Violet Addiction

by Kirsty Dallas

“Don’t even go there, sister!” I said with a raised hand. “Firstly, Toby had a wife who went through a pregnancy. I’m sure he’s already well aware of what happens to a woman’s body during this process, and secondly, don’t you dare think of yourself as anything but beautiful. You are growing a freaking life inside you, Annabelle. Do you realize how amazing that is? Nothing is more sacred and natural than that.”

  “Well, haven’t you become all baby embracing and confident this morning,” Annabelle said a little too smugly.

  “Bite me,” I murmured with a grin. The truth was, helping people see the possibilities before them was much easier than seeing my own. I guess it’s a little easier to see things from the outside looking in.

  “Do you think your jealousy stems from the fact Cain had an intimate relationship with Annabelle, or the fact that she is carrying his baby?” The woman who had asked the question sat before me, her hands holding a cup of coffee, absorbing the warmth from the mug no doubt. It was snowing today, the New York winter still holding tight well into the New Year. Dr. Witney Scott came highly recommended by Dr. Brightman, my rehab psychiatrist. With the realization I was going to be entangled in the life of a delicate baby, I became all the more dedicated to staying healthy, and finding a local doctor to ‘chat’ with from time to time was important. No matter how well I was doing, some days I still struggled, and it would likely be an ongoing struggle for the rest of my life. My feelings of inadequacy were so deeply rooted I thought they were most likely part of my bone marrow now. Although most days, I ignored the ugly taunting voices in my head that drove me to get good and high in an attempt to silence them, some days it all just seemed too hard. Yesterday any thoughts of Annabelle and the baby were met with a smile; however, today my mood had swung like a pendulum and jealousy had taken up residence in my heart. I hated the wildly swinging emotions and I hated not being able to control them. Talking to Dr. Brightman had helped me sort through my confusing emotions; it helped clear my head, and I realized I actually missed those sessions. Cain had been hurt that I wanted to talk to someone other than him and had gone as far as to offer to come with me to this appointment, but he didn’t understand there were things on my mind that were often ugly, a side of myself I didn’t want him to see. Like the side of me that clutched to the jealousy of Annabelle.

  I pondered Dr. Scott’s question. Seeing Annabelle and Cain together that first time had cut me like a knife, their engagement had dug the knife in a little deeper, but that wound had begun to heal over and their friendship and connection no longer cut me like a raw, painful gash. But the thought of the baby growing inside Annabelle was a new wound, and it hurt deeply.

  “The baby,” I confessed. There was no judgment or discrimination on Dr. Scott’s face at my acknowledgement.

  “And is your jealousy directed at the baby or Annabelle?” The thought of any harm coming to the baby, any misdirected hate or fury, made me feel ill. No, my jealousy was solely for Annabelle.

  “Annabelle,” I quietly confessed.

  Dr. Scott leaned a little closer. “You are jealous of the pregnancy that has forged a bond between Cain and Annabelle.” It was a statement, not a question. I nodded in agreement.

  “I’m such a bitch. He left her, his pregnant fiancé, for me, and I’m still jealous.” I shook my head, deeply disappointed in my irrepressible feelings.

  “You’re not a bitch, Violet. Any woman would feel the same in your predicament. Feelings and emotions have a funny way of voicing themselves whether your head tells you they are ridiculous or not. It is okay to have these feelings, and you are a very intelligent woman for recognizing and facing them.” Dr. Scott leaned back in her chair. “It’s the guilt that gets you most though, isn’t it?” My eyes widened a fraction in surprise. “You feel responsible for breaking them up, ruining their chance at a happy life together, dividing a family.”

  Tears welled in my eyes. “If I hadn’t come back into Cain’s life, he would have had his happily ever after with Annabelle. They would have been a family, a real family, and Annabelle’s virtuous church going family wouldn’t be shunning her, and this baby would be born into a family who loved him and cherished him.”

  Dr. Scott’s eyes softened. “Violet, the baby is going to be born into a family who love him and cherish him. He has a mother, a father, and a stepmother, all of whom are going to spoil him rotten, no doubt, as is every parent’s right. Do you have any idea how many clients I have that come from failed or failing marriages?” I shook my head. “Let’s just say my vacation house in Miami is built on a foundation of lies, deceit, and adultery. I don’t want you to think that marriage is a failure waiting to happen, but too many people get married for the wrong reasons, too many people stay with the wrong person for what they construe as the right reasons; it creates a world of misery, not only for the partners. It has a ripple effect. People surrounding them get caught in the currents and are often hurt as a result.” Dr. Scott sighed. “You need to let go of the guilt, Violet; otherwise, it is going to sit on your shoulders and destroy not only you but Cain as well. Ripple effect, remember?” My sullen gaze sprang to the doctor’s, understanding finally taking root somewhere inside me. If I allowed this guilt and jealousy to control me, it would affect the people around me. If I wanted to try and make the relationship Cain and I were building work, if I wanted to help him with his son and be a much needed friend to Annabelle, I needed to brush aside the guilt and accept the hand I had been dealt. I felt my shoulders drop as I relaxed for the first time in weeks.

  Dr. Scott gave me a knowing smile. “I’m assuming you are handling sobriety well?” she asked.

  “As well as anyone, I guess. I had a slip a month or so back and had a few too many drinks. I acquired some cocaine.” I chanced a look in the doctor’s direction, but as expected, her expression gave nothing away. “I didn’t take the drugs; I had someone get rid of them.”

  Her smile broadened. “Sounds to me like it was barely a slip, and it is normal to have them. Like I said though, you are an intelligent woman, Violet, strong too. You are going to be just fine.”

  It’s funny how one person’s opinion can bolster your confidence. I knew Cain had every bit of faith in me, and Harry and my dad, but this stranger who I had just met, this person who was educated in seeing truths that not even the bearer could see, believed in me, and that encouraged me to fight a little harder not only for myself, but for my family and friends.

  While I softly sang and danced my way around the small kitchen, Mya was plugged into her headphones, her head, as usual, buried in a book. Cain sat on the recliner, his guitar in his lap and a notebook by his side. He was definitely writing a song, but every time I tried to take a peek, he either distracted me with kisses and wandering hands, or slipped away with the book where it would disappear to goodness knows where. It had been frustrating the daylights out of me; I hated surprises. But after my session with Dr. Scott today, I felt deliciously light and stress free. Not even Cain’s secretive song writing could sully my mood. When my phone rang, I swiped the screen without even looking.

  “Violet, have you spoken to Cain today?” came Annabelle’s voice.

  “Hello, Annabelle, I am fine. How are you and baby blob doing?” Cain glanced my way with a smile, knowing my new nickname for the baby wasn’t a favorite of Annabelle’s.

  “Glad you are fine, baby is fine, and he is not a blob. Have you spoken to Cain?”

  “I have indeed. In fact, I called him a secretive, cagey douche not more than ten minutes ago. He’s writing a song, and he won’t let me see. Maybe if you told him to share it with me, he would,” I thought out loud. Cain seemed willing to give Annabelle anything she wanted right now, explaining his need to keep her happy was simply tangled with his need to protect his unborn baby.

  “Did he tell you the baby name I’ve picked out?”

  “No!” I gasped. “Hold on, let me put you on speaker.” I flicked the phone on speaker, and Cain called out a hello.
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br />   “Don’t you hello me, you name hating ass,” Annabelle snapped.

  Uh-oh, I had a terrible feeling I was being shoved into the middle of a mommy-daddy dispute.

  “I don’t hate all names, just that one,” Cain calmly stated.

  “Hit me with it,” I demanded.

  “Angus,” huffed Annabelle indignantly.

  I paused before responding. “Angus?”

  “Oh my god, you hate it, too!” Annabelle screeched.

  “Hate is too strong a word,” I said soothingly.

  Cain put down his guitar and joined me in the kitchen, his arms wrapping around my waist. I had noticed whenever the baby came up in conversation, Cain would move to touch me, hug me, kiss me. Perhaps it was his way of reassuring me. Whatever his motive, I liked it. “Angus immediately makes me think of has-been rockers with greasy hair who insist on wearing a ridiculous school uniform for boys.” Annabelle was quiet for a moment.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she murmured.

  “Angus, from AC/DC,” Cain answered.

  I heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. “Okay, that destroyed Angus for me. You win.”

  “It’s not about winners or losers, Belle,”—his nickname for Annabelle that had once prickled my delicate heart, strangely enough no longer bothered me—”it’s about finding a name for our boy that resembles the strong, courageous man that he’ll become.”

  Annabelle snorted. “Perhaps we should name him Thor then.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “I like Thor.”

  “You would,” Annabelle sighed.

  “Did you call Toby?” I asked in a sing song voice.

  Annabelle went quiet.

  “Who’s Toby?” Cain asked lazily from over my shoulder.

  “No one,” Annabelle replied too quickly.

  “Who’s Toby?” Cain repeated, but his time he was a little more interested.

  “A really handsome, sweet single father—”

  “You’re assuming he is single,” Annabelle cut me off.

  “Who offered a whole stack of unused baby stuff to Annabelle.”

  “You’re helping Annabelle hook up?” Cain asked, the incredulous tone of his voice had me glancing at him from over my shoulder.

  “I’m not hooking up with anybody.” Annabelle’s voice in the background suddenly became nothing but muted noise.

  “You have a problem with Annabelle dating?” I wondered.

  “Well, yeah,” Cain said in a tone that suggested I should have known better to even ask.

  I drew away and put my hands on my hips, staring right at his uncompromising gaze. “Why do you have a problem with it, exactly?” I said, my voice holding steady even though a surge of jealousy was brewing dangerously close to the edge. Why did Cain have a problem with Annabelle dating? Did he still have feelings for her?

  “He doesn’t have a problem with me dating,” Annabelle argued, still on speaker phone in the background.

  “Damn straight I have a problem with you dating,” Cain snapped.

  My jaw dropped open.

  “Oh good lord, give me a break,” Annabelle groaned. “What do you think about the house, Violet?”

  I glanced back at the phone in confusion. “What house?”

  “You didn’t tell her you brought a house?” Annabelle said with a raised voice.

  “You bought a house?” I almost growled.

  “We’re not talking about me right now; we’re talking about Belle, the mother of my child, that you are trying to set up on a date.”

  “Nobody is setting me up on a date, and we’ve moved on, Cain. We are now talking about the house you bought here in Seattle that you are moving into before the baby is born. I can’t believe you haven’t talked to Violet about this yet.”

  My jaw, which had fallen open with disbelief, snapped shut. Cain grabbed the phone and flicked it off speaker.

  “We’ll talk later, Belle.” He disconnected the call.

  “You bought a house, in Seattle?”

  “Of course I did, you didn’t think I was going to be a long distance father who only saw his kid for holidays and birthdays?”

  In all honesty, I hadn’t even given it a moment’s passing thought. Stupid of me, considering I knew very well Cain wanted to be a hands on father. It would make sense for him to live in Seattle, close to Annabelle and the baby, but the fact he hadn’t even bothered to discuss it with me stung.

  “Were you planning on telling me, or were you just going to send me one of those cute little change of address cards once you were happily settled?”

  Cain raised a brow. “Sarcasm isn’t a pretty color on you, Violet,” he said mockingly.

  I couldn’t even find the words to express the anger and hurt I felt right now. “Why can’t Annabelle date?” I blurted out instead.

  “Because I don’t want some stranger involved with the raising of my child.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “So it’s okay for you to date but not Annabelle?”

  “I’d prefer to meet the guy, get to know him first. I need to know that whoever Belle chooses to have a sleepover with is responsible. I need to know he won’t hurt my kid.”

  “Like making sure he’s not an addict or something?” I spat out. I was hurt and confused and being a little irrational. A small part of me recognized Cain’s need to protect his son, another part of me, a bigger more powerful part of me, was pissed off and needed to lash out.

  “Don’t even think of going there,” Cain snapped. “That’s completely different, and you know it.”

  “Or do you feel a sense of possession over Annabelle because she was once yours and is now the mother of your child? Do you prefer the idea that she is completely dependent on you?”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “For someone who has always been so goddamned intelligent, you have suddenly become thick as mud, Cain.”

  Cain stormed past me, grabbing his guitar from the couch and stuffing the small writing pad into his back pocket. “So mature of you, Violet, to resort to insults.”

  “Fuck you, Cain. Get the fuck out of my apartment!” He was already headed for the door but spun back around and stalked towards me. I stood my ground, not prepared to cower in his anger. I knew he would never hurt me. I had complete trust in that even if I was pissed as hell at him right now. He grabbed the back of my neck and pressed a hard demanding kiss to my lips. I didn’t push him away, but I refused to let him in, my lips held tightly closed.

  “For the record, I’m not running away, I’m not abandoning you, but I think we both need a little space right now before one of us says something we’ll regret. I’ll call you later.” He turned back for the door.

  I was shaking with rage. “I hate you right now,” I growled through gritted teeth.

  Cain’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t stop. He spared me a quick glance as he pulled the door open. “Like I said, one of us might say something we’ll regret.” With that, he left.

  “Arrogant, piece of shit, fucktard, prick…” I incoherently spat out every curse word I could possibly think of. When I ran out of words to growl, at nobody but thin air, I turned towards the living room and drew up short when I noticed Mya sitting quietly with her earphones around her neck.

  “Wow, that was way more exciting than then the human nervous system,” she murmured.

  “Can you believe that conceited bastard?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  Mya shook her head. “He’s an asshole, all men are. Maybe you should think about becoming a lesbian.” Her gaze was serious for about a minute and then she smiled. “If you’re curious…”

  I laughed, her teasing breaking through my haze of anger. “You’re an idiot,” I chuckled softly.

  “You’re the idiot dating the arrogant male,” she grunted as she pulled her headphones back on.

  Quiet fury still bubbled under my skin, but it was a distant irritating anger rather than a volcano read
y to erupt. With the anger subdued, I was able to think more rationally. I understood Cain wanting to protect Annabelle and his son from predators. I agreed with his need to meet any potential sleepovers for Annabelle. I needed to hear him say it though; otherwise, my constant undercurrent of jealousy would jump to other conclusions. Like I understood Cain’s desire to protect his family, he had to understand my hurt at not being involved in his decision to move back to Seattle. I loved New York, it was my home, but New York wouldn’t be the same without Cain in it. I would follow him to the ends of the earth. He only had to ask me, and he hadn’t.

  It was only yesterday that Cain had stormed out of my apartment. Less than twelve hours of sitting, waiting, watching my damn phone, begging it to ring. Mya, the voice of reason, suggested I call, but my stubborn pride wouldn’t allow it. I was now lying on my bed, a bottle of whiskey propped against the pillow in front of me. I shouldn’t have left the apartment angry. I was supposed to have gone for a run to shake off my unsettled feelings, instead I had walked into the first liquor store I had jogged by and purchased the bottle. Now I just lay there staring at it, waiting for a taunting mouth to appear on the side of the bottle, begging me to enjoy the smooth burn of the liquor on the back of my throat.

  “I’m gone not even a day and you’ve already got someone else in your bed,” a familiar voice murmured from the doorway behind me.

  Although my heart leapt and raced at merely the sound, I didn’t move. I just kept staring at the bottle, taking in the flat, cool glass that housed the liquid gold. There were no answers inside this bottle, just the promise of detachment. The bed dipped beside me, but I didn’t look away from the whiskey.

  “I don’t quite understand. Your problem was never alcohol; it was cocaine. Why don’t you allow yourself to drink?” Cain asked.

  I nibbled on my lip, recalling my sessions at the rehabilitation facility. “Alcohol lowers inhibitions and affects the decision making portion of our brain. What someone might do under the influence of alcohol they ordinarily would never do sober. I was more than happy to do a line sober, but cocaine was always one hell of a party when dressed up with liquor. Removing the liquor helps remove some of the temptation.”