I’m not about to do that to him.
I squeeze my eyes shut and press deeper into my pose, knowing I’m overthinking. There could be a million reasons why Colson didn’t take my help, and I have to accept it for what it is without trying to decipher it all.
I slowly lower down to a plank, sit back in child’s pose, and roll back up to my feet. I switch to a standing position and adjust my feet so I can get through my warrior series. I square my shoulders, lengthen my spine, and reach my arms out, imagining them two inches longer than they are. I lift them higher, then slowly lower them back down, easing my hips closer to the ground. The stretch doesn’t hurt as badly as when I first started yoga, but there’s still a delicious sting that settles into my legs.
It's not long before I’m through my full set. I spend an extra ten minutes coming down from my session and send a soft smile in the direction of another girl who lays her mat next to me.
I take that as my cue and roll up mine. I fasten the Velcro that holds it together and sling the attached strap over my shoulder. As I make my way out of the gym’s yoga room, I continue to breathe deep and only shut off my yoga music once I’ve pushed through the exit.
Outside, the quad is bustling. Being as Eden and Pembrooke House—two of the dorm buildings—are a short walk away, it’s no surprise there are so many students milling about on a Wednesday afternoon.
I head toward Main Street, the road that runs along Chatham U’s north side and leads to my apartment building. I change the music in my ears to something more upbeat and ignore the lick of sweat on my back as I head home.
Halfway through September and the Georgia heat is as warm as it was mid-summer. The sun covers me with a blanket of warmth with each step, but I push on, liking the feeling of coming down from the rush of my yoga session.
I swipe my keycard twenty minutes later, pull my earbuds out, and take the elevator to my floor. I’m looking forward to peeling these clothes off and sinking into a bath—a perk I didn’t have in the dorms my freshman year, but gladly take advantage of now.
Soaking in warm water after pushing my body a little harder than I have in a few weeks is exactly what I need, though as I open the door and enter the small foyer I share with Sylvia and Everleigh, I realize, the likelihood is slim.
Tension squeezes at the muscles in my neck and shoulders as voices carry into the foyer.
I listen for anything that could tell me what’s going on—like if Sylvia decided today was the perfect afternoon to have a groupof people over—as I hang my stuff up on the hooks adjacent to the door. Her get-togethers are always loud and tend to turn into groups of people suffocating the living area.
Laughter tumbles towards me as I slip my shoes off. My ears perk, trying to make out words, but the wall that separates the foyer from the rest of the open space blocks it out.
I wanted to come home and relax after the last few days of classes we’ve had. With my job at the daycare starting back up next week, I won’t have this extra time for myself, and I need it. It’s the only way I’m able to tamp down the onslaught of emotions that hits me in waves.
The betrayal that brings on the realest heartbreak I’ve ever felt. The secondary embarrassment and shame that would invade my family if any of them knew. The possible spiral it could cause for Olive.
Some days I regret not telling my sister or going to my mom after finding out.
I should’ve.
If I were in their shoes, I’d want someone to tell me. It’s not right. It’s not fair. If he hadn’t…
I care too much to confront them, to inflict the same kind of pain it causes me.
Jesus.
This is why I went to the gym, to rid myself of the guilt and dread that comes up whenever I see my dad’s face in my head.
I breathe out a sigh when I remember his text from earlier and how he wants me to meet up with him. How can I do that? How can I push aside all I’ve seen with himin frontof me when I’m having a hard enough time trying to get through itwithoutseeing his face?
How could he have been so goddamn stupid?
My phone vibrates in the special pocket of my leggings, and I pull it out. I read the incoming text quickly, my stomachswimming with nerves from the idea of sitting down with the man.
Dad: Please think about it, Violet. I’m going out of town for a few days. We can get together when I get back if you’re up for it.
Dad’s message pounces on me like a fox in the woods, attacking me while distracted. Another text comes in a second later, him saying again how he loves and misses me. Aside from the occasional and very short text message here and there, I haven’t spoken to him since coming back to Chatham Hills.
My stomach churns at the thought of sitting across from him and enjoying lunch as if he never did what he did. I have no desire to respond. Not when I still have the image of his secretary riding him in his office when he was supposed to be with family.
When he was supposed to be with me.
On my birthday.
“Violet? Is that you?”
