𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒

𝟏𝟖 || 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓

"Alright, man."

_______

We spent the next couple of hours walking through the dark streets of New York, coming across nothing but drug addicts and homeless people. I seemed to have noticed more of them— the homeless, after Violet had encountered the homeless woman on the street.

I didn't care that she took my money. Why would I? She could have taken millions and I would be fine with it. If it was in her hands, it was hers.

Taking all of my time to collect my thoughts, they all circled back to her. I wanted to think about what could've happened if Alec hadn't barged in like he did, but I couldn't. Instead, I thought about how genuinely concerned I was for her.

She was hurt, hurt by a man. I knew her better than to think that she would let that slide. That man— her ex, he manipulated her. Her mind was twisted because of him. She knew that what he did wasn't okay, hell, she told me that she knew, but she was okay with it. She was still protecting him after what he did to her.

Then unexpectedly, my phone rang. I pulled the vibrating object from my pocket to see that Violet's number was pinned on my screen. As she called, I could feel my heart skip a beat, the urgency in her voice instantly catching my attention.

"I know— I know that you just left for something important but uhm.. I don't have anyone else to call anymore and.." Listening intently, I could sense the vulnerability in her voice as she hesitated, choking searching for the right words. And then, with a trembling pause, she continued, expressing a need that pierced through the phone line.

"I need you. I really need you right now."

Then she hung up, just like that.

_______

I rushed up the stairs towards Violet's bedroom. Her door was already slightly opened until I pushed it further, but she wasn't in her room.

My heart pounded in my chest, worrying that something might've happened to her. Then I heard the shower running from her bathroom. I took a step into her closet, only to find it nearly destroyed.

There were articles of clothing everywhere, and nearly every inch of the floor was covered. Her drawers had been rummaged through, and the hangers hung empty in the organizers. She tore the space apart.

Hesitantly, I peeked my head through the partially open bathroom door, my desire to check on her battling with the need to respect her privacy, but I didn't think she was showering.

As I stepped inside, my senses were met with the faint scent of steam. The air was humid from all of the hot water that was falling down from the shower head.

My suspicions were confirmed as my gaze fell upon her figure. She sat huddled within the glass enclosure, her knees pulled close to her chest, and her head buried in her lap. It was an image that etched itself into my memory—the vulnerability in her posture contrasting sharply with the woman that I was with earlier today.

I had a feeling that everything had gotten worse during the time that it took me to come back home.

The clothes that clung to her skin were heavy with water. Even her hair, usually straight and soft, was damp and disheveled.