Violet:Please let me be there for you. We don’t even have to talk.
Violet:I’m heading back to Spring Meadows. At least tell me you’re okay?
I watchas the streetlights pass by in a blur. After spending another hour with Sebastian and his parents with no signs of Colson, I decided it was time for me to go home. Thad called one of the cars to the front, and Sebastian walked me out, promising to message me with updates.
It was too uncomfortable standing around while Bess and Thad were saying their goodbyes. It was too intimate, and mostly, I just want to be with Colson and make sure he’s okay. To offer my shoulder if he needs one to lean on. To give my strengthbecause I know he’s bracing himself, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I watched as his control crumbled to the ground on Thanksgiving. The way his fist cracked through the drywall wasn’t just a shock but a sign that as much as he can hold himself together, he too has his limits. I’m afraid this is one of them, and without someone there to talk him down, he’ll succumb to urges he doesn’t typically respond to.
It’s a constant thought as we drive over the Sycamore River and follow the 401 back to Chatham Hills. I rest my head on the window and take in the beautiful Renaissance design of the buildings, their rigid symmetry beautiful all on its own and the darkness of the night casting them with an eeriness that adds to their charm. It’s one of the reasons I love this college town so much. Everywhere you look, there’s beauty to be found.
Although, right now, I’m not as pressed to pick out the little details I’ve done thousands of times before. I’m too distracted, especially since I’ve sent Colson multiple texts and have gotten zero replies.
He’s out there, who knows where and doing God knows what.Alone.
My stomach dips at the thought, and again I brighten my phone's screen to check if there’s an unread message I didn’t hear come through. There isn't. The only thing starting back at me are my own string of desperate pleas.
I reprimand myself over my last text.
At least tell me you’re okay.
Of course he’s not okay.
It’s crazy how in seconds an entire life can change. One tiny little action can rip apart a person’s world and have them teetering on the edge of facing their truths or pushing them away.
The driver flicks on the turn signal. It click, click, clicks in the silence then stops when he makes the left turn into Spring Meadows’s parking lot. He drives up to the entrance and puts the car in park. “We’ve arrived, Ms. Adams.”
“Just Violet is fine,” I tell him as I dim my phone and shove it into the clutch I brought with me for the night. “Thank you for the ride.”
“Of course. I’ll wait until I see you’re inside and safe.”
As I slide out of the back seat, I murmur, “Have a good rest of your night.”
I barely hear his, “You as well,” as I shut the door, heft up my dress so I don’t step on it as I climb the curb, and swipe my keycard. I make sure the entrance door is shut tight and glance over my shoulder at the SUV blanketed by the darkness. It’s late, nearing midnight, and my feet ache from being on and off them all evening. Dressing up always makes me feel like a thousand bucks, but with the way my toes are on the brink of bleeding and blistering, I’m ready to toss my heels in the nearest trash can so I never have to wear them again. I settle for leaning against the wall as I wait for the elevator and unclasp them.
I sigh in relief the second they’re off, and I can wiggle my toes. When the elevator dings open, I trail inside barefoot and press the button for my floor. I ruffle through my clutch for my key. It falls to the ground just as the doors slide open. I grab it then turn out of the cab, my eyes following the long hall toward my apartment.
My movement short circuits, every muscle in my body screeching to a halt at the glob of black further down the corridor.
Colson.
Sitting with his back against the wall and his knee drawn up, he appears calm. Like the shit didn’t hit the fan a couple ofhours ago. Like he didn’t walk out of the hospital. Like he hasn’t ignored my messages for the better part of the last hour.
Ever so slowly, because I don’t want to spook him, I make my way closer. My breaths are tame, but my chest still quivers under each breath. His shoulders stiffen, and I know it’s because he knows I’m here.
I drop my heels to the ground in front of the door and lower to my knees, my hands moving to grasp his arm stretched out over his leg. “You don’t know how relieved I am to see you.”
He looks at me then, his eyes replicating one hell of a tropical cyclone. I’ve never seen the color in them so dark, the brightness in them swept aside. “I’m fine.”
I do a quick assessment of his face, appreciating that there isn’t harm done. He looks the same as he did when I last saw him, and his suit is still as pristine as it was when he picked me up, though now there’s this heaviness that clings to it in the form of a sporadic wrinkle here and there.
“How long have you been waiting?”
“Don’t know.”
It couldn’t have been that long considering I left the hospital soon after he bailed. Which makes me wonder how he made it over the Sycamore Memorial Bridge. He couldn’t have walked that far.
“How’d you get here?”
