Stan follows me as I storm to the counter. "So you saw them that night?" he asks. "The ones who broke into your house?"

I don't answer, begging myself to remain calm. That I have to. That there is a restaurant full of people, enjoying their dinners and family time and I'll be in some serious trouble if I make a scene.

"Did you find them?" he asks. "Your parents? I thought I read somewhere that you did? And that you stayed in the house for twenty-four hours before you called the cops. Why did you do that?"

I slam to a halt at the counter in front of the register where Sherry, a middle-aged waitress with a gray bob is tallying up bills. I turn around. "Go f.u.c.k yourself, Stan."

At the exact moment I say it, my boss and owner of the restaurant, Benny, walks out. "Violet," Benny hisses, glancing around at the tables and booths. His face reddens as his voice lowers. "Go in the back right now."

Things kind of escalate from there. Reporter guy takes off out the front door, bailing on what he started. I trudge into the back kitchen area and Benny enters seconds later. He's also the cook and wears this stained white ap.r.o.n that ties around his round belly. I can't stop staring at the stains as he stands in front of the oven and chews me out. The stains are red, probably ketchup, but they look like blood. Blood. Death. Blood. I start to visualize things, not just about my parents, but about me. My death. How it's going to happen. Horrible. Tragic. I picture myself on the floor, dying with my parents. For a second, I feel okay.

"Violet, I think I'm going to have to fire you," Benny says and all I do is stare at his bald head, shiny in the fluorescent light.

I probably would have just let him fire me but then Greyson walks in. He's wearing his bartending outfit, a white shirt and black pants, and has a gla.s.s in his hand. "Hey, Benny, cut her some slack. She's having a bad day."

"I don't give a d.a.m.n if she's having a bad day," he replies, lifting a lid off a stainless-steel pot. "She dropped the f-bomb in my restaurant. There's kids out there for crying out loud."

"Yeah, but the guy grabbed her a.s.s," Greyson lies, glancing at me quickly. "You have to cut her some slack. That's s.e.xual hara.s.sment."

Benny peers up from the pot as he reaches over to grab a large spoon from the stainless-steel shelf. "Is that true Violet?"

I shrug, knowing I should put more effort into this, but there is too much heaviness in my chest to care. All I seem to care about is the d.a.m.n red stains on his ap.r.o.n. "I guess so."

"You guess so or no?" he questions, stirring the boiling water.

Greyson presses me with a look like What are doing? I just gave you an easy out.

I sigh exhaustedly, forcing myself to put effort into it, because I need my job. "Yeah, he grabbed my a.s.s... Sorry I dropped the f-bomb."

Benny puffs a frustrated breath and points the dripping spoon at me. "Next time come tell me before you go throwing inappropriate words around. Understand?"

"Okay."

He frowns, his forehead wrinkling, but he lets me go, telling me to take the next few days off, and get my s.h.i.t together. I summon deep breaths as I nod and then grab my change of clothes from my shelf and head out back to get some fresh air. I'm going to have to lose a week's pay. I'm fuming, not at myself, but at reporter guy. I storm out the door and into the back parking lot where employees park. The sky is still gray with storm clouds, but the rain has reduced to a drizzle, and the buildings around the restaurant light up the block.

I clamp my jaw as I stride toward the middle of the muddy parking lot, my clothes clutched in my hands. Suddenly I ball my hands into fist and scream through gritted teeth: "f.u.c.k him! f.u.c.k!" I thought I'd gotten rid of reporters a long time ago. This one has to be here because the police are reopening the case.

Suddenly, I hear the crunch of gravel as someone approaches me. "Are you okay?" Greyson asks with concern.

I remain motionless. "I'm fine. It's just a week off work. I should be grateful he didn't fire me." I want to say thank you because he helped me, but I'm not even sure how or where to start.

"Not about that." He pauses behind me and I can hear him breathing. "I mean about what that guy said to you."

I stab my nails deeper into my palms. I should hit him. I should have hit the reporter. I need to hit something. I need to get this shaking, razor-sharp, painful feeling out of me. "I'm. Fine."

Greyson moves beside me and my muscles tighten. He's walking into a mess he shouldn't be walking into because I'm seriously thinking about hitting him, just so I can do something to get this slashing feel inside me to stop.

He hands me a gla.s.s filled with a red tinted liquid. "It'll calm you down."

I eyeball the gla.s.s warily, feeling the anger simmer. "What is it?"

"Vodka and cranberry."

"I don't drink."

"I didn't put that much vodka in it." He continues to hold the gla.s.s out with a sympathetic smile on his face.

I s.n.a.t.c.h the gla.s.s from him and spill some on my shoe. I take a few gulps, feeling the burn of alcohol mix with the uneasy burn inside me. I'm adding fuel to the fire. I know this. And I should just dump it out on the ground and walk away.

Instead, I chug the rest of the drink down and then give the empty gla.s.s back to Greyson. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He takes the gla.s.s and rotates it between his hands. "I get off work in like thirty minutes... you could wait around... come hang out in the bar and we could catch a bus back to the apartment together."

"Isn't Seth coming to pick you up?"

"Nah, Luke and he have a party going on at the apartment and I'm sure they're both too wasted to drive."

I turn my head and look at him, wondering just how much he heard. Did he hear that my parents were murdered? That I found them. Is there another person in my life now that knows about my messed up past? "How much did you hear?"

"Some, but I promise my lips are sealed," he says without missing a beat Is he for real? I stand there quietly, trying to figure it out, but I can barely understand myself let alone someone else. "Okay, I'll stick around I guess."

His smile expands. "Okay, get changed and come sit at the bar. I'll get you another drink."

I probably should have argued with him, told him that I'm not a nice person when I'm drunk, that my reckless energy magnifies. But instead I nod and follow him back into the restaurant, knowing exactly what I am walking into and not caring.

Chapter 14.

Luke I'm a lucky son of a b.i.t.c.h. I really am, but only because I own my own luck, create it, cheat it. I've been gambling for almost a week and a half straight and I'm up to twelve hundred bucks. I probably should stop, but it's hard once I get riding a winning streak. When I sit down at the table, I control almost everything and I realize how much I've missed it.

Violet hasn't been talking to me much, spending half her time at work and the rest in her room. I try to let her be because it's clear that's what she wants but I'm starting to wonder if what she wants and what she needs are entirely different things I can understand to a certain extent wanting to be by myself, but she's completely secluded herself from everyone, always alone. I've tried a few times to make conversation with her, just to have her back in my life and hear the sound of her voice, but she only gives me one-word responses.

I'm still sleeping on the couch, but it's getting uncomfortable and I haven't even unpacked my boxes yet, simply because she always has the door locked. I want to barge in there and claim my territory, but then I picture the look on her face when she opened the door after I found out about her parents and I stop myself, shut down my aggravation, reminding myself that it's not about me and what I want.

For the last week, I've been on the phone with my mother every other day. I was ignoring her calls, but after the thirty-something messages cramming my voicemail, I finally started picking up. She's in one of her moods, where she thinks someone's after her-a neighbor, the mailman, the police. She did this a lot when I first went to college, calling me to tell me I needed to come home to protect her. She'd toned it down over the past few months, but I think when I told her I wasn't going home for the summer, she decided to start up again. I've been doing my best not to ram my fist into something, reminding myself that I have a place of my own and I can do whatever I want. But every time I hear her voice it reminds me of the past, then the nightmares start up, and more anger floods me.

Friday night, Seth and I decide to throw a party to celebrate our new home and I'm glad because I really need a break from the stress of my life. Violet and Greyson are still at work, we got a living room full of people, music playing, an endless amount of drinks and week-or-so-old pot brownies Greyson made that Seth and him occasionally munch on. I asked him where he got the weed and he said from a friend, but I think Violet gave it to him, which makes me worry she might be going back to that douche. But I'm not going to ask her about it. If she's that stupid, then she's that stupid. Not. My. Problem. At least that's what I keep trying to tell myself, but as always I can't help think of my past and what drugs and dealing did to my mother-what it turned her into.

I put beer, chips, and some weird fruit platter Seth picked up out in the living room, but keep the hard stuff in the fridge for my own personal use. Then I get a game of Texas Hold 'Em going at the table, milking my lucky streak for all it's worth. I've got a little too many shots of vodka in my system and the kings are starting to look like queens, but I won't stop playing or drinking, because I'm too f.u.c.king relaxed.

There are five other guys at the table, including Seth, who's not very good at cards, but has fun playing. One of the guys, Jonah something or other, has a blond with really bright red lips sitting on his lap, wearing this tight leather skirt and white top with no bra. She keeps giving me these looks and I'm debating whether I want to hit on her. Jonah said they weren't dating, just friends, but it'll still be kind of be weird if Violet walks in and I'm still not sure if I could fully go through with it and get what I'm seeking-a much-needed f.u.c.k, one where I'm in control over the situation. Then again, I shouldn't even be thinking about Violet. We're not together. We kissed once. So f.u.c.king what. It's time to move on. Get over a girl that has no interest in me... a girl that's been controlling every one of my thoughts for weeks, at least this is what I tell myself.

As I win the next hand, my intoxication blurs my thought process, and I start working my magic, flirting with the girl across from me, who tells me her name is Kenzie. After a few smiles and compliments, I get her to leave Jonah's lap and come over to mine.

"You have gorgeous eyes," she whispers in my ear, thankfully not giggling as she runs her fingers through my hair.

"You better not hurt her," Jonah says with a laugh as he takes a sip of his beer and studies his cards.

Hurt her, no. f.u.c.k her, yes. I wind my arm around her back and she wiggles her a.s.s a little, settling into my lap, and it feels nice, but not as good as it usually does.

"Ante up, a.s.shole," Jonah says to me, tossing a handful of blue chips to the center of the table.

Shooting him a warning look, I reach for my chips, but pause when his eyes dart to the door. "Well, well, if it isn't my favorite f.u.c.king person in the world. What are you doing here, beautiful?"

"And if it isn't the biggest dips.h.i.t in the world. I live here, you moron." The sound of Violet's voice over the music makes me tense. I thought she wasn't going to be home from work for at least another hour.

I wait for what seems like five hours, when really it's probably only more like five seconds, then Violet comes walking past the table and turns into the kitchen area next to it. She's wearing a long skirt that sits low on her hips and this black and white top that only covers to the bottom of her ribs. I can see her flat stomach, smooth skin, and a tattoo curling up and over her rib cage and all the way down below her hip in black ink. Curvy patterns form flowers and take up half her side. It's the s.e.xiest G.o.d d.a.m.n thing I've ever seen... I want to rip her clothes off so I can see where the lines stop and begin.

She ambles for the fridge, hardly paying attention to the party going on and then Greyson appears at the table, looking red-eyed and smelling of cigarette smoke.

He flops down in a chair beside Seth, grabs a handful of potato chips and says, "What'd I miss?"

Seth squints his eyes as he leans in toward Greyson. "Are you..." He sniffs the air in front of Greyson's mouth. "Are you drunk?"

Greyson shrugs, shoving the chips into his mouth. "Does it really matter?"

Seth leans back in his seat with his arm draped on the back. "You hardly ever drink."

Greyson ignores him and starts munching on chips while my focus drifts back to Violet in the kitchen. She's hunting in the fridge for something, her head ducked down. She flips some of her hair off her shoulder, and quickly glances in my direction, her eyes flickering from the girl on my lap to me. I expected the detached look she's always so good at giving and I think she's aiming for it, but for the slightest second there's hurt in her eyes.

"So Jonah the Dips.h.i.t," she says, yanking her gaze off me. "What have you been up to for the last few months?"

Jonah the Dips.h.i.t tips back in his chair, checking out her a.s.s. "Not a whole h.e.l.l of a lot. You still up to your usual?"

Unable to help myself, I pick a chip up and throw it at him. My drunken aim is off and it hits the wall, dinging it, and Jonah doesn't even notice. Seth does, though, and so does Kenzie, both giving me a puzzled look.

Violet leans back from the fridge and closes the door with her hip, clutching a half-full bottle of tequila in her hand. I immediately sense something's wrong. She says she doesn't drink and I've never seen her drink before. I wonder if something happened, at work, or maybe with her parents' case, but how am I supposed to find out what's wrong when she won't f.u.c.king talk to me.

"Not lately." She unscrews the cap, her eyes steady on Jonah who looks like he thinks he's about to get lucky. She sucks in a deep breath, then puts the mouth of the bottle up to her lips, and angles her head back, guzzling a swallow down. Her back arches and her chest angles out as she drinks. I'm pretty sure every dude at the table, besides Seth and Greyson, watches her with their jaw hanging open.

"Vixen," Seth mutters from the chair beside me with a smirk on his face as he examines his cards.

Violet detaches the bottle from her mouth and her eyes water up as she gags. She quickly twists the cap back on and then licks the remaining tequila off her lips. "G.o.d, that burnt the s.h.i.t out of my throat."

"Ta-kill-ya will do that to you," Jonah jokes like he's the world's freaking funniest comedian.

Violet tolerantly smiles at him. "Yeah, I guess so."

Jonah grins as he sets his cards down on the table. "So I know you said you weren't up to the usual, but could you please, pretty please make an exception for your favorite guy in the whole world. I need it badly, baby."

Violet holds the bottle in her hand, her green eyes darting to mine before she says to Jonah, "Follow me."

Jonah looks like he just struck gold and pushes the chair back from the table. "Sorry guys, but I think I'm going to sit the next hand out." He scoops up his beer and circles around the table, trailing behind Violet as she breezes past me with Jonah following her like a puppy dog. They disappear into her room-our room. I stare at the door, my chest burning as I fight the desire to go after her. She's not mine. I don't want her to be mine. Just let her be. It's not like she's having s.e.x.

"What a s.l.u.t," Seth says under his breath as he reaches for a red plastic cup full of vodka and orange juice.

"She's not a s.l.u.t," I snap a little harsher than I mean to, throwing my cards onto the table. "You don't know anything about her."

Seth moves the rim of the cup to his mouth. "Neither do you," he reminds me. "So how do you know she's not?"

"Because I do." But I don't. Violet lies a lot and it's hard to tell if what leaves her mouth is real-if anything. Maybe she's not a virgin. Maybe she sleeps around as much as I do. Maybe she deals drugs, sleeps around, and then does crazy s.h.i.t like jump out the window.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it," I curse because this shouldn't be bothering me. No girl ever has. Yet Violet is. I shove Kenzie off my lap and she lands on her feet but stumbles forward in her heels. She barely catches herself on the countertop.

"Rude much?" she huffs, standing up.

I rise to my feet as rage blasts through me. I have no idea what to do, but if I don't do something soon, I'm going to burst.

Violet Drunk, evil Violet is coming out and she's bored. This is not a good combination. It more than likely means I'm going to go looking for trouble. And trouble for me usually means doing stuff like jumping out of two-story windows. As much as I love tasting death, the last time I got drunk when I was feeling like this, I ended up actually getting hit by a car. I broke my leg, too, and Preston was not happy about it. I tried to do my best to explain to him why I did it and he told me I was going to be one of those people who wouldn't be able to drink, not without severe consequences. I hate that I'm thinking about Preston and that I kind of, sort of, maybe miss him a little and the life I'd built for myself with him, because before the whole drama/groping thing it was somewhat comfortable. And I've never had comfortable before.

"Hey, do you mind if I light up right here?" Jonah the Dips.h.i.t asks as he settles on my bed, crossing his legs. He's one of my regulars who's slightly annoying and gets on my nerves, but I'm bored and need a distraction. And I'm fairly certain Luke thinks I came back here to do something with him, by the jealous look on his face. I don't like how pleased I am at the idea that he might be jealous. But he has no right to be, considering he had that s.k.a.n.k on his lap who has so many curves her skirt and shirt couldn't even conceal them.

"Do whatever you want." I shrug, sifting through the songs on my laptop. The song t.i.tles are hard to read though and the longer I squint at them, the more bored and restless I get. Finally, I randomly click on one and "Make d.a.m.n Sure" by Taking Back Sunday starts playing. Then I decide to search out Stan Walice, see if I can get any information on him. Go kick his a.s.s. It'd make me feel better. I run a search on him and add Channel 8, then squint at the screen. It's hard to tell which one is him... they all look blurry.

"G.o.d, this s.h.i.t smells good." Jonah grins as he slips his pipe out of his pocket. He's fairly good-looking for a pothead, and not rich like most of my regular clients. He has a beanie on his head, a fraying leather band on his wrist, and a few holes in his jeans. I have the lamp on and I can see his pupils are dilated. He takes the remainder of the weed out of my prescription bottle and packs it into his pipe. I was sort of surprised when Greyson gave it back to me, only taking a little for his pot brownies. Most people would have taken it all.

Jonah says something to me as he frees the smoke from his chest, but I only crank the music up and continue my search for information on Stan Walice. But after a while I give up because the blurriness and brightness of the screen is stinging my eyes. I move the computer aside, then dig for some gum in the nightstand drawer, but all I have is a bag of suckers. I take one out and pop it into my mouth to get rid of the nasty taste of alcohol embedded in my taste buds. Then I lie down on the bed and gaze up at the ceiling. I can't stop thinking about that reporter and his questions. What if he shows up again? What if I can't handle it? Am I handling it right now? There's a calm-before-the-storm feeling inside my chest, waves ripping, white tipped, ready to rise higher as they soar for the sh.o.r.e. The question is where is the sh.o.r.e? Me? Someone else? I need to do something. I'm too unsettled.

I crank the music down and sit up as Jonah takes another hit from his pipe and smoke fills the room. I pull my knees up and watch him toke over and over again as I suck on the sucker. He says nothing, but keeps eyeing the sucker in my mouth, or my mouth-I can't tell for certain. I bounce back and forth on whether I want to kick him out so I can get my adrenaline rush solo or do I want him around? Could I use him for anything? When I kissed Luke it'd felt good and distracting. I wonder if Jonah could give me the same effect. I could try it, because I kind of need it tonight. Need to forget about my life. About my job. About Stan, the stupid reporter.

"What? Why are you looking at me like you want to f.u.c.k me?" Jonah asks with a grin, a cloud of smoke snaking from his lips.

"I'm not." I kneel up on the bed and sweep my hair to the side as I inch closer, pulling the sucker out of my mouth. My shirt's ridden up and Jonah takes in my bare skin with a lazy grin on his face. I could kiss him and find out if Jonah is as good of a distraction as Luke. I've never been one for kissing, but maybe something's changed, maybe I could- Someone hammers on the door. "Violet, open the f.u.c.king door." It's Luke's voice and it's full of anger.

Jonah's eyes bulge as he coughs on a breath full of weed. "Oh s.h.i.t, is Luke your boyfriend?"

I roll my eyes as Luke bangs on the door again. "In the year that I've been dealing to you have you ever seen me with a boyfriend?"

He shrugs, flicking the lighter. "No, but I don't know anything about you-no one does."

I open my mouth to agree with him, when Luke starts banging on the door over and over again. Shaking my head, I get up from the bed, tripping over the bottom of my skirt when I step on it, and brace myself on the door. Luke bangs on the door again and I jerk it open. He's still in the middle of banging on the door and his fist flies toward me. I don't move and he barely stops in time, right before he hits me in the face. He lowers his fist to his side, looking startled, but then the look vanishes and he pushes past me and into the room.

"Get the f.u.c.k out," he says to Jonah in this calm, unsettling tone as he nods his head at the door.

Jonah moves the pipe away from his mouth. "What the h.e.l.l's your problem? I'm just sitting here smoking a bowl. I didn't touch her."

Luke walks up to the bed and grabs the pipe from Jonah's hands. "You're my problem. Now get the f.u.c.k out."

Jonah gets up from the bed. He's shorter than Luke, but thicker in the body. Still he does what he's asked and heads for the door, pausing before he steps out. "Can I at least have my pipe back?"

Luke shoves him out the door, and then he tosses the pipe at him. Jonah misses it and it hits the floor, spilling singed bud all over the carpet. Jonah curses as Luke slams the door and locks it. I'm tingling from head to toe as I wait for him to turn around, but he doesn't, he just leans his head against the door.

He has on a black shirt and jeans that are just tight enough to make his a.s.s look really nice. Maybe his a.s.s just looks really nice though. I've never really paid attention to it until now. I put the sucker into my mouth, tilting my head to the side to get a better look. When he turns toward me, I don't even bother trying to hide the fact that I was just checking him out. I'm drunk and careless and every blase personality trait of mine is amplified.