𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

You can't help but break me,
closer than my skin
-Ducky

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

My hands are sweating. There's a tightness in my chest that I've never felt before. It makes it hard to get any words out. When I do speak, it sounds all high-pitched and squeaky. "What—uh, why would you ask that?" I tuck my hair behind my ear. "Did he, like, say that he knew me or...?"

Dalton bites on his lip, and his eyes look less blue than usual—more gray, angrier. I've never seen him like this. It makes my stomach twist. He presses a hand to his forehead. "No, he didn't say anything; he didn't have to."

I wrinkle my face. I'm not following.

"I saw something," he said. "This morning, in the showers. He was walking out in a towel, and I caught a glimpse of a tattoo that he has, on his chest—and it's funny because I could've sworn it said your name: Vio."

Fuckkk.

Dalton sighs, an angry frustrated sigh. "And I know you said you didn't know him, but that sounds like a hell of a coincidence. You're both from River Bend—and it's not a big place, so how many Violet's could there really be, living there?"

His eyes are narrow, and I can't get any words out. I can't even get any air out.

"Vio, just tell me I'm being crazy," he says, and now he's pleading. "Tell me it's a coincidence—Violet is his sister or just a really popular name where you're from. Just tell me something, anything that isn't that. Please."

And I wish that I could. But the words just will not come.

Maybe because I'm finally tired of lying.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

January 2016,

We were drunk again, stumbling into my bedroom, kicking off our shoes. "Shh," I said, between laughs. "My aunt's going to hear you."

But he was still fumbling around, pulling off his clothes to crawl into bed. Tenny hissed as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head and I laughed harder looking at his wound. It was so bad—our decisions that night were so bad.

"That's going to get infected," I said. "It probably already is."

We both stared at his arm, underneath the glow of the moon. It was red, raised and angry. We couldn't even make out what it was, and we'd both already forgotten what it was supposed to be. Our cheeks hurt from laughing. "It's so ugly," he said. "Why would Durk say he was an artist? This shit is so bad."

"Why would you believe him?" I argued, and we crawled into bed. "You're going to regret that in the morning, so hard."

Tenny shook his head. "No, I think I'll go get another one."

I smiled. "What this time?"

"I'm not sure—maybe Violet right across my forehead," he said, and I pressed my face into his chest to stop from laughing. He wrapped his arm around me. "Or no, I'll put you right over my heart. Because that's where you belong."

And then we were kissing. And he tasted like whiskey. And I thought it was just a joke—I thought everything was just a joke. It wasn't real, not us, not his silly tattoo, none of it. In the moonlight, none of it was real.

Until, of course, he showed up the next night with Vio stamped over his heart.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙