Nathan gave him a stare he reserved for the perps he interrogated. After a moment, Gus awkwardly folded his arms and dropped his gaze to the floor. Ha, that was too easy. He wished the people he grilled cracked as easily as this kid.
He closed his phone and put it back in his pocket. “Violet, sorry to interrupt, but I gotta go.”
“No problem. I’ll walk you out.”
A few paces down the hallway, a young man holding a stack of flyers approached them, flashing a big toothy grin at Violet. “Hi, am I right to presume you’re new here?”
Violet nodded. “Uh, yeah. Just arrived.”
“Awesome!” The guy very enthusiastically held up his thumb. “Welcome to Monarch Grove College, or MGC, if you’re into acronyms. I can guarantee you’re gonna love it here. And in honor of your first day, we’re having a party.” He handed her a flyer.
“A party?” said Violet. “Already?”
“Of course! What better time than the present to show off our amazing school spirit?”
“Because all we have is the present right?” Violet gave him her own toothy grin.
“Right! A girl after my own heart.”
Nathan inwardly cringed. Peppy guys like this grated on him, but he couldn’t overlook his appreciation that this kid was giving Violet a warm welcome.
Violet scanned the flyer and pointed to the name of the venue. “Um, sorry, but where is this?”
“Oh, it’s super easy to get to.” The guy turned and pointed, explaining the directions. In doing so, he exposed a tattoo of a rose on his neck.
Nathan felt Violet stiffen beside him. Her breaths grew shallow and uneven. The flyer crinkled as her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles going white.
When the guy turned back, neither Nathan nor Violet responded, and his toothpaste-commercial grin faltered.
“Ah, like you said, super easy to get to,” Nathan blurted. “Thanks for your help.”
Violet nodded and smiled, although not as bright as before. Instead it was the tight smile Nathan knew so well—the one that held no joy behind it, only masking the turmoil rising inside her. He took hold of her shoulders and gently guided her away.
“Breathe, Violet,” he said in a soothing voice only she could hear. “It was a rose. It’s not him. Just breathe, okay?”
Her anxiety, triggered by something as unassuming as an unfortunately placed tattoo, was plain to anyone who cared to look closely enough. It was evident in the tightness of her shoulders, in the way her eyes darted around, in her uneven breathing, in the way she fidgeted with the flyer.
Nathan directed her outside, hoping some fresh air would help. They found an empty bench under one of the ancient trees in the garden.
“I’m sorry, Nathan. I know you have to get going,” said Violet, taking a seat. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s all good, Vi.” He sat next to her and patted her back. “I can spare ten minutes.”
He remembered when Violet first started showing her post-traumatic stress symptoms, not long after she’d been found. The numerous episodes at school had ranged from catatonic to frantic screaming. Nathan promptly had her referred to a psychiatrist and the school counselor.
It took some trial and error, but as soon as she began working with someone specialized in trauma, Violet’s mental health improved in leaps and bounds. Over time, she’d learned to recognize her triggers and developed methods to cope.
He was proud to see how well she was handling this one. Some triggers were worse than others, and even a year ago, the sight of a neck tattoo would have resulted in a full-blown panic that would have had Violet reaching for the switchblade tucked securely in her back pocket. Now she managed the situation like the trooper she was.
She took several more deep breaths, regulating her breathing and lowering her heart rate. Slowly, the tension in her shoulders released, and she sat back against the bench with a little less rigidity.
He knew she had this under control, but he added some words of encouragement just for good measure. “Violet, you’re safe. No one is here to hurt you. You’re not in any danger. And you’re doing great at managing this anxiety.”
That made her chuckle. She nodded and took a few more measured breaths as Nathan released a quiet, grateful sigh. The worst of it was already over.
It had been a few months since she’d had a full-blown panic attack—the last, Nathan hoped, she would have to experience. But he couldn’t help worrying about how she would cope on her own, at a new and unfamiliar place, by herself.
He stopped reviewing his mental list of worries when Violet stood up.
“Okay, I’m all good now.” She forced a grin, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Even though her expression was calmer, the flyer still shook with the slight tremor in her hands from the residual adrenaline rush.
Nathan had half a mind to grab her wrist and take her back to the car. And if he was reading her expressions correctly, she was afraid he was going to do just that.
He forced his own smile. “So, you got everything you need?”
“I think so.” Her voice shook a little, but she raised her chin and said in a bolder tone, “Yes. I have everything I need. I’ll be fine.”
He had to give her credit, she was determined to prove she wasn’t going to let one little near attack break her on her first day of college. With a genuine smile, he gave her a nod of approval.
“Good. Oh, and before I forget”—he pulled out the keyset for the jeep and placed it in her hand—“these are now yours.”
Her eyes bulged and her jaw dropped. “What? No way. That’s your new car. I can’t take your car.” She attempted to give the keys back.
He shook his head and closed her hands around them. “You’ve already used all your savings on school fees. Think of this as a late birthday present.”
She shook her head.
“Fine. If you can’t take it for you, then at least take it for me. This old man wants to sleep at night knowing you have a safe way to get home from off-campus parties and shopping sprees in the city and whatever else you college kids get up to these days. I’ll be honest, I don’t fancy the idea of you catching trains or buses and especially walking home in the dark.”
She gave him an are-you-kidding-me look. “Really? And what about from the parking lot to my dorm? It’s still a good ten-minute walk, and there are lots of dark places attackers could be lurking, you know.”
“I know, but that’s what this is for.” He pointed to the place where her switchblade was hidden. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten all your self-defense training from the past few years. In case you have, a swift kick to the balls should do the trick.”
Violet put her hands on her hips. “And what if it’s a girl who’s attacking me?”
“I . . . um . . .” Nathan frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, kick her in the teeth and yank on her hair, or something.”
She laughed. “Or something?”
He smiled. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your new friends.” He patted her on the shoulder. “And don’t forget, you can call me whenever. Day or night, no matter the time.”
She nodded.
“I mean it, Vi.”
“I know.” Her teasing smile dropped into seriousness. “Thanks, Nathan.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“No, really. Thank you. For everything. I wouldn’t have made it here without you.”
He waved a hand. “Ah, someone had to drive you. It beats catching the train with all the stuff you had to carry.”
She hit him on the arm. “You know what I mean.”
He nodded, and before he could react, she hugged him. He hesitated for a second, then hugged her back. “You know, I think you’re going to do great here.” He didn’t have to see her face to know she was smiling. “I’ll catch you later, Vi.” He turned and walked down the path.
“Wait,” she called after him. “How are you getting home
without a car?”
Without stopping, he called over his shoulder, “I bought a train ticket. The station is only a few minutes’ walk from here.”
“But the train station back in town is still a twenty-minute drive to your house.”
“Jude’s picking me up.”
“What? Are you telling me you finally—”
“Bye, Vi. Enjoy your first day.”
4
Angry Pixies
Violet sat alone on the bench for a few minutes once Nathan was out of sight. After her near attack, all she wanted was to curl up on her bed and go to sleep.
Living in Nathan’s spare room for the past three years had been a godsend. It was only meant to be a temporary arrangement, but even after three months, her social worker hadn’t been able to find her a suitable housing situation. A few discussions later, Nathan had offered to have her stay on a permanent basis, and without a lot of hesitation, Violet had agreed. After all, Nathan was about as chill as a guardian could be, and having her own space—a place to hide away whenever she felt the need, no questions asked—had given her a safe haven, somewhere she could heal and recharge after losing Lyla.
Living with someone else in the same space wouldn’t be an easy adjustment. She wasn’t one to trust people easily, if at all. Still, Autumn and Gus were the kind of people she would like to get to know. Given a little time, maybe she would even come to call them friends.
She fidgeted. Something in her jeans pocket was digging into her. She pulled out her switchblade, another gift from Nathan. He had given it to her not long after he started training her in self-defense. At first he’d just taught her the basics—things like how to break free from headlocks and choke holds—but after a few weeks, he’d moved on to how to defend against someone with a weapon, starting with a knife. Not only had he trained her to defend against a blade; he’d also taught how to use one effectively.
When he’d presented her with the switchblade, claiming it had been in his family for several generations, of course she’d refused to take it. She’d never owned anything so valuable. But he had insisted.
She twirled it in her palm. There was no denying how beautiful it was. When she pressed the button, a double-edged blade glided out from the center of the handle with a shnik.
She held it up, the handle fitting snuggly within the contours of her hand. The sun reflected subtle changes of color along the pearlescent hilt, and a crest of some sort was ornately carved on the topside of the pearl finish. Along the back were ten embedded black gemstones.
On either end of the pearly white handle, both the bolster and guard were mostly teal, but when she rotated the knife from side to side, veins of emerald green and magenta glistened in the sunlight. They matched the blade itself, where the emerald and magenta glimmered through the teal in an organic whirled pattern right up to its deadly tip.
She pressed the button again. Shnik. The blade disappeared back into the handle.
Violet switched her attention to the keys in her other hand, shaking her head. Nathan’s generosity was staggering. A part of her had wished over and over again that he’d shown up much earlier in her life, but another part knew he’d arrived at the perfect time.
She’d spent most of her life watching her world be destroyed piece by piece, and Lyla’s death had been the final Armageddon. But Nathan had shown her how to rebuild, helped her claw her way out of her wretched abyss and learn how to fight her demons. He’d become her beacon, a reason to trust not only in him but also in herself. He was there when she’d needed someone the most.
She took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Now she was at college, by herself. He was no longer just down the hallway. The thought of doing this next chapter in her life without him almost brought on a new wave of panic.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Stop it! She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t keep falling to pieces and waiting for Nathan to mend her. Come on, Violet, get yourself under control. It’s going to take a little adjustment, that’s all.
She needed to grow up, embrace her new reality, remember that this college life was what she wanted. She just needed to take it one day at a time.
For now, maybe caffeine would help. Earlier she’d seen a quaint little coffee shop near the parking lot outside the college grounds. The walk there and back might give her enough time to clear her head and prepare herself to face the dynamics of her new home life.
About twenty minutes later, she pushed through the glass doors of the café and placed an order for a chai latte with extra foam. She then leaned against the wall, out of the way of the other customers, and twirled a tassel on her scarf while she waited.
Glossy wallpaper and various artworks decorated the café’s walls. A television mounted in one corner played a black-and-white Marilyn Monroe movie with the volume on low. People came and left with Styrofoam cups, steaming croissants, and other snacks-to-go. A barista called out an order, and a woman with blonde wavy locks and a tan jacket moved past Violet to collect her latte.
Violet’s heart skipped a beat. That woman . . . Was she . . . ?
The woman turned and happened to catch Violet’s eye for a second on her way out. Violet’s shoulders sagged. What was wrong with her? Of course that woman wasn’t Lyla.
A lump formed in her throat.
She’d lost count of how many times she’d wished she could remember what happened the night Lyla died. She only knew what Nathan and Jude had told her, but none of it explained why. Why were she and Lyla kidnapped? Why did Lyla have to die? Why was she still alive? Lyla was more deserving of life than she was. Lyla had a family: a mother, father, and brother who missed her.
Self-loathing clung to Violet like gelatinous goo. No matter how hard she tried to scrub it away, a sticky residue always remained—just like how the tattooed man from her dreams remained. The faceless one with that stupid tattoo she saw every time she closed her eyes.
Violet inwardly cringed, replaying how she’d reacted to the guy handing out the flyers. It was a stupid rose tattoo, for crying out loud! Rubbing her eyes, she let out a sigh.
“Miss? Excuse me, miss.”
She blinked a few times. The young female barista behind the counter was waving at her. “Your chai latte is ready.”
“Oh, sorry.” Violet walked over and handed the barista a few bills from her wallet. “Here you go.”
“No worries, love,” said the barista, taking the cash.
Love? Violet hated it when younger girls called her “love.” She offered a tight smile, picked up her latte, and turned.
And crashed right into someone.
For a second, brown liquid and white foam blocked Violet’s vision. The aroma of cinnamon and other spices overtook her senses.
She froze in horror.
A man about her age looked down at his scarf, jacket, pants, and shoes, now covered in a murky tinge. She regretted asking for extra foam. Both he and she watched as a white glob smeared a trail down his scarf, then splattered into the milky puddle at his feet.
He looked up at her.
Her heart pounded, her cheeks grew warm, and her eyes couldn’t open any wider. Her whole body tensed, preparing for what was about to come next. The rage. The shouting and screaming about third-degree burns and ruined clothes. Memories flashed through her mind’s eye, each one more violent than the last. She braced herself.
Then he grinned.
She blinked.
He was actually grinning at her.
Her panic hitched.
His smile was lopsided but genuine. A hint of amusement twinkled in his golden-brown eyes.
“You know,” he said, wiping a few specks of white foam from his blond goatee, “when I figured some coffee would warm me up, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“I’m sorry?” Was she missing something? Was this usually how people reacted after being baptized in hot chai?
He shrugged, still smiling at her. “Apology accepted.”
A
pology? Violet gasped. Oh, right! She threw her hand over her mouth. “I’m so, so sorry.”
She turned and grabbed a nearby stack of napkins. She should probably help him wipe down his clothes, but the idea of touching a stranger made her slightly uneasy. Instead, she stooped and attempted to sop up the pool at his feet.
He chuckled and bent down to her level. “Here.” He reached a hand toward her, and his fingers grazed her wrist. “Let me hel–”
On instinct, Violet flinched away and stood up. A look of horror instantly replaced his grin, and he stood up with deliberate slowness, both palms held out.
“I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean . . . I just . . .” His eyes darted over and around her. He took half a step back as if preparing to flee.
“Oh!” He was just reaching for the napkins in my hand. “No, I’m sorry.” Sheesh, soon this guy is going to think that the only word I know how to say is sorry. She offered an apologetic smile just as she realized her other hand was resting on the switchblade hidden in the back of her jeans. She forced herself to relax and let her hand drop to her side. It’s fine, Vi. He wasn’t actually going to—
She blinked. Going to what? Attack her in the middle of the coffee shop? Latch on to her wrist and drag her out to his white van and stuff her inside?
She gritted her teeth and gave a slight shake of her head. Seriously, get a hold of yourself. Not everybody is a kidnapper.
“Um, you just . . . startled me. That’s all.” She held up the napkins. “Here.”
His eyes narrowed at the napkins. He still had his hands raised, palms out.
Gosh, this guy is acting like I’m pointing a gun at him instead of holding a stack of napkins. His focus on her was intense. Violet’s cheeks grew warm. Could she blame him? Her recoil had been a little over-the-top for an accidental graze of the wrist. From his reaction, she may as well have yelled, “Stick ’em up, homie, and give me all your money!”
He took a step back and started to turn.
She cursed herself. It was the second time she’d overreacted that day. Did she have to act like a psychotic jerk every time a cute guy tried to be nice to her?
Shards of Venus Page 4
