Lime and Soda ✓

eighteen - backlash

The rest of the day is agonising.

I spend most of it in Celia's tent, reading, or trying to read, furiously swiping at my eyes when the page blurs beneath my tears. She comes in every so often to check that I'm okay. She's the only one who does. Good job I brought the Jane Austen after all, I think to myself.

Around mid-afternoon, I hear a low, hollow voice outside the tent.

'Violet?'

'Go away.'

'I'm sorry. I just-'

'I don't care, Ross. Go away!'

He does. I bury my face into my pillow and don't move for a few hours.

Celia cooks again that evening. Astrid had offered, before. But now 'I'll cook for everyone else, but those two aren't touching anything I make,' I hear from my tent. So Celia offers instead. She makes pesto pasta, she brings me a bowl. She forgot to use my gluten-free pasta. I don't say anything. It lies there untouched.

Evening brings rain. It starts slowly, I hear it drumming its soft fingers on the fabric of my tent. I've finished my book now, I'm just lying there staring at the ceiling, trying not to think. I hear the others squealing, Sophia and Eleanor and Celia, the ones who aren't affected by what happened, giggling loudly as they try to clear everything away before it really starts to pour.

I try to feel glad that they, at least, are having a good time, but I seem to have forgotten how to feel anything.

Celia doesn't come back to the tent. I guess she's gone with the other girls. I can't say I blame her.

The rain grows fiercer, heavier, until it's hammering against the roof of the tent. I think I hear voices, a roll of thunder, but maybe it's just the wind.

'Violet? Violet! Hello?'

I jerk upright, my heart suddenly flinging itself around inside my chest.

'Hello?' I say. It comes out all croaky. I realise I've hardly said a word since yesterday.

'Can we talk?'

It's Jay. Does this mean he's forgiven me?

'Yes. Yes, we can. Um. Come in.' I feel stupid saying that, like I'm inviting him into my very small and damp little house. He doesn't say anything, though, just unzips the tent flap and squeezes in, bringing a shower of rain with him.

I try to read his expression as he sits down, cross-legged, opposite me, but I can't. He's closed off, unreadable, still shut away inside himself, like he was when he kissed Sophia this morning. I try not to think about that, about the way they looked together, try to focus on the fact that he's here, in front of me, not off kissing her in the pouring rain under the pine trees. That must count for something.

He takes a deep breath, like he's steeling himself for something. 'So. You wanted to talk to me?'

'I-' My voice is shaking. My hands are shaking. 'Yes. I just... can I explain what happened?'

'I don't know if you need to. Pretty sure I saw what happened.' His voice is hard, cold.

'It... it wasn't what it looked like,' I say, staring at my hands, white, clasped in my lap.

'No? Because it looked like you kissed Ross,' he says. His voice is getting louder. Spots of angry colour have appeared on his cheekbones. 'It looks like you kissed him, right after you kissed me, right after we nearly...' His voice breaks. I break. 'Is that why you did it? Why you rejected me? Because you knew all along you were going to go and get it off with him right in front of me? Do you know how shitty that is, Violet?'