I Did(n't Do) It

Chapter 22: Your Fault (2/3)

Violet closed herself in her room, staring at the wall. She felt empty, and numb. She tried to think of school, and her friends; but her mind kept bringing Eric up. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, she could barely be without him right by her side. Puke crawled up her throat on occasion, and she would sit there without the slightest idea what to do. Visually, she was a mess; her hair was matted and dirty, her face was flushed, her throat was sore, and her tear stained cheeks would glimmer in the dim light whenever it poked through the curtains in her room. Through all this shit, she still had a shred of hope that maybe he would come back, that maybe this was all some cruel joke and he would walk through that door, with a silly smile and a handful of roses.

"I couldn't find the white ones." He would say, "So I got you red ones." And then he would kiss her on the lips, then her forehead, and they would hug a tight hug, a long hug; a hug that said I'm here for you, and I won't ever let go. And Violet would cry, and then laugh, and then he would apologize for being gone for so long. But it would be okay, because he was there now. And he would promise that he wouldn't leave again.

So she waited.

She waited seconds, then minutes, then hours, then days — then time finally gave up on her and left her in it's darkest days.

Violet always remembered how he would kiss her whenever they said hello, and always before leaving because he "read somewhere that the happiest couples kiss each other when they see each other and before leaving." Violet regretted all the times she said she didn't have time for that, or that he was making her late. She would turn a cheek, or just walk out. All the while his love was left in that room, on his empty lips.

She tried to sleep, and sometimes she would wake up and not think of him. She would open her eyes, and the loneliness would feel like an old friend. But other days she would wake up and Eric was all she could think about; how he would clench his jaw when he was concentrating, or how he would furrow his brows when he didn't understand a joke. She remembered, how before every game, he would tap on his helmet three times.

"Three is my lucky number." He would say to her, smiling and tapping on his helmet.

Violet clutched his shirt, breathing in his scent; peppermint and pine.

Her mind brought her back to one day, during the summer in-between 9th and 10th grade. Eric and her had just started their romantic relationship together. They were at Violet's house, in the kitchen. It was a hot day, so they had the air conditioning on and they were making sugar cookies. Eric had powdered sugar on his nose and cheeks, smiling like a goofball while Violet was up to her elbows in baking soda looking just as ridiculous. They thought they had followed the directions perfectly, but apparently Eric had mixed up the salt and sugar, they ended up being the most bitter cookies they had ever tasted, and yet Violet loved every second of it.

When he was mad, his face would get flushed and red, and try as hard as she could not to — Violet would sometimes end up laughing in the middle of an argument; which would make him even more angry, and his face would get even more red.

And his laugh, oh man, his laugh. It was nectarous, and contagious. When you heard him laugh, you couldn't but laugh with him. There was this aura about him that just made you feel so safe, and secure. It was as if nothing could ever hurt you as long as you were with him. And god, violet wished she could be with him again. Just one more time. She wanted to touch his cheek, and play with his hair. If she could just talk to him.

She felt awful. And tired. There was a tear in her heart that was turning into a blackhole, and she didn't really mind if it swallowed her up because maybe then she would land in some unknown dimension and all of this might disappear; This pain, this hate, this guilt, and agony that ate away at her skin and kept her up at night. She wouldn't wish this pain on her worst enemy.