"Violet, we're going bowling," Shawn said as he, Oscar and the girl in question sat around the table, eating dinner.

Violet looked up from her food which she'd barely touched. She turned to Oscar — he'd answer the question for her. Oscar simply shook his head and smiled softly. Violet took that to mean, "I'm not answering for you. You need to speak up sometimes."

She sighed lightly, reveling in the peace for as long as she could get it. Violet looked to Shawn who was stuffing another slice of pizza in his mouth.

"Sure."

Shawn grinned, "Oscar, you up for it?"

Oscar smiled, "Why the fuck not?"

Shawn grinned again. He went back to his food as Oscar glanced at Violet's plate. He studied the food in front of her — barely being touched, only prodded back and forth with Violet's fork. "Eat, Violet," he said gently.

Violet tried not to think about Shawn's unwavering gaze. He was used to this by now, she thought. He was used to her not eating and then Oscar urging her to do so. He was used to her giving an excuse, diverting Oscar's attention and deepening her guilt even more.

And that was exactly what happened. 

"I wrote something today."

Oscar knew she was just saying that because she didn't want to eat. He hummed in reply, taking her slice of pizza in her hand.

Violet opened her mouth again to speak and found pizza being stuffed into her mouth. She tried to move her hands so she could get the pizza out of her mouth but then Shawn was standing up and grabbing her hands, holding them behind her back.

Since when did he care if she ate or not?

Violet couldn't do anything now. She had to eat. Oscar's hand was still on the crust of the pizza being forced into her mouth. He was smiling at her, with a soft gleam in his eyes which seemed to say, "Please?" She relented.

Violet started to chew as Oscar smiled again and let go of the pizza. Shawn too, grinned and let go of Violet's hands. Violet simply sighed and started to chew. As Violet somehow ate the entire slice of pizza, Shawn smiled and grabbed his phone.

He had to message Sofia and tell her that she was coming bowling with them. He was only asking her because since Violet was coming, he wanted her to feel comfortable with people other than Oscar. Oscar was going to be his wingman for the night because even though his brother had no idea that Queen had made him question his entire existence, he still had to be wingman.

Even though Oscar knew nothing.

But he needed Oscar.

They were brothers and Shawn just needed someone to be there with him. And if Oscar was gone, Violet would freak and he didn't want that to happen. He'd heard Oscar ask Violet about Sofia and Violet had simply shrugged and said they were acquaintances.

But Shawn and Oscar both knew better. Violet had been staying over at their apartment for a while now and Shawn knew the girl better than he liked to admit. If Sofia and her had just talked and Violet hadn't immediately shrunk away, it was enough for Shawn.

He typed in his phone's password and started a chat with Sofia.

Hey Sofia, this is Shawn. I was wondering if you wanted to go bowling on Saturday, one o'clock? Oscar, Violet and Queen are going with me too, just letting you know. Lemme know if you want to come 

He sighed and kept his phone aside. Stuffing another slice of pizza in his mouth and laughing at a joke Oscar had just told, Shawn grinned. Perhaps Saturday would go fine.

His phone buzzed. 

Shawn grabbed it and pressed on the new notification.

Hey Shawn. That seems cool, I would love to come! I'll be there!

Shawn sighed in relief and typed out his answer.

Alright, cool. See you then

Sofia's answer was a smile emoticon and then she went offline. Shawn breathed a sigh of relief and placed the phone aside. He looked back to Oscar who had just asked Violet if she really had written anything new.

Violet almost smiled. She did that a lot. Almost laughed. Almost grinned. She almost did everything. But she didn't. It was always an urge — like the urges she got to exhale, except this urge didn't hastily dissolve like all the other ones. Sometimes, Violet felt like she was nothing. Like she was just this vessel of feelings and emotions which were stuck and would never escape. Sometimes Violet felt as if things would get better. Sometimes she felt as if she finally knew the reason why life wasn't letting her go. 

Violet started to recite the poem.

"How come you won't enter the poetry competition?" Sofia asked as Violet took a seat on Sofia's bed. They were working on their project again, at Sofia's house. "I know that you already told me that you don't want to talk about it, but I was just wondering—"

"My poetry is something I like to keep to myself," Violet replied. Her and Sofia were sitting closely together, their thighs brushing against each other as Sofia opened her laptop and Violet flipped through the textbook. "I don't have to share it. Nor do I need to."

"But you have talent!" Sofia argued.

"And I don't believe that I have to show it off." Violet shrugged, turning back to the book she had been reading. Violet tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear.

And that was when Sofia saw something. Something that changed everything about Violet, the girl who hid her life in her beautifully fucked-up words. The sleeve of Violet's cotton sweater, frayed with age, had slipped to reveal her bare forearm. A ring of bruises blossomed around her wrist. There were dark and harsh purples and reds against her brown skin. There were reminders written onto her skin.

Sofia couldn't quite make out what they said — only a few letters — le.

"Violet," she whispered. The girl looked up at her in question. Violet raised her eyebrows. Her eyes were so hollow. So empty, so dull, so ruined. "Violet," she repeated again, "Who did that to you?"

And with that one statement, Sofia with her words like a sharp blade had managed to tear Violet's carefully-constructed lies. She'd hidden it for so long and then Sofia had ripped it all apart with her mere words. Violet tugged on the sleeve of her sweater and looked back to the book, typing something into the laptop as she highlighted something. She didn't answer. Sofia prodded on. "Does someone hurt you, Violet?"

Violet gritted her teeth, trying to stay composed, but inside her whole world was falling part. She started to read faster, trying to distract herself. Sofia couldn't make everything come crumbling down. She couldn't destroy Violet's pretty lies. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because someone is obviously hurting you, Vee."

"My life isn't any of your business."

"It might not be," Sofia said harshly, "but I'm not just going to watch you get hurt."

"Stop trying to figure me out, Sofia."

"Please, Violet, I'm just—"

"No."

"Violet, all I want is to he—"

"No, Sofia."

"Violet," Sofia whispered again. She took a breath — inhale, exhale. "You need to tell me what's going on, ok? I need to know who's hurting you."

"No one is hurting me, Sofia," Violet said, slamming her book shut.

"Violet, please, I didn't want to sound rude. I just don't want anything to happen to you."

Violet sighed in annoyance. "Fuck," she hissed. Violet gritted her teeth again, chewing the inside of her cheek. She flipped through the pages of her Chemistry textbook faster and she was practically assaulting the keyboard of Sofia's computer as she typed. Violet didn't know what was happening — she was giving into an urge and she didn't know what to do — Violet let go.

She exploded, all of her emotions which had been bubbling inside of her for so painfully long had finally exploded in one scream. "It's me, okay?!" she yelled, her fists clenched tight. "I'm the one hurting myself."

That was the first time Sofia had heard such emotion in Violet's voice. Violet was never happy, or sad, or angry but right now she was fuming. Her nose was scrunched up in agitation and her eyes which were usually so empty, were blazing. And then Sofia processed what Violet had just said.

It's me. I'm the one hurting myself.

Violet slammed the laptop shut and pulled her shoes on, grabbed her backpack and shut her textbook. "I should go."

"You've only been here half an hour, Vee—"

"I should go," she repeated, getting up from the bed, leaving a cold void where she had been sitting. Violet stormed over to the door, twisted the doorknob in agitation and left the room with Sofia calling behind her, "I'll see you tomorrow in class!"

Violet didn't answer. Sofia heard her go down the stairs and the door fell shut.

Violet needed help. Real help. She didn't need some girl like Sofia, who could barely differentiate between her and her with the mask on, to help her. This wasn't some romance novel where the person hurting found someone to love and their problems just disappeared. Problems didn't just go away like that. And even if it was some book, what was the chance that Sofia could be that person? Violet would never accept her help. It was painful to watch — Violet's wrist of brutality, those harsh marks tainting her skin — it was painful to watch someone so lost, but someone refusing to be found.

It's me. I'm the one hurting myself.

"Fuck," Sofia muttered under her breath, getting up from her bed. "I have to help her."