All the Different Ways Page 21

  With sweat splattering the ground and keypad in front of me, I pick up the pace trying to leave this feeling of anguish somewhere in the imaginary distance behind me but I can’t turn off my brain.

  She lied to me.

  My thighs burn and my lungs gave up on trying to warm the air I’m sucking in a long time ago.

  That fucker brutalized her.

  Blood pounds in my ears. My fingers tingle.

  She kept it hidden from me.

  My hand slams down on the emergency stop button. The belt comes to a halt with a squeak and a groan; it smells burnt, like the motor needs a good cleaning and some grease.

  Grabbing the sides of the mill, I bend over at the waist trying to catch my breath. I’m no stranger to running this far but my chest feels constricted as if it’s in an ever-tightening vice. Sweat rolls into my eyes and starts to sting, so I reach behind my head to pull off my shirt. I get it just past my chin before I pause and realize that I’ve gone and done Violet’s favorite move and a sinking sadness sweeps through me all over again. My shoulders slump with a sigh, and with resistance much like that of a hesitant child, I take the tee off my arms and use it to wipe my face.

  I let her walk away.

  Holding the fabric to my mouth, I let out a frustrated howl. Every single thought I have gets worse than the last. I stand, blood rushing to my head, blackness swirls into my periphery from too much movement too soon. My stomach rolls with nausea as I imagine Violet bearing all of that pain by herself and then it twists with madness at her for not trusting me to share the burden. Dammit! How many times did I open the conversation to her? How many leads did I give her?

  “Fuck!” I whack the rails of the treadmill with my shirt and stomp down to the floor. Now I’ve lost her—or she’s lost us. Who’s to blame? Does it really matter? If she won’t trust me then there’s no relationship regardless. We have nothing.

  The tourniquet on my chest wrenches again and I nearly hit the floor with the knife-like pain that catches me mid-breath. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

  I shower in the locker room and think of all the different ways this should have been different. Twenty minutes later, I drag my sad, sorry ass home to be miserable. I keep checking my phone, hoping there will be a message from Violet, but it’s silent. I wonder if I should call her—at least find out if she got home alright—but I suppose that would just make things worse. Renee or Charlotte would let me know if… I can’t finish the thought.

  I roll my shoulders, toss my bag in the laundry room, and do my best to jog upstairs on aching legs. I think maybe I shouldn’t have pushed it so hard at the gym, especially since I’ll be dead-ass tired tomorrow, but I needed to think, get shit straight. Sadly, I’m still working on it. Everything’s still crutched up and crooked.

  Ripping off my shirt, I flop into bed. Warm lilacs and sandalwood waft up from my pillow when I land on my stomach and curl it under my head. Violet. It lands with a thud against the wall. I launch the other one, too, for good measure and before I know it, the blankets and sheets have been shred from the mattress and I’m pounding down the stairs to throw them in the washer. All of them. Just in case.

  With a sniff of resolve, I rush back to my room, ignoring the cramping in my calves, to remake the bed. Satisfied with the scent of only fabric softener, I rake my hands through my hair and stare down at what I’ve done to the bed with my hands on my hips. I should crawl in and get some sleep. I can think through how to manage the shit storm that is my life tomorrow. I can’t solve anything tonight. Dwelling won’t help and neither will handing out “what ifs”.

  I pull back the covers.

  I sleep on the couch.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Violet

  “Open the damn door, Violet!”

  I jerk the door open, turn my back, and walk away from it back to the couch. Renee stomps in, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary. I don’t care, though, I’m already tucked under my blanket. Without Cullen, I’m chilled to the bone. I just can’t get warm.

  “What the fuck is happening? Are you coming back to school?”

  “I’ve missed two days, Renee, not two months. I’m sick. Yes, I’m coming back. Probably tomorrow. Or Thursday.”

  She sits in the overstuffed chair across from me. “Well, first of all, a broken heart doesn’t constitute being sick. And second, well, you look like shit. We need to talk, girl. You can’t hide forever.”

  “I’m not trying to hide forever. Just today for sure and maybe through Thursday,” I pull the blanket up tighter to my chin. Of course, Renee pulls it back down. I throw her a wicked glare.

  “Violet. Go take a shower. I’m going to make you a sandwich and then we’ll talk.”

  My eyes fill with tears; Renee pats my leg.

  “I don’t think I can, Renee.”

  “Go, you’ll be fine. You’re a survivor, remember? I’ll be here.”

  I drag my ass off the couch and up the stairs. In the bathroom, I peer into the mirror. Renee is right; I look like shit. All that’s here are the remnants of Happy Violet, the outline of where she used to be. My chest hurts, and I feel like my skin doesn’t fit anymore. Warily, I turn on the shower and step in. It doesn’t matter that the water is still ice cold. I don’t even feel it. Not even the lather of my favorite soap can bring my senses out of despair.

  I walk downstairs with wet hair, pajamas, and slippers to find Renee with two turkey sandwiches and a couple sodas at my tiny table.

  “I had turkey?” I ask, scooting my feet as I walk.

  “Yeah, and the bread wasn’t moldy. Have a seat,” she ushers me to a chair. “So, I’m assuming Cullen found out that you haven’t been totally honest about Anden and that’s why you’re holed up at home.”

  I cringe like I’ve been punched in the face when she says Cullen’s name and have to wipe a tear away with my shoulder by the time she’s done talking. “We were ambushed at the grocery store by the lady from the funeral home about Anden’s headstone. I didn’t know it wasn’t done till now because I haven’t been to the gravesite. I had to tell Cullen why and now he knows it all and doesn’t want me.”

  “That’s a lot of information to put on a guy all at once, Violet. I mean, maybe give him some time to think through it all. I don’t think that’s why he’s distancing himself, anyway.”

  “No, it is,” I stare at the little holes in the bread of my sandwich. I know how they feel—empty little caverns. Tears start to blur my vision as I hear Anden’s voice laughing at me. I haven’t heard him in so long, I almost forgot the grating sound. “I’m disgusting and worthless. He knows it now, so that’s that.”

  “Jesus, Violet, have you heard yourself? You’re not disgusting and worthless. Do you think maybe he might have some issues with you not trusting him?”

  “I don’t know, Renee. I don’t know much of anything right now. I meant it when I said that I started to just forget about the whole Anden thing. I let it go and began to move forward with Cullen. I knew I needed to tell him, but I never wanted to ruin the time we had together.”

  She reaches across the table and holds my hand.

  “It’ll be ok, honey, you’ll see. Give him some time to work it out for himself. Come back to work. Be strong and beautiful and let him know what he’s missing without you. He’ll come around.”

  I sniff and wipe my eyes on my sleeves, “I told him I love him.”

  “Yeah? Finally? What did he do?”

  “He let me leave.”

  ***

  I manage to stay in my room all day except for one quick run to the bathroom, and I mean run. I checked both directions outside my classroom door before rushing out and around the corner to the staff restroom and shutting myself inside. I performed the same insane behavior to get back to my room when I was done. I just couldn’t risk seeing him.

  My AP students are participating in simulation labs on dynamic homeostasis within individual organisms, so it’s quiet, individual
work today. I’d prefer a noisy debate or interactive lab for distractions, but with the first quarter coming to an end, I need to make sure all of my kids are where I need them to be according their advanced placement. I’ve always set aside my personal issues for my students in the past; today is no exception.

  I’ve made it halfway through last block. Annabeth raises her hand for help. On my way over to her table, there is movement in my window. A sharp pain stabs through my heart even before I look. I can feel Cullen’s presence outside my door, almost as if there’s a direct line of heat connecting us through air and other matter.

  Pausing, I straighten my back and turn my head his way. My braid stays across my shoulder; thin little hairs tickle my cheek as they move in the breeze of my shallow exhales, but I have no desire to brush them away. I’m too focused on not shattering in front of a group of teenagers who, undoubtedly, have their curiosity piqued. My eyes meet his through the glass, and he jumps as if startled by the instant connection. I don’t think he was expecting me to turn, expecting me to be here, expecting to be noticed. I imagine he’s been avoiding this end of the hallway.

  Cullen doesn’t turn away once our eyes lock. It would be easier if he did. Instead, he stands there with his stare burning a hole through my already mangled heart. My Mary Jane’s seem cemented to the floor so I can neither cross to him to end the torture, nor walk away and break the spell.

  I hear the crescendo of a tapping sound.

  “Mrs. B.?” It’s Annabeth.

  “What?” I reply absently. I watch him run his hand through his hair. I briefly look down at the big blue eyes looking up at me and put my hand over her pen dancing on the edge of her table. I turn back to the door but there’s just an empty window now. Anguish liquefies my bones, and it takes all my effort just to turn back to Annabeth without toppling over. I grab hold of the back of her chair to steady myself.

  Breathe in, Violet. Slow and steady. Breathe out. Repeat. This is why you’re here. Annabeth and the rest of your class. Focus.

  “You have four different variables, Annabeth. That’s why the graph looks strange. You can’t identify the feedback mechanism responsible for maintaining homeostasis if you’re manipulating multiple factors at once. Make sense?” I look back towards the door.

  “He’s not there, Mrs. B.,” Annabeth quietly says.

  My eyes flick back to her, and I offer a weak smile, “I know, Annabeth, thanks. Keep working, ok? You’re doing well.” I pat her shoulder and move on, sighing only inside my head.

  Finally, the last bell rings and I dismiss my class. Since it’s Thursday, I don’t have a meeting today, so after I get some grading done, I plan to leave right away. I’m exhausted from avoidance, emotional panic, and heartache.

  There’s a knock on my door as I pile up the labs that I have finished grading. It’s locked to deter people from bothering me; I guess someone can’t take a hint.

  “Claire. What a surprise.”

  Once I acknowledge that it’s her, I leave the door partially open and walk away. I hear her open it enough to walk through, though, despite being pretty clear that she isn’t welcome.

  “Hi, Violet. Feeling better?” Her sweetness sounds fake.

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks for asking.” My tone is dry and burdened.

  She perches herself on one of my lab tables and I have a flashback to August. Almost eight weeks ago, I knocked Claire off her pedestal and all but threw her out of my room. Now, there really isn’t anything I can do but hear her out.

  I pretend to grade an essay, “If there’s something you need, spit it out because I have a lot of work to do.”

  “I’m sure with being sick and all.” I flash her a disgusted look. She continues, “No, I just came to see how you are. It seems Cullen is sick, too. He looks about as bad as you do. A broken heart is usually contagious, affecting at least two people, but sometimes more.”

  Looking up at her from my work, I slam my pen down leaving an inkblot on Keegan’s paper. I don’t care if she can see the tears welling up in my eyes. “What do you want, Claire? To say ‘I told you so’? Then say it and get it over with because I don’t have time or patience today.”

  “No,” she surprises me by slumping into the tabletop. “I’m sorry for you. Well, mostly Cullen, but you, too. You love him, don’t you?”

  I sniff, “That’s not really your concern.”

  “Oh, come on, Violet,” Claire hops down, “we can all see it. And that train runs both directions, I don’t doubt. What happened? Not over the dead husband?”

  I just glare at her. Bile rises in my throat at the implication.

  “Tact isn’t your specialty, is it? Neither is minding your business?”

  Claire smiles smugly, “No, neither one.”

  Pausing, we just stare each other down.

  “Ok, well, as nice as this has been, I’m going to head home,” I grab my bag while my computer is shutting down.

  She shifts and slinks off the tabletop, “That’s probably good. Hey, the main entrance is closed. They’re working on the alarm system or something, so you’ll have to go out the gym doors. Thought you’d wanna know.”

  Inwardly, I groan. Football practice will be going on now, and I’m going to have to walk past the field—past Cullen—to get around the building to my car.

  “Super, thanks.”

  I hold out my arm in an “after you” gesture, and Claire saunters out of my room.

  “Well, Violet, I hope you make a full recovery soon. It would be just awful if this drags out.”

  She throws me a wave over her shoulder as she proceeds down the Social Studies wing. Shaking my head and huffing out a sigh, I pull my door closed, check that it’s locked, and talk myself into the long walk to my car.

  Once outside, the crisp air cools my flustered cheeks and swirls my escaped hairs around. Some strands get caught in the ear piece of my sunglasses and are nearly pulled out when I turn my head the opposite direction of the field. It feels like repeated bee stings and pisses me off. I hate having my hair pulled and contemplate just cutting it all off right here. It’s not like Cullen, or anyone for that matter, will be trying to tickle me with it anytime soon. My breath catches at the memory and I nearly choke on my own saliva.

  I stop on the sidewalk, much to my trepidation, so I can unravel my hair from my sunglasses without further damage. I hear a whistle blow and after a second, someone screams, “Mrs. B.!” Before I think, I look up and wave. Jarrod has his helmet off and is standing by the water cooler getting a drink while he waves madly. I nearly laugh at how ridiculously animated he is, but then Cullen whacks him on the shoulder pads and my momentary joy dissolves. Jarrod looks like he answers one of Cullen’s questions with a little heat. His hands are out to the sides, one foot is in front of the other, and his weight is forward. Then he looks towards me, points, and drops his hand by his side. Cullen steps up, towering over the boy. I can’t hear what he says, but his agonizingly soft lips move. It’s mesmerizing, until Jarrod’s helmet hits the brittle grass.

  “Damn, Coach!”

  He stomps off past the bench, in front of the bleachers where I can no longer see him.

  For the second time today, I witness Cullen scrape his fingers through his hair, then he glances my direction. I refuse to turn into gelatin twice in one day, so I steel myself against his smoldering eyes, readjust my sunglasses, and take one step, then another, and so on, until I reach my vehicle.

  Cullen

  Three days. Violet’s been absent from school three days. I keep checking her room, peeking in her window like a perv at a peep show. I’m going out of my mind here.

  “Renee! Where the hell is Violet?” I’ve sunk low enough to venture into Renee’s room down in the “literary dungeon” of the first floor. People down here are weird. You ask a question and they respond with the lyricism of Emerson. It flips me the fuck out.

  “Good morning to you, too, Cullen,” she singsongs from her desk.

  I lean
on the doorframe. “Is she alive? Will you at least tell me that?”

  “Yes, Cullen honey, she’s alive. Although, she looks like the same brand of shit you do,” Renee says all this as she walks over to where I’m miserably slumped by the door. Normally, I’d at least chuckle at her humor, but today I don’t have it in me. “She should be here today, if that makes you feel better.”

  My heart jumps in my chest. I just want to see her. Without her around, it’s like the sun is gone and the earth is crumbling a few chunks at a time.

  “I just… What she told me… Why didn’t she…” I blow out a frustrated breath.

  Renee rubs my arm, “She couldn’t tell anyone, Cullen. That’s just who she is. Independent. Stubborn. A fighter. That’s why we love her.”

  I meet Renee’s eyes and see the knowing look glowing there. I answer the best I can, “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks, Renee. I’ll see ya.”

  I run up the stairwell neighboring Violet’s room.

  I just have to see.

  Her voice is the first thing that hits me. It’s as if a thousand bricks fall on my shoulders as I slow my footfalls and take my final steps to her room. I rest with my back against the door feeling the vibrations of her sound waves through the metal resonate in my skin. I try to calm my heartbeat.

  I just have to see.

  Peering through the glass, I notice the long braid dangling down her back first. There are a few wisps of hair sticking out, probably tickling her neck, and I want to sweep them back for her. She looks agonizingly pale, unlike My Violet.

  Sensing I’m here, she straightens and turns her head. Lightning bolts slam into me where I stand. The sadness on her face is overwhelming. She debates whether she should come to the door or not. I can tell by the way she leans forward as if she’s going to walk then angles back on her heels. It’s a fight between heart and head. My fingers touch the glass—Yes, Violet, come here for a minute. Let me steal you away like I used to.