Chapter 1
Violet
(Freshman year of college)
I’ve got my fake smile plastered on my face and no one in the crowd of people surrounding me can tell if it’s real or not. None of them really give a shit either, just like I don’t. I’m only here, pretending to be a ray of sunshine, for three reasons: (1) I owe Preston, my last foster parent I had before I turned eighteen, big time, because he gave me a home when no one else would; and (2) because I need the money; and (3) I love the rush of knowing that at any moment I could get busted so much—so much that it’s become addicting, like an alcoholic craves booze.
“You want a shot?” the guy—I think his name is Jason or Jessie or some other J name—calls out over the bubbly song beating through the speakers. He raises an empty glass in front of my face, his gray eyes glazed over with intoxication and stupidity, which are pretty much one and the same.
I shake my head, my faux smile dazzling on my face. I wear it almost like a necklace, shiny and making me look pretty when I’m out in public, then when I go home I can take it off and toss it aside. “No thanks.”
“You sure?” he questions, then slants his head back and guzzles the rest of his beer. A trail drizzles from his mouth down to his navy blue polo shirt.
I’m about to say Yes, I’m sure, but then stop and nod, knowing it’s always good to blend in. It makes me look less sketchy and people less edgy and more trusting. “Yeah, why the hell not.” I aim to say it lightly even though I loathe the fiery taste of hard alcohol. I rarely drink it, but not just because of the taste. It’s what I do when it’s in my system, how my angry, erratic, self-destructing alter ego comes out, that makes it necessary that I stay sober. At least when I’m sober, I have control over the reckless things that I do, but when I’m drunk it’s a whole other ballgame, one I don’t feel like playing tonight. I already have a barely touched beer in my hand and have no plans on finishing it.
Jessie or Jason smiles this big, goofy, very unflattering smile. “Fuck yeah!” he practically shouts, like we’re celebrating and I want to roll my eyes. He lifts his hand for me to high-five and I slam my palm against it with a frustrated inner sigh, even though it’s a good sign because it means he’s veering toward becoming an incoherent, drunk idiot.
It’s always the same routine. Get them drunk and then I can get more money. It’s what Preston taught me to do and what I do pretty much every weekend now, hitting up the parties around the nearby towns. Never in the town I go to college in, though. That would be too risky and way too easy to get noticed according to Preston.
I’m wearing a tight black dress that shows off what little curves I have, along with my leather jacket, and thigh-high lace-up boots. My curly black hair that’s streaked red hangs down my back, hiding the dragon tattoo and two small stars on the back of my neck, each star drawn to represent the people who have loved me in life. I usually wear my hair down because guys always seem to like to run their fingers through it, like they get their kicks and giggles from the softness. Personally, I have no opinion about it, although a lot of girls seem to gush over guys playing with their hair. Let them touch it if they want, just as long as I get paid at the end of this charade.
J, as I’m going to call him because I honestly can’t remember his name, pours two shots of tequila, spilling some on the countertop. When he hands it to me I slam it back without so much as flinching, filling up my mouth with the disgusting drink, then I quickly move my beer up to my lips, pretending to chase the shot with it, when really I spit the tequila into the bottle. I smile as I move the bottle away from my mouth and set the empty shot glass down on the counter. Preston would be so proud of me right now, since he taught me that little trick as a way to stay sober when everyone else is getting drunk to avoid mistakes with the deal. And I’m glad, because mistakes with Preston never go over well.
“Another?” J asks, pointing a finger at the glass.
I decide it’s time to move on from shots and on to taking care of business. I dazzle him with my best plastic smile as I set my beer down on the counter. I stained my lips a bright red before I left and my dress is low-cut enough to show a sliver of my cleavage, created by a push-up bra. It’s all a distraction, a costume to keep them focused on something else besides the deal. Distractions equal mistakes.
I grab the bottom of his shirt and bat my eyelashes at him as I lean in, trying not to scrunch my nose at the foul scent of alcohol on his breath. “How about you take me to your room?” I breathe against his cheek. “So we can take care of some business.”
He blinks his blue eyes through his drunkenness, alarmed by my bluntness. Most people are. And that’s what I love about it. Throw them off. Never let them know what’s really hidden in me. Never let anyone in because no one really wants to get in, not for good reasons anyway.
“Okay,” he slurs, dropping the bottle of tequila down onto the countertop, and then he drags his fingers through his clean-cut blond hair.
I keep smiling as I grab a lime slice from off the counter and shove it into my mouth. I suck the juice off so that I can get the damn tequila taste out of my mouth. It tastes bitterly sweet, but better than the burn of the alcohol. After I’m done with it, I discard it onto the counter and scoop up the bottle of tequila.
“Lead the way,” I say to J and he gives me another one of those goofy drunk smiles of his, probably thinking he’s going to get lucky after we make the deal. Most guys do which is why Preston loves having me do this for him. You’re a distraction, he always tells me. A very beautiful, enticing distraction.
Deep down, I know I could do it. Fool around with J and probably feel fine afterward. I can turn off everything I’m feeling in the snap of a finger and put it away, only bringing it out when needed. I wouldn’t feel a single part of it, which makes doing things I don’t necessarily want to do easier. Plus J’s not that bad looking, although he’s a little too athletic and preppy for me. He’s tall, with broad shoulders, and lean muscles, his entire body screaming that he spends way too much time at the gym. I wonder if he’s a jock, but I’m not going to ask him. Just like I’m not going to fool around with him.
He takes my hand, his palms clammy, and he leads me through the crowd of college-age people packed in the townhouse living room, where a game of beer pong is going on. A few of the girls shoot me dirty looks, like I don’t belong with a clean-cut guy like J who’s wearing a collared shirt and a watch that probably cost more than all the money I’ve spent in my entire life. And I’m fine with it, too high on the thrill of what I’m doing—what I’m about to do. The danger. The instability. The adrenaline.
When we reach the hall, we disappear out of the sight of all the judgmental eyes and lucky for me, J’s not doing that great. His feet can barely carry him as he stumbles his way to the last door in the hall, hauling me with him.
“Whoops.” He giggles like a girl as he turns the doorknob. “I’m sorry.”
I have no idea what he’s sorry for, but I just smile. “It’s fine.”
He grins again, stealing the bottle of tequila from out of my hand. He tips his head back and knocks back a mouthful, gagging as he moves the bottle away from his lips. Then he aims it at me.
Not having my beer to spit it back in, I grab the bottle and set it down on a small bookshelf nestled in the corner. “Let’s take a little break from drinking, okay?”
“Sure,” he says, trying to stun me with an award-winning smile. “How ’bout we just get ya in here and get ya out of those clothes of yours.” His gaze scales my body and I briefly contemplate clocking him in the face. I know that look way too well, just like I know what he wants way too well.
I give him a little shove so he stumbles across the dark, empty bedroom. I follow him as he continues to stagger back and then lands on the bed. I shut the door and lock it without taking my eyes off him as he lies there on the mattress. Soft moonlight filters in through the window and lights up the dazedness on his face.
“Come…here…” He props up on his elbows, working to keep his head up.
I saunter toward him, glancing around at the clothes scattered around the large room decorated with a dresser set that matches his king-size bed.
“How about we talk some business,” I tell him, positioning myself in front of where his legs hang over the edge of the mattress.
He shakes his head determinedly, and then flops his hand toward the leather belt looped through his slacks. I watch him fight with the buckle for a while and then growing impatient, I finally unhook the buckle myself, and jerk it from his belt loop.
“I knew you’d like to play rough.” He laughs and starts to sit up, his fingers seeking my waist. But I gently shove him back by the chest so he’s lying flat on the bed.
I toss the belt onto the dresser. “I didn’t come here to play.”
“Preston promised you’d take…you take…” He blinks around the room, looking lost. “That you’d take care of me first.”
I roll my eyes. Damn it, Preston. I hate when he promises stuff. If he’d just be vague about what was going to go down, then I wouldn’t get in so much trouble when I don’t follow through. Then again, most of them can’t remember that much about what happens anyway.
“I will, baby,” I lie, cringing at my endearing term, but doing what I have to do to smooth things over. I reach for my jacket pocket and take out the small bag of pills. If I’m lucky he’ll try one and then quickly pass out. “But first I need you to pay up.”
Shifting his weight to the side, he snatches the bag out of my hand and then scoots back so he can sit up. He totters as he sits up straight, then when he gets settled he opens the bag. He glances inside it, pretending like he’s checking to see he’s not getting ripped off, even though it’s too dark to count the pills.
“You got the cash?” I scan his room, his stereo on the nightstand, the open closet overflowing with clothes, and the closed armoire in the corner. I can’t see a wallet anywhere, so I’m guessing he’s got it tucked in his pocket. Things just got a little complicated if he decides to be a pain in the ass about paying.
“Cash comes after we play,” he says, but I shake my head, ready to be done with this deal. I’m about to tell him to pay up, when he has an abrupt burst of energy. He throws the bag of pills aside and his fingers quickly jab into my waist. He jerks me toward him and I lose my balance and fall down on him as he collapses back onto the mattress.
He starts sucking my neck, his wet tongue placing sloppy kisses all over my skin as his hands start to wander up my leg toward the bottom of my dress. His breath reeks of tequila and cigarettes. “God, you smell so good.” His fingers pinch down into my skin and it kind of stings. “I bet you like it wild…you sure as hell look like you do.”
I roll my eyes. If I had a penny for every time I heard that, I wouldn’t have to be here dealing.
Turning my head, I lean to the side and try to slip out of his grip. His hold on me starts to loosen, but he continues to kiss my neck, his hands moving all over my ass and slipping between my legs. I’m starting to get bored, my mind wandering to homework, finals, moving back in with Preston in a few weeks.
J moans against my mouth. “I’m so hard for you right now, baby.” He rubs the evidence that he is against my leg and runs his fingers through my hair.
I get a little annoyed by his pet name and that I’ve become a humping post. I’m about to gently knee him in the balls and get rid of his hardness for him, ending this tiring situation, when he stops kissing me and slumps backward. He mutters something about me being a cock tease and then his head flops against the mattress. His eyes drift shut and seconds later he’s passed out, his chest rising and falling as he breathes loudly.
“Thank God.” I slip out from his arms and climb off him.
Although the situation has gotten more complicated, I’m glad he passed out. After a lot of deliberating on what I should do, I decide it’s best to leave it up to Preston so I take out my phone and dial his number.
“What’s up, beautiful?” he asks after three rings.
I climb off the bed and pace in front of it. “I got a dilemma.”
“What’d you do now?” he asks in that flirty tone he uses on everyone. Even guys. It’s just how he is and I know he really doesn’t mean anything by it. Besides, he’s eight years older than me.
“I didn’t do anything.” I glance over at J. “Well, not really…J…that guy you were having me deliver to, passed out.”
“And?” I can hear the laughter in his voice.
“And I want to know what you want me to do.” I stop pacing and look down at J with his legs and arms sprawled out to the side. “Do you want me to just grab his cash or really screw him over and take the pills, too?”
It takes Preston a while to answer. I can hear voices in the background, which probably means he’s at a party. “What do you think you should do?” he finally asks me.
“I know what I want to do,” I answer, biting on my fingernails, a bad habit of mine I can’t seem to break. “But I mean, it’s really your thing. I’m just doing it as a favor to you and I’m done once I finish paying for my tuition. You know that.”
“A favor to me, huh?” he deliberates. “How disappointing. All this time and I thought you were doing it because you secretly were in love with me.”
I roll my eyes at his twisted sense of humor. “You did not.”
“I did, too.”
“Did not.”
“Did—”
“Stop.” I cut him off because this could go on forever and J is starting to stir. “Look, I really want to get out of here. I’ve got a final to study for. And a life to get back to.” The last part is kind of a lie, but it sounds like a good point to make in theory. “So should I take the pills and the cash or just the cash?”
He pauses. “How much does he have on him?”
I sigh and pat the front pockets in J’s slacks, but they’re empty. Pressing the phone between my cheek and my shoulder I use both my hands to rotate him on his side and then I check his back pockets and find his wallet in one of them. I take it out and step away from the bed, opening it and counting the money inside.
“There’s a hundred bucks in his wallet.” I frown, knowing what it means.
“Well, isn’t that interesting, since I told him it was going to be two hundred bucks for a bag,” Preston replies in a calm voice.
“So you want me to take the pills, too,” I say flatly. Sometimes when I’m doing something I’m not totally comfortable with, like stealing from an unconscious guy, my conscience tries to wake up on me.
“I think it’s only fair,” he replies simply. “Especially since he was obviously going to screw you over.”
“Maybe he has the money somewhere else,” I suggest, but even I can hear the doubt in my voice.
“Or maybe he was just going to try and fuck you over,” he says. “Literally.”
I blow out a breath and take the cash out of the wallet, feeling the slightest bit guilty. Then I drop the wallet onto the bed, reach over J, and snatch up the bag of pills. I put the cash and pills into my pocket, then head for the door.
“Give me like a half an hour and I’ll be at your house,” I tell Preston, opening the door.
“Sounds good,” he replies as the music in the hall drowns over me. “And, Violet, remember, I’m a nice guy and everything but don’t try to screw me over.” He always says this as a warning, reminding me that business comes before our friendship…our foster-parent bond…whatever the hell we have. He used to not be this intense when I was younger, but now he’ll say just about anything. It makes me nervous and uncomfortable, but I never say anything about it, worried I’ll lose the only family I have.
“I remember.” I step out into the hall, but halt when I spot a group of guys I’m pretty sure I’ve scammed before, standing at the end of the hall. “Look, I got to go.” I hang up and stuff the phone into my jacket pocket.
One of the guys with a really thick neck points at me, saying something, and the rest of their gazes wander in my direction.
“Hey, I know you, don’t I?” the tallest one says as he strolls down the hall in my direction. “You’re that girl, right? The one who sold me the stuff at that party a month ago. The one that fucking screwed me over.” I spot anger in his eyes at the same time I note the thickness of his arms that can easily hurt me. For a moment, I just stand there, letting the group of them get close to me, feeling the beat of my heart accelerate inside my chest, alive and thriving—finally awake.
But when they’re almost within arm’s reach, I whirl around and run back into the bedroom where J’s sleeping. I lock the door and then search through the dark for a solution.
“Open the door, you fucking cunt!” One of them bangs on the door as they shout loudly over the music and J lets out a loud snore.
It’s not the first time I’ve been in this kind of situation, and I doubt it will be my last. I wonder what my mom and dad would think of me if they were here now? Would they be ashamed? But they’re not here and there’s no one else in the world that really gives a shit what I do with my life. I can’t just wait around here and wait for something—or someone to show up and miraculously help me. I’m in this on my own, which is for the story of my life.
Striding over to the window, I pry it open and pop the screen off. Tossing it onto the floor, I lean over the edge and look down the two-story drop to the wooden fence right below the window. It’s not that far of a fall, but if I land on the fence things could go badly, like one of the pieces of wood could get lodged in my body or I could land the wrong way and hit my neck or head on it. They’re such morbid thoughts, but my mind always goes to that dark place. The what-ifs of death. Those random occurrences that no one can control. Most of my life has been based on one random occurrence of death.
I know if I jump, either I’ll safely land on the grass just over the fence or I’ll mess up and get hurt, maybe even killed if random occurrences really hate me. Either way, I don’t care what the hell happens to me, so I climb up onto the windowsill, letting destiny take over as I slide my legs over the edge. I hear the lock on the door click and open. My time here at this place is up.
My heart speeds up and I breathe in the rush of knowing that something tragic could happen to me. It makes me feel alive and without any hesitation, I jump.
Luke
(Freshman year of college)
My night has been filled with shot after shot. Empty glass after empty glass. I knock back one after another as the sound of the music vibrates inside my chest. With each scorching swallow of Bacardi, tequila, Jäger, I feel more at ease, letting all my worries and the fact that I haven’t checked my insulin slowly erase from my mind. My tongue becomes numb. My lips. My body. My heart. My mind. It’s a fucking beautiful state of mind to be in and I wish I could never leave it—most days I don’t.
After I lose count of how many shots I’ve downed and how many asses I’ve had grind up against me, I ditch the club with the woman I’ve been dancing with for the last two songs, debating what to do—fuck, wander around, go find a place to gamble. There’s a familiar burn inside my chest as I drown in a sea of alcohol, where nothing bothers me. I relax and breathe the cool night air and just exist without all the weight of my past inside me. I’ve been drinking more frequently, especially since my past has been forcing its way into my life again. Stuff’s been happening with my sister, Amy, specifically questions about her suicide that happened eight years ago. I thought it’d been put to rest, but it was brought up a month or so ago, questions mainly about what really drove her to throw herself off the roof that night. Plus, on top of it, my dad’s decided he wants to become a huge part of my life again, after being pretty much absent since I was five. It’s bullshit and I don’t want to think about it or deal with it. I just want to get trashed, fuck as many women as I can, and live my life the way that I want to.
I lose track of how much time has gone but somewhere along the lines I stop walking and end up with my back against the tree. I’m not aware of too much going on but there are three things I’m sure of: (a) It’s nighttime, since I can see the stars, (b) I feel very relaxed and in control at the moment, and (c) there’s a blonde kneeling down in front of me with her mouth on my cock.
I have a fistful of her hair as she sucks me off, muttering something incoherent every once and a while. As she moves her mouth back and forth I feel myself verging closer to exploding and I let myself go as I approach it. It’s the only few moments of peace that I have, where I don’t have to think about the past, the future, just the God damn moment. Once I’m done, though, the silence of the night tears at my chest as there’s nothing left to do but think. I’m back to that place where my past and who I am haunts me. The only thing that gets me through is the fact that my body is numbed by the potent amount of alcohol in my bloodstream.
I zip up my pants as the blonde gets back up to her feet. She mutters something about that being amazing, biting her lip as she tracks her fingers up my chest, looking like she’s waiting for me to return the favor. I’m not going to, though. I only do things for myself and no one else. I spent too much time when I was younger living under restrictions, never living for myself, never enjoying things, and I refuse to go back to that place again.
I shove her hand off and head down the sidewalk, hoping she’ll just stay behind. But she follows, her high heels clicking against the concrete as she rushes to keep up.
“God, it’s such a beautiful night,” she says with a contented sigh.
“If you say so,” I say. “Don’t you need to go back to the club and catch a ride home?”
“You said you were going to take me home,” she reminds me, rushing to keep up with me.
“I did?” I sway as a maneuver around what looks like a bush in the middle of the sidewalk…no, that can’t be right. I bump my hip on a fence and stumble off the grass and back onto the sidewalk
“Yeah, you said you’d love to give me a ride.” She braces herself by grabbing my shoulder, then giggles. God, I hate gigglers. I really need to start paying more attention when I pick them up to avoid getting stuck with a Miss Fucking Giggles.
“I’m pretty sure you misunderstood me.” I move my shoulder out from under her hand, stepping back onto the grass, and causing her to miss a step. She looks stunned, but still grins at me as she adjusts her boobs in her dress, pushing them up so they bulge out. I’m sure she does it on purpose, trying to remind me what she’s giving me if I take her back to my place, but what she doesn’t realize is that I’ve already had it. A lot. And I don’t care about what she gives to me as much as I care about what I took from her back behind the tree.
There’s a party going on in one of the townhouses nearby and music booms and vibrates the ground. We’re walking in the ritzier side of town, made up of two-story townhouses, the yards matching, and the sidewalk is lined with trees and a fence. I’m not even sure how I got here, nor do I know the way back to my dorm. Sometimes I wonder how the hell I get into these messes.
I really need to stop drinking.
I laugh at my own absurd thought as I stop to retrieve my cigarettes from my shirt pocket. The only time I can actually deal with the chaotic aspects of life is when I’m drunk, otherwise I panic for some structure. I never had structure when I was a kid. I had a crazy mom who did crazy shit and dragged me into her crazy world, making me feel crazy with her. I still have nightmares about some of the stuff I saw or heard her do and I need order, otherwise the vile, sick feeling I experienced when I was a kid owns me.
I pop a cigarette into my mouth and light the end with a lighter I dig out of the back pocket of my jeans. I light the end, deeply inhale, and blow out a cloud of smoke. I start walking again, zigzagging back and forth between the sidewalk and the grass just to the side of it, running into the fence a few times
“Where are we going?” the blonde asks as she tugs on the bottom of her dress, hurrying to keep up with me.
I graze my thumb on the end of the cigarette and ash it onto the ground. “I’m going to my place.”
“That’s cool,” she says with a slight slur to her speech, not taking my not-so-subtle hint. “We can just walk wherever.”
She doesn’t look that drunk and she only drank girly fruity drinks at the club, but her voice is portraying otherwise. She’s putting a lot of trust in me at the moment, to get her wherever it is she’s going and whatever it is she’s looking for. Maybe sex. The best orgasm of her life. A fleeting escape from reality. Maybe she’s looking for love or someone she can connect with. From the needy, I’ll-do-anything-you-want look in her eyes, I’m guessing it’s the latter. And if it is, she’s not going to get it from me.
I consider my two options. I can take her back behind a tree again and just bang the shit out of her until she’s crying out my name and I get a few more moments away from the helpless, drowning feeling inside me—get the control I need. Or I can call my friend and roommate, Kayden, to come pick my drunken ass up, because I’m getting exhausted.
I’m battling my indecisiveness when I hear this strange swooshing sound coming from above me. I look up just in time to see something tumble out the window of the townhouse we’re passing.
I stagger back onto the grass as it falls toward me and stick out my arm out to push Blondie back. The tips of a pair of clunky boots clip my forehead and I stumble over my feet as something lands on the grass in front of me and rolls down the shallow incline toward the sidewalk.
“What the hell,” Blondie says as she rolls her ankle and her foot slips out of her shoe. She quickly works to fix her hair, smoothing her hands over it.
Catching my breath, I shake my head, which is going to hurt like hell in the morning when I sober up. Usually when I’m this wasted my heart goes still, but my pulse has forced its way through the multiple shots I hammered back and suddenly I feel sober.
Blowing out a tense breath, I focus on whatever the hell just fell from the window as I mentally tell my heart rate to shut the fuck up. At first I think I’m seeing things, so I blink my eyes a few times at the…person…a girl lying on her back, groaning as she clutches her ankle.
“God damn it…that hurt,” she moans, rolling to her side.
My heart is still racing and I move my hand toward my mouth to take a drag, hoping nicotine will settle it down but realize I’ve lost my cigarette somewhere. “Shit, are you okay?” I drag my fingers through my cropped brown hair as I glance up at the window she fell from, then back at her, wondering if I should help her up or something.
She releases a grunting breath as she gets up on her hands and knees and pushes to her feet. Her legs wobble as she gets to her feet, then she limps forward, trying not to put weight on her right ankle. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Her voice is tight, and normally I’d back off from her leave-me-the-fuck-alone attitude, but she just fell out of a fucking window and a painful sense of déjà vu hits me square in the chest as I wonder if Amy fell the same way.
“Did you hurt your foot or something?” I follow after her as she limps down the sidewalk. Blondie calls out that she can’t find her shoe, but I ignore her, walking after the girl. I’m not even one-hundred-percent sure why other than I’m worried she might be hurt or that she might have been trying to hurt herself on purpose, like my sister Amy did, only she never walked away from it.
“I’m fine,” she says and then picks up her pace when a guy shouts something out the window she fell from. “Now go away.”
I look down at her ankle, hidden under her boot. It’s obvious it’s causing her pain by the way she won’t put pressure on it. “You shouldn’t be putting weight on it if it hurts. You could fuck it up more.”
At the corner of the sidewalk, she veers to the left, and steps into the light of the lampposts surrounding the parking lot. I finally get a good look at her and recognition clicks. She’s got long black hair with streaks of red in it that match the shade of her plump lips. She’s wearing a leather jacket over a tight black dress and her boots—the ones that put a lump on my head—go all the way up her long legs, stopping at her thighs.
“Hey, I know you,” I state as we step off the curb. “Don’t I?”
“How should I know?” She peers over her shoulder at me, giving me a once-over. I can tell she does know me, by the recognition in her expression, just like I’m almost certain I know her.
She continues to hobble toward a row of parked cars and I walk with her.
“Wait…I’ve seen you around at UW…We have Chemistry together.” I make the connection as she stuffs her hand into the pocket of her jacket. “And I think you’re Callie Lawrence’s roommate?” I point a finger at her. “Violet…something or other?”
She shakes her head as she removes her keys from her pocket. “And you’re Luke Price. The stoically aloof and somewhat intense man-whore/football player who dorms it up with Kayden Owens.” She stops in front of a battered up Cadillac. “Yeah, we know each other. So what?” She extends her hand toward the lock on the door, holding the key, but I grab her arm and stop her.
“Wait, ‘stoically aloof’?” I ask, slightly offended. “What the hell does that mean?” I’ve crossed paths with her quite a few times, but never actually talked to her. I’ve heard Callie say she’s intense, which I’m getting right now. But people say that about me, too, and it’s for a reason. A dark reason I don’t like to talk about. I wonder if she has a reason, too, or if she’s just a bitch. Plain and simple.
“It means whatever the hell you want it to mean.” She jams the key into the lock and unlocks the door, glancing over the roof of the car. “Now will you please let go of my arm?”
I’d completely forgotten that I was touching her and I instantly let go, tracking the line of her gaze to the sidewalk and a guy heading toward us. When I look back at her, there’s panic in her eyes, but when she notices me staring at her, the look quickly disappears and is replaced by indifference.
“Is that guy messing with you?” I ask. “Because if he is I can kick his ass if you need me to.” I cringe as I say it because most of the time when I start swinging punches I have a hard time stopping.
She seems shocked for a very intense split second but then again the look vanishes. “I can take care of myself.” She leans into the car and falls into the driver’s seat. She puts her hand on the steering wheel and takes a breath before looking up at me. “Look, I’m sorry I kicked you in the face during my fall.” She carefully pulls her leg in, wincing from the pain. “I didn’t mean to.”
I touch my finger to my forehead, feeling the forming lump. “It’s not a big deal,” I tell her. “But I’d really like to know why you…fell out the window.” I’m not sure if “fell” is the right word. She could have jumped. On purpose. For so many reasons.
“I didn’t fall…I jumped.” She stares up at me and I see something in her eyes. I have to search my hazy brain for what it is, but finally I get there. Detachment. Like she feels and cares about nothing. For a brief second I envy her.
Before I can say anything else, she glances through the windshield at the guy who’s reached the border of the parking lot and then she slams the car door. She revs the engine and I have to jump back as she peels out of the parking lot, driving away like her life depends on it and all I can wonder is what the hell she’s running from.
The Death Cure 
