Trigger warning: This chapter contains mention of PTSD and suicide ideation

Violet's POV:

"They've promised that dreams can come true- but forget to mention that nightmares are dreams, too." – Oscar Wilde

I'd never felt more tired in my life. I was awake. I was pretty sure I was awake, but I could not get my eyes open. It wasn't even like a weight was holding the lids down, I just couldn't get the energy or strength to do it. The same was true of my muscles. I couldn't move at all. Not anything. Not even a finger.

Maybe this was it. Maybe I was actually dead.

Finally.

That thought made me find the strength to smile just a little bit.

"Violet?" A soft voice asked.

My smile faded. It took me a minute but I finally got my eyes open. It was so blurry, I couldn't see a thing. I blinked slowly, the room coming into more focus but not totally. Shouldn't I not need glasses or contacts when dead?

"Violet? Can you hear me?"

I turned my head and saw a nurse standing next to me. A nurse. It was then I looked around with more awareness. There was a constant beeping, and I was in a room that was too white, a vase of flowers next to me on a small table, an IV in my hand... I glanced down and realized I was in a hospital bed.

No. I was still here. I was still alive. How was that possible? I did everything. I did everything to make sure I succeeded. How could I have failed at this, too?

I was so overwhelmed I started crying. The nurse tried to soothe me. She tried to tell me it was okay. I was okay. I was safe. But she didn't understand. I didn't want to be safe. I didn't want to be okay.

I wanted to be dead.

The bitterness that I woke up and wasn't dead stuck with me. It stuck with me through all the days I was forced to stay in the ICU, and then in the behavioral hospital until I was 'stable'. I wasn't sad, I was pissed. I was pissed that even with the careful calculations to see how much I needed so I could finally be free, I still somehow ended up sitting in that goddamn hospital, in yet another therapy session, wondering how someone's luck could be that bad. I couldn't even remember what happened the night I tried to find my freedom on that cliff. I only knew whoever took it on themselves to 'help' me could go to hell. All they did was delay the inevitable.

As much as I could've stewed in my frustration and anger, I wanted out of the behavioral hospital and I was getting out. Lying and bullshitting were my specialty anyway, but they were easy to manipulate. It was all about choosing the right words, crying at just the right moment, finding a balance of conveying I wanted to be better but still struggled and would continue working through it. They made me talk to more than one psychiatrist, but it didn't matter. People were easy to read, people were easy to distract, and I was good at picking up on what pushed people's buttons.

The real challenge was a week later as I stood in front of my older friend, Jen, outside my apartment. Her grey hairs had increased in her blonde hair from the last time I saw her, making her even more beautiful. She wasn't as easy to hide things from. She knew me well enough to know my bullshitting. With her, I had to be more careful.

I was very particular about the way I answered her questions. She scrutinized my every word, my every nervous wring of the hands and sleeve-tugging that I had to time just right. It was obvious she couldn't decide whether or not to believe I was okay and ready to be alone but she finally nodded and pulled me into a hug.

"You know you can call me," she said, rubbing my back. "I love you. If it's two AM and you're hurting so much you feel like you only have one escape, call me first. Okay?" She said, pulling back and setting her hand on my face. Loving. She was so loving and I couldn't understand why but I felt it, I felt it in her touch and in her eyes. She loved me even though I didn't deserve it. "Don't take this on alone. I'm here for you, Violet. You can tell me anything and I will never judge it for you, darling. Never. I just want you to be okay."

Ha. I wasn't capable of being okay. That ship sailed a long time ago.

"Trust me, even the thought of alcohol makes my stomach hurt," I cringed, setting my hand on my stomach. Doesn't mean I don't need it to sleep.

"Yeah that happens when you have to have your stomach pumped," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Never again. It was unpleasant," I said, scrunching up my nose.

"Good. I love you," she said, placing a kiss on my cheek. "Call me."

I don't deserve you.

"I love you, too," I said, hugging her tightly.

She hesitated, hugged me again, then got in the cab and drove off. I waved until the car was around the corner and then stared across the street. Part of me felt guilty for even thinking about walking down the street to the liquor store after just saying goodbye to Jen. I flexed my hand, the twinge in my wrist from the cutting was gone; no longer there to give me control, calm me down and bring me back to reality.

Could I really actually make it through the night without a drink now that I was all alone? It had been almost a month and most of that time, I was passed out or stuck in group therapy, spewing lies to get the hell out of there. It had all been so heavy and exhausting and I just wanted to sleep in my own bed. If I didn't go get something, I'd be awake all night, afraid to fall asleep, and I was so fucking tired.

A quick trip to the liquor store wouldn't hurt. I'd never sleep if I didn't get something and if I couldn't sleep, I was more likely to go back to the razor. It was all a battle of lesser evils, and in some fucked up way, alcohol was the lesser evil. So I crossed the street and shoved back the guilt that I just told Jen I wouldn't do this again.

A few minutes later, I stepped out of liquor store with the brown paper bag holding my bottle of whiskey. I headed back to my apartment, trying to shove down the guilt that came along with that bottle. I was almost back at my apartment but stopped in my tracks when someone walked directly in front of me and stopped. I looked up, ready to snap but instead sighing in annoyance when I saw who it was.

"You're in my way," I said, glaring up at Chase. He looked exactly the same after a month. Tall enough to be intimidating, wearing his usual black jacket and dark jeans, dark hair and eyes I wanted to rip out, and an annoying smirk I would've loved to see punched off his face.

"Hello to you too," Chase said, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smile. I rolled my eyes and moved to go around him but he stepped in front of me again, then took a step towards me. Having zero interest in being close to him, I took a step back and he took another step forward. "Where've you been?"

"None of your business," I said flatly, pushing past him.

His hand clamped on my shoulder and he pulled me back in front of him, tapping his fingers against my shoulder without easing his grip. "You've been gone for weeks, Violet," he said, his eyes briefly darting to the bag in my hand. "What were you doing? Did those pills I gave you put you on a binge of getting fucked up every day like the good old days?"

"I was busy," I said, shoving his hand off me. "Don't touch me."

"Doing what?" He asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Absolutely nothing that has anything to do with you."

He smiled and shook his head, snatching the bag out of my hand. "Let's have a drink, Violet."

"Get your own, asshole," I said, reaching for it but he held it higher, way out of my reach. Fucker was tall.

"Come on," he said, giving me a side-glance as he headed down a nearby alley. "Sharing is caring."

"I must've missed the part where I ever cared about you," I said, following behind him. He wasn't getting my whiskey.

"Ouch," he said, leaning against the alley wall and opening the bag enough to get the lid off. "So aggressive and for what?" He asked with a shrug before taking a swig of the whiskey. "I haven't done anything."

He offered the bottle and I snatched it and the lid away. "You exist," I pointed out as I screwed the lid back on. "That's bad enough."

He threw his head back and laughed. "I'm giving you a chance to get on my good side after going AWOL on me, and instead you're insulting me?" He asked, pushing off the wall and taking a step towards me. "Tell me where you were the last few weeks."

"Go fuck yourself," I said, turning to leave but he grabbed my shoulder and pushed me up against the alley wall.

"Let's try that again," he said, bracing his hands above my shoulders and staring down at me. "Where were you and what were you doing?"

"Let's try this again," I countered, narrowing my eyes at him. "It's none of your fucking business."

He chuckled, stepping back from the wall but not taking his eyes off me. He set his hand on his hip and very blatantly pulled his jacket back so I could see the gun he had. "You missed three meetings. Couldn't find you anywhere, couldn't get ahold of you. Jackie's not happy."

"Jackie can get over it," I shrugged. I didn't care he had a gun. If Chase and Jackie wanted me dead, they would make sure I was. Maybe pissing them off wasn't a bad idea.

"Jackie doesn't get over things, sweetheart," he said, stepping closer to me. "Neither do I. So I'll ask one more time, where were you?"

"It must be exhausting," I said, shaking my head.

"What?" He asked with a slight narrow of his eyes.

"Being Jackie's little bitch, following orders without question," I said, crossing my arms. "Not having enough of a spine to stand up to her. Isn't that embarrassing or do you just have no self-respect anymore?"

"Is that what you think?" He asked, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

"It's what I know from observation," I corrected.

"Oh, Violet," he sighed, leaning in way too close, grabbing my jaw and staring down at me. "Violet, Violet, Violet... You really need to learn to be a little more careful with this mouth or who knows what someone will do to it? It would be a shame for anything to happen to these beautiful lips," He said, his thumb brushing just below my lip. I had to hold back the shudder. I hated him touching my skin, I hated the disgusting feeling I got from it like I knew every one of his gross thoughts about me. "You know the nice thing about these bottles," he said, releasing my jaw and setting his hand on the bottle I had ahold of still. "They're strong. Take a lot of force to break, but when they do..." he said, taking the bottle and pressing the bottom of it against my throat. "They're so sharp, and so durable, you can shove them right into someone's throat," he said, applying pressure with the cool, glass bottle. "And they're fucking done. You know how good it feels to just watch the light go out of someone's eyes forever? And with nothing but a fucking bottle?"

"I'm about to," I said, narrowing my eyes and grabbing the bottle, pulling it away from my neck.

"You gonna stab me, sweetheart?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, much too amused at my comment.

"You're not worth the whiskey I'd lose breaking the bottle," I said, shoving past him.

He chuckled again and shook his head, setting his hand on my shoulder again and squeezing a little too tight as he leaned in close to my ear. "I'll see you soon, Violet. Very soon. Don't make me come looking for you or I may have to come looking for people you care about."

"Go to hell," I snapped, pulling away from him and walking away.

Part of me was worried he'd follow, but he didn't. Fuck. I hadn't even looked at the messages from Jackie, Chase, or anyone else in that circle. I'd been too preoccupied but I should've expected this. Jackie didn't tolerate being ignored.

I'd deal with it later. The only person they could get to right now was my downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Fletcher, and I had security cameras at her door. I'd know if they came and I would get down there before they could do anything. I crossed the street, heading to the stairs of my apartment complex. My apartment was on the third floor and there were no elevators so I trudged up the steps, pulling out my keys as I reached the final floor.

"How stupid do you think we are?"

I froze. I knew that voice. Shit. I glanced up, finding Lola leaning against my apartment door, arms crossed, a frown on her face. Her fiery hair matched the fiery look in her eyes that told me she was not happy with me.

"And this is why we set up shifts," she said, narrowing her eyes. "What's in the bag?"

She knew exactly what I had, there was point in playing games.

"Are you going to tell your mom?" I sighed.

Lola was Jen's daughter and they didn't live in California, they were here for me. They were both incredible people with incredible hearts. I didn't understand why they wasted their time with me. Neither of them deserved to be dragged into my shit.

"No," she shrugged, holding up a bottle of vodka. "Not as long as you don't."

My eyes widened. This had to be a trap.

"I don't have the same methods my mom does," she said, pushing off the door. "She thinks stopping cold turkey will help you but I think that's kind of silly considering you'll still be depressed, just depressed and sober. She thinks that's the best way to handle this. You want to know what I think?"

"If I say no, will it matter?" I asked reluctantly.

"No," she said simply. "I think you're a little shithead and you never open up to anyone unless you're drinking. I also think you never confront any of your problems. So you know what we're going to do?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"We're going to the scene of the crime and drinking. And you're going to get so drunk I can force feelings out of you. And we're going to confront this whether you like it or not. Because I'm not doing this with you anymore," she said, gesturing between us. "I'm not letting you off the hook. Mom thinks if we push too hard you'll close in more but letting you have space has historically never worked. I think you need to be pushed. So I'm pushing. Now get your ass down those stairs. We're stopping at the store for snacks."

I gaped at her. "You want to go to where I tried to off myself?" I clarified.

"Yep," she said with a glare that told me we weren't arguing about it.

Damn law school. She was already intimidating but I swear they had her take classes on how to perfect that aura of 'don't even bother fucking with me'.

"Whatever," I muttered, going down the steps.

"In other news. I have a new boyfriend," she gushed, following me down the steps.

"Oh, God," I groaned.

Lola had the worst taste in men. I had no faith in her ability to choose a decent guy to be with.

"That's right," she sang. "And I know you don't trust my taste in men so guess who has to stick around to make sure I don't get hurt? Oh yeah, you!"

"Fabulous," I said sarcastically as we reached the bottom steps and headed to her car.

"Come on, Vi. Lighten up," she said, nudging my shoulder with hers.

"Your cheeriness makes me want to die," I said flatly.

"I mean, that's how you feel on a normal basis so it's not like I can make it worse," she shrugged.

Damn her. I couldn't stop the smile. "Your mother would be affronted by your morbid sense of humor," I pointed out, sliding into her car.

She slid into the driver's side and looked over at me with a smile. "My mother isn't here. You are. And your sense of humor is far more morbid than mine will ever be."

She had me there. So we went to the store and Lola decided we somehow needed more than two bottles of alcohol for us both. We stood in the liquor section together until she started loudly singing along to the song playing. It drew so much attention I had to get myself out of there just to get away from people staring.

"Get friends, they said," I mumbled under my breath, wrapping my arms around myself. "It'll be fun, they said," I mocked, heading towards the chip aisle. "No one ever points out that friends make you go out in public around people like some sort of.... Social person," I sighed, turning down the aisle with the chips and losing hope when I saw the ones I liked were on the top shelf.

I hated the top shelf, what kind of ableist shit was that? How was someone in a wheelchair supposed to reach that? It was unfair. I could barely reach it with my fingers, even standing on my tiptoes. I sighed and stepped back, looking around the aisle for something I could use to knock it down or at least bring it closer to the edge.

Actually, this was a very simple problem to solve. They didn't need to stock as many rows of the same things as they did, they could easily make space for every item in a way that everyone could reach it. It was as simple as putting the same items instead on a higher shelf where other people could reach it and leaving the lower shelves for ones who couldn't. I quickly counted up the number of pretzels and rolled my eyes. This was basic math. It would not be hard to make this accessible to everyone.

Shit, I was supposed to be doing something. Right, snacks. Chips. Chips were my quest today, not trying to solve problems that should be taken seriously but never would.

I only had a second to look around before someone stepped next to me, way too close to me. I backed up as he grabbed the bag of chips off the shelf and turned to me with a smile. "This what you were going for?" He asked.

I couldn't respond. Mostly because I couldn't breathe. Because holy shit he was beautiful.

He had blonde hair that hung just a little in front of his striking blue eyes. Not to mention the fact the boy was built like he was about to go be in one of those unnecessarily seductive cologne commercials or something.

It took me a moment to realize I did not actually answer his question. "Uh, yeah," I nodded, clearing my throat.

"Here," he said, holding them out for me. "You have good taste. These are my favorite," he said, grinning.

Oh, God. That grin. What in the hell kind of unfair world did we live in that someone's smile could make my stomach flutter like no tomorrow? What was wrong with me? No guy or girl ever had an effect like this on me.

"Thank you," I said, taking the chips. "They're um," I paused, swallowing hard because his eye contact was unfaltering and I should look away but damn, those eyes. "They're my favorite, too."

He opened his mouth to speak but then came the scream from a few aisles over that could only belong to Lola. "MARCO!"

I dropped my head in my hand and shook my head, only glancing up at him briefly before speaking. "I um... I have to go. Thanks," I said, holding up the bag and rushing past him.

"MARCO!" Lola yelled again just as I spotted her down the next aisle.

"Polo! Jesus, Lola," I groaned, rolling my eyes.

"What? How else would I find you?" She shrugged. "Ready?"

"Mhm," I nodded.

"Why are you blushing?" She asked, a smile tugging on her lips.

"What?" Well fuck, now I was definitely going to blush. "I wasn't. I... I wasn't," I muttered, grabbing her hand and tugging her towards the check-out lines. "Let's get out of here."

I couldn't decide if I was happy or disappointed I didn't run into that guy again. The fact I couldn't decide left my confused. I hated people. One look at him should not have had me looking around for him as soon as we left the store.

Distracting myself with Lola's insane plan seemed like the wisest thing to do so I focused on that and tried not to think about my chip soulmate. The drive felt too short before we were already walking out onto the cliff I was at nearly a month ago. Lola kicked at the shattered glass that still remained as evidence.

"Yours?" She asked.

"Yep."

"You were going to kill yourself and you got cheap whiskey?" She scoffed. "Geeze, at least go out with a bang and buy the good stuff. Not like you can't afford it."

"Good idea. A gun would actually be way more effective," I said, tapping my chin. "Can you just buy those anywhere? How does it work?"

She smacked my arm so hard, I wondered if it would leave a bruise.

"You set me up for that!" I protested.

"Shut up. Sit down. Don't piss me off," she said, walking over to where the grass ended and rocks from the cliff started. She sat, patting the space next to her.

"Not pissing you off should be an Olympic sport for how difficult it is," I muttered, sitting next to her.

She looked over at me wearily. "Really?" she sighed. "Looks who's talking. Really?"

"Really," I said, narrowing my eyes.

"Jesus Christ. Start drinking," she said, handing me the bottle.

"My psychiatrist would be happy to know I have you," I said sarcastically, opening the bottle and taking a long drink. It hit my stomach unpleasantly. I was being honest when I said the thought of alcohol made my stomach hurt. Avoiding drinking actually would've been very easy if it weren't for the sleeping issue. I didn't want it, I wasn't even enjoying the taste, and I definitely wasn't enjoying the way it hit my stomach. Problem was, I wanted the effects of being able to sleep without nightmares. My nightmares were much worse than an upset stomach, so I took another swig. Lola looked over at me in concern.

"What? This was your genius plan," I pointed out, handing her the bottle.

"It's not that," she said, bringing her knees up.

"What is it, then?"

"It's that you clearly are still just as upset as you were. Did therapy in there really do nothing?" She asked, resting her head against her knees as she looked over at me.

"Therapy is a joke," I scoffed.

"No it's not," she snapped. "Not when you take it seriously. Not when you're open and honest which you never are. Maybe I should find you a progressive therapist that lets you drink while you talk so they can actually hear how you really feel and get to the bottom of all of it."

"You wanna know how I feel, Lo?" I asked, turning towards her.

She rolled her eyes.

"I feel that I want my chips because I haven't eaten in like sixteen hours and this," I said, waving the bottle around. "Is going to hit me hard if I don't."

"Good," she shrugged. "That was my plan."

I scowled and she smiled innocently.

"Okay but seriously, my stomach will hurt if I eat nothing," I pouted.

"Fine," she agreed, tossing me my chips.

We sat there for a while, talking about lighter subjects. We made it through one bottle together and I finished my bag of chips, wishing I would've gotten two bags. I was definitely feeling it and it felt nice. It felt nice to not constantly think about how everything was way too much, to not be in so much pain I wanted to scream, to not constantly feel suffocated. I was in the process of explaining photosynthesis when she groaned and stopped me.

"All right. That's enough," she said, shaking her head.

"What?" I asked innocently.

"You're drunk so I can pick your brain now," she said simply.

"I'm not drunk," I said, partially aware my voice was much higher than I usually spoke. "You're drunk."

"You are drunk, Violet Rose," she said, shaking her head. "I know you are because you always start talking about science when you're drunk."

"I do not!" I defended, losing my balance a little, setting my hand on the ground so I wouldn't fall over. I might've been drunk. Losing your balance while sitting was pretty drunk-like behavior. "Photosynthesis is like... the coolest thing ever. How could you not want to hear about it?"

"Because you've told me like thirty times and babe," she said, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, I don't have a scientific mind. I don't know what you're saying. I'm not a genius like you are."

"I'm not a genius," I said, taking another swig. "Photosynthesis is just cool."

"Okay," she said, taking the bottle from me, making me scowl. "I'm so over you thinking you aren't smart. What will it take? Honestly, what would be enough for you? Being president?"

"The president is under constant scrutiny," I said, wrinkling my nose. "I don't want that much attention."

"Violet, stop trying to change the subject. What will it take for you to be enough for you? What is the thing?" She asked, throwing her arms up in the air. "What is the goal? Or will you just never be enough for yourself no matter what?"

"Enough?" I repeated, shaking my head. "Nothing I've ever done has been enough." It's always just been slightly not enough. "It's a miracle people think I'm smart with how much I fail."

Lola shook her head in disbelief and held her hand out in the sassiest way possible. "Okay. I see what you mean," she said sarcastically. "You've only... Had a novel and three short stories published, have your name on a paper for NASA because you helped the engineer find the error in her calculations, have three degrees not including the one granted as an honorary degree in mathematics for solving a previously unsolvable problem. But yeah. I see what you mean. You're completely stupid and fail at everything. I mean, what kind of pathetic standard are you holding yourself to? You know what I've done?"

I sighed and set my head in my hands. I knew where she was going with this.

"Well, I've almost finished law school and in third grade, I won the spelling bee, and I'm five years older than you. So," she shrugged, taking a swig of the whiskey then wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, "top that, bitch."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You really need to stop telling people about the NASA thing. It's so misleading."

"What's misleading??" She yelled. "You helped NASA!"

"I got drunk and learned the basics of some astrophysics to help a friend," I shrugged. "That's it."

"You're right," Lola said dramatically. "Teaching yourself astrophysics over the course of five hours while intoxicated is baby stuff."

"I'm good with numbers, that doesn't make me a genius," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Do we need to revisit the fact that you have actually been named a genius in several forums?"

"Please don't," I sighed.

"God, Violet, why do you hate yourself so much?"

"That's enough," I snapped, bringing my knees to my chest.

"No it fucking isn't. Why? I want to know why. I demand it," she said, pounding her fist against the palm of her hand. "Be real with me for five seconds and tell me why you hate yourself so much. Please don't tell me it's because of what happened all those years ago because that shit was not your fault and if you think it is, I'm going to fucking slap you, I swear."

I looked over at her and it hurt. Underneath her frustration was pain. Pain I put there because I couldn't open up to anyone, let anyone close to me. Not even her. Sometimes I wanted to, but I couldn't ever get the words out. It was so fucked up in my head, how could I even say any of it out loud in a way that made sense?

"There's nothing to not hate," I sighed. "I have no redeemable qualities. Just because my brain is different doesn't mean I'm a good person."

"Are you serious?" Lola laughed. "You think you're not a good person?"

"I'm not, Lola."

"Okay, so, a good person doesn't drive to their friend's house at three AM when they have an important meeting the next day because their friend is crying on the toilet while having a miscarriage?"

"Lo..."

"I'm not done," she snapped. "A good person doesn't show up for her friend no matter the time, no matter how much it interrupts her day, no matter what she needs? A good person doesn't take time out of her day to take her downstairs neighbor chicken soup and vitamins and does her shopping on a regular basis? A good person doesn't donate way more than half of the money they make to a shelter for women and children trying to escape domestic violence? A good person doesn't volunteer at a crisis hotline and has received cards thanking her for making a difference and saving their lives? A good person does-"

"Okay, okay," I said, covering my ears. "You've made your point. Stop."

"Why do you do that?" She asked, pulling my hands down. "Why do you never let anyone say anything good about you when there's so much to say?"

There's nothing good to say.

I couldn't take it. It hurt to confront, it hurt to admit. I just couldn't handle it and all my inhibitions were down from the stupid whiskey. Dammit, Lola's plans.

"Lo," I said, tears filling my eyes. "If you knew what it was like in my head, you would know there's nothing good in here. There's nothing. It's all so fucked up and broken, there's nothing left to be good. It's just shattered pieces that will cut you up if you get too close."

"Violet," she said, scooting closer and wrapping her arm around my shoulders. "You have to see a therapist. You have to confront your past, all that shit that holds you back, all that shit that makes you unbalanced. You need medicine and help, babe. You have to. I know you don't want to hear it, but you can't go on like this. It's tearing you apart."

She didn't understand. It already had torn me apart. And nothing would ever be able to put me back together. I was just too fucking broken.

A/N:

Heyy loves, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

This book is complete on Patreon and we are working on the next one, link in my bio ❤️

So! A lot happened. First impressions of Violet?

What about Chase and this Jackie person? What do you think she's up to with them?

First impressions of Lola?

What'd you think of her and Kaden in the store together?

Oof, Violet is pretty damn depressed, any guesses what happened?

Take care, loves, see you tomorrow ❤️