Desires of the Dead
Page 49

She hated this. She hated feeling so frail, so miserable. She should be angry, or afraid, but instead here she was, lying on her bed, unable to function. All because of Jay.
And what did it all mean? That he was choosing Megan over her? Or that he was simply unable to accept that Megan was capable of that type of violence?
Did it matter?
Either way, Jay hadn’t supported her.
He’d tried calling Violet, and when she didn’t answer, he’d sent her a single text message, asking if he could come over. Asking if they could talk.
Violet typed out her response, pausing for just a moment before hitting Send.
I don’t want to see you.
It felt so permanent, so final. So painful.
She covered her mouth with the palm of her hand, drawing her knees up to her chest as she choked on her sobs. But the worst pain came from a place she couldn’t physically reach. Her heart felt as if it had been crushed—it was lonely and miserable.
Violet worried for it. She wondered if she could trust it to keep beating.
She felt as if it had given up.
She felt like giving up.
She tried to tell herself to stop being so dramatic, but it didn’t feel dramatic.
She’d lost Jay. And more than just losing the one person she’d fallen so wholly in love with, the person she’d given herself to completely, she’d also just lost her very best friend in the entire world.
She didn’t know how long she lay there, balanced at the edge of sleep and wake. It was a tenuous place for Violet to be, with her subconscious permitted to contribute to the images that gathered there.
At one point, Violet put her iPod on, to block out her thoughts, to block out everything, but nothing could stop the corrupted dreams that lingered whenever she dozed, or the torment that attacked when she woke.
So she tossed and turned, trying not to think and not to feel.
It was almost dark when she felt the side of her bed sink, and she opened her eyes. Chelsea gazed down at her.
“What are you doing here?” Violet asked, scooting up on her pillow. Her throat burned.
Chelsea shrugged. “I was worried about you.” Her face scrunched up. “You okay?”
She wasn’t okay. She wasn’t even close.
Violet wanted to tell her friend that she was fine, that she was sick and that was why she hadn’t been at school, but she just shook her head. Her voice was hoarse. “We broke up. Jay and me, we broke up.”
“Aww crap, Vi.” Chelsea took Violet’s hand and squeezed it. “It’ll be all right. I’m sure it’s just a fight. It’s you and Jay. Everything’ll be fine, I know it will. Do you want me to talk to him?”
Violet shook her head again. “Please don’t, Chels.”
Chelsea looked pained, worried, confused—too many emotions that were unfamiliar to her—all at once. Finally she sighed. “Scoot over.”
Violet didn’t argue. Instead she made room for her friend.
Chelsea climbed in beside Violet. She lay on her back so they were both staring up at the ceiling. “Well, if he’s stupid enough to let you go, then he doesn’t deserve you,” Chelsea clucked, reassuring Violet in her own way, nudging her beneath the covers. “Besides, you’ll always have me, and I’m way more fun than Jay could ever be.”
Violet managed a watery laugh through her tears. She didn’t know how to tell Chelsea how grateful she was that she’d come by tonight without sounding corny, like some cheesy greeting card. But she couldn’t imagine anything better than having her friend beside her, whispering encouragement as darkness fell.
Violet knew that her mom had come in to check on her after Chelsea had gone, because she’d felt her mother’s cool hand brushing over her cheek and lying against her forehead.
She doubted that her mom really thought she was sick, but she never said a word. She just slipped in silently to make sure that Violet was all right and slipped out again. For that, at least, Violet was thankful.
During that endless night Violet came to a conclusion: She was damaged, sure, but she was stronger than that. She wasn’t broken. She would survive this. She had to. And she didn’t want Jay to know how badly he’d hurt her.
She wanted him, but she didn’t need him.
She closed her eyes, feeling no real peace. The best she could hope for at this point was for a little of the numbness to find her at last, and to dull the ache in her heart.
But sleep was all she actually got.
Violet stayed home from school again the next morning, not because she was exhausted, although she was. Or heartbroken, which she also was. Instead she stayed home because it was her birthday.
Happy freaking seventeenth to her!
She wandered out of her room, relieved that the house was empty at the moment. And even though she wasn’t hungry, she poured herself a bowl of cereal. It wouldn’t do any good to starve herself.
The note on the counter said that her mom had gone out to run some errands, which Violet interpreted as shopping for the nonparty birthday dinner that she had planned for Violet. Just thinking about it, about spending an entire evening with her family—her parents and her aunt and uncle—celebrating her birthday, made her stomach twist into painful knots. The fact that Jay wouldn’t be there made it almost unbearable.
She was carrying her half-eaten bowl of cereal to the sink when she glanced at the clock. It was still only nine fifteen. Suddenly spending an entire day cooped up in the house again sounded worse than being at school. Violet needed to get out, and there was only one person she could think to call.