so… I want to help you.”

“I don’t want your help.” I open my eyes when he doesn’t respond and reach for the doorknob, figuring he did what I asked and decided to leave me alone, since he’s been good about giving me space. But when I open the door, he’s still standing on the other side and he comes barreling in without warning, forcing me back into the bathroom and then slamming the door behind us and locking it.

He’s panting, as if all worked up as he leans back against the door and just stares at me in the most unnerving way that makes me all fidgety. There’s too little space between us… too little breathing room… I need to breathe… I need to rip his clothes off… I think the whiskey I drank earlier has burnt away my rationality.

I shake the last thought from my head. “What do you want?” I finally ask in a clipped tone, crossing my arms and refusing to look away from him, even though I desperately want to. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He gives his head a little shake, muttering something under his breath before standing up straight. “Why are you here?”

I gape at him. “I was here first. You’re the one that followed me back here and then forced your way in here.”

He dithers then takes a tentative step toward me, forcing me to take a step back toward the towel rack. “I mean here at Geraldson’s house?” he asks. “You don’t want to be messing around with these people, Violet.” He glances at the shut door then his concerned gaze lands on me. “This isn’t the same as those frat guys you f**k over.”

“You don’t think I know that?” I hiss. “But I don’t have a choice, do I? I live with Preston and this is how I pay him for that.”

“Pay him?” He lets out a flabbergasted laugh as he spans his hands to the side and takes another step toward me, slightly unstable on his feet, which means he’s probably drunk. “The guy is a f**king asshole. You don’t owe him anything… you shouldn’t even be with him.”

I take a step back and then another until I’m bumping into the wall and the towel rack is pressed against my side. I have nowhere else to go besides the shower or out the window. Being in the confined space with whiskey soaring in my system is making the air buzz electrically and my brain foggy. I need to get out… but I kind of don’t want to. “Well, I don’t really have a choice, do I?” I say. “Since I have nowhere else to live at the moment besides the streets.”

His face drains of color and then he reaches out to touch me, as if to soothe me, but I lean my head away as far as it will go. He freezes, appearing horrified. “Why are you so afraid of me?” he asks, his hand lifelessly falling to his side. “I would never hurt you. Not on purpose anyway.”

“I know you wouldn’t, but it still hurts.” We’re talking in code and I want to cry, but I make those damn traitor tears to stay in my eyes. I never cry. Only once, when I found out about Luke’s mother and I promised myself never again—I’m stronger than that. “And besides, I’m afraid of myself being near you, not the other way around.” And I’d like to thank the booze for the last comment.

He swallows hard. “I’m sorry.” His voice is barely audible, so much agony emitting from his eyes that it submerges me. He looks just like I feel and I want to make both of us feel better.

I’m not even sure what overcomes me, if it’s him, me, the powerful, lustful emotions blazing between us, the need to rip his clothes off, or the alcohol searing my veins, but I find myself stepping toward him. I haven’t forgotten or moved past what happened, but I let myself stop caring for a brief second, letting my walls down just enough that I can put my hand on his chest. He sucks in I sharp breath from the contact, his heart rate instantly quickening beneath my palm.

“Fuck,” he utters, then he’s leaning forward and I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he just rests his forehead against mine. He breathes raggedly, in and out, in and out, his solid chest crashing into my breasts. I wait for him to touch me, but he doesn’t. Wait for him to do something, but he doesn’t. He’s motionless, like he’s giving me the chance to leave. I should. Just walk around him and go out the door. Never look back. But having him this close to me causes intense memories to flood my body, reminds me that being touched by a guy doesn’t have to feel wrong or dirty. That it can feel right. It did once with Luke and I selfishly want it again.

Suppressed emotions, alcohol, and a hunger I’ve never felt before possess me and suddenly I’m crashing my lips against his. He sucks in a startled breath, slanting back slightly as if to pull away, but then in a snap of a finger he’s grabbing me by the h*ps and yanking me against him as he seals his mouth to mine. The heat of him… the taste of him… it’s so potent… so wrong… so right… so confusing.

“I can stop,” he whispers against my mouth, his tongue parting my lips, his hand cupping the back of my head and tangling through my hair. He taste like Vodka and cherries and smells like cigarettes and cologne. Delicious and dangerous, for many different reasons.

I wonder if he actually would stop if I told him to. I don’t want to find out though. Not right now. So I arch my back into him and press my chest to his, while I delve deeper into the kiss, running my fingers along his scruffy jawline, being gentle where the bruise is. I’m remembering everything that went on between us… God, do I remember… and it feels so amazingly, blissfully good. Each graze of his lips and brush of his fingers feels like it’s erasing every unwanted touch over the last couple of months as if Luke has erasing super abilities.

His hands find my hips, his fingernails digging into my flesh as he forces me closer while he backs up, without breaking the kiss. He’s moving us somewhere… to the countertop. He leans me back, the edge digging into my back, before he picks me up and sets me down on it, positioning himself between my legs and our h*ps grind together.

“Oh my God….” I let out a p**n star moan, but am completely unashamed as I try to rip off his shirt, but it doesn’t work like it does in the movies and I end up just stretching it out.

He lets out a soft chuckle at my failed attempt, but the noise gets caught in his throat. “You taste so much better than I remember,” he says in a husky voice before sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, deliberately, causing a slow burn to build inside me that only amplifies when his hands wander up the front of my thighs and underneath my dress. Needing to touch more of him, I sneak my fingers up the front of his shirt and feel the lean muscles flex beneath my hands. His breath falters as if I’m driving him mad. It’s different, somehow, from the last time we were together, like he’s gotten more vulnerable.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he says, between kisses as his fingers graze the edge of my panties, his movements rough and sloppy, built by desperation.

Suddenly I’m reminded why we haven’t touched each other in two months, and what I’ve been doing with Preston for two months, and why I should pull back. If I was a good person, I would. I’d put my parents above my horniness and just tell Luke what I let Preston do to me, how I let him touch me. I know it would get him to stop, but I guess I’m not a good person. Never really have been. And the adrenaline pulsating through my body, instilled by Luke’s touch and kisses, isn’t helping either.