“I did, too.”

“Did not.”

“Did—”

“Stop.” I cut him off because this could go on forever and J is starting to stir. “Look, I really want to get out of here. I’ve got a final to study for. And a life to get back to.” The last part is kind of a lie, but it sounds like a good point to make in theory. “So should I take the pills and the cash or just the cash?”

He pauses. “How much does he have on him?”

I sigh and pat the front pockets in J’s slacks, but they’re empty. Pressing the phone between my cheek and my shoulder I use both my hands to rotate him on his side and then I check his back pockets and find his wallet in one of them. I take it out and step away from the bed, opening it and counting the money inside.

“There’s a hundred bucks in his wallet.” I frown, knowing what it means.

“Well, isn’t that interesting, since I told him it was going to be two hundred bucks for a bag,” Preston replies in a calm voice.

“So you want me to take the pills, too,” I say flatly. Sometimes when I’m doing something I’m not totally comfortable with, like stealing from an unconscious guy, my conscience tries to wake up on me.

“I think it’s only fair,” he replies simply. “Especially since he was obviously going to screw you over.”

“Maybe he has the money somewhere else,” I suggest, but even I can hear the doubt in my voice.

“Or maybe he was just going to try and fuck you over,” he says. “Literally.”

I blow out a breath and take the cash out of the wallet, feeling the slightest bit guilty. Then I drop the wallet onto the bed, reach over J, and snatch up the bag of pills. I put the cash and pills into my pocket, then head for the door.

“Give me like a half an hour and I’ll be at your house,” I tell Preston, opening the door.

“Sounds good,” he replies as the music in the hall drowns over me. “And, Violet, remember, I’m a nice guy and everything but don’t try to screw me over.” He always says this as a warning, reminding me that business comes before our friendship… our foster-parent bond… whatever the hell we have. He used to not be this intense when I was younger, but now he’ll say just about anything. It makes me nervous and uncomfortable, but I never say anything about it, worried I’ll lose the only family I have.

“I remember.” I step out into the hall, but halt when I spot a group of guys I’m pretty sure I’ve scammed before, standing at the end of the hall. “Look, I got to go.” I hang up and stuff the phone into my jacket pocket.

One of the guys with a really thick neck points at me, saying something, and the rest of their gazes wander in my direction.

“Hey, I know you, don’t I?” the tallest one says as he strolls down the hall in my direction. “You’re that girl, right? The one who sold me the stuff at that party a month ago. The one that fucking screwed me over.” I spot anger in his eyes at the same time I note the thickness of his arms that can easily hurt me. For a moment, I just stand there, letting the group of them get close to me, feeling the beat of my heart accelerate inside my chest, alive and thriving—finally awake.

But when they’re almost within arm’s reach, I whirl around and run back into the bedroom where J’s sleeping. I lock the door and then search through the dark for a solution.

“Open the door, you fucking cunt!” One of them bangs on the door as they shout loudly over the music and J lets out a loud snore.

It’s not the first time I’ve been in this kind of situation, and I doubt it will be my last. I wonder what my mom and dad would think of me if they were here now? Would they be ashamed? But they’re not here and there’s no one else in the world that really gives a shit what I do with my life. I can’t just wait around here and wait for something—or someone to show up and miraculously help me. I’m in this on my own, which is for the story of my life.

Striding over to the window, I pry it open and pop the screen off. Tossing it onto the floor, I lean over the edge and look down the two-story drop to the wooden fence right below the window. It’s not that far of a fall, but if I land on the fence things could go badly, like one of the pieces of wood could get lodged in my body or I could land the wrong way and hit my neck or head on it. They’re such morbid thoughts, but my mind always goes to that dark place. The what-ifs of death. Those random occurrences that no one can control. Most of my life has been based on one random occurrence of death.

I know if I jump, either I’ll safely land on the grass just over the fence or I’ll mess up and get hurt, maybe even killed if random occurrences really hate me. Either way, I don’t care what the hell happens to me, so I climb up onto the windowsill, letting destiny take over as I slide my legs over the edge. I hear the lock on the door click and open. My time here at this place is up.

My heart speeds up and I breathe in the rush of knowing that something tragic could happen to me. It makes me feel alive and without any hesitation, I jump.

Luke

(Freshman year of college)

My night has been filled with shot after shot. Empty glass after empty glass. I knock back one after another as the sound of the music vibrates inside my chest. With each scorching swallow of Bacardi, tequila, Jäger, I feel more at ease, letting all my worries and the fact that I haven’t checked my insulin slowly erase from my mind. My tongue becomes numb. My lips. My body. My heart. My mind. It’s a fucking beautiful state of mind to be in and I wish I could never leave it—most days I don’t.

After I lose count of how many shots I’ve downed and how many asses I’ve had grind up against me, I ditch the club with the woman I’ve been dancing with for the last two songs, debating what to do—fuck, wander around, go find a place to gamble. There’s a familiar burn inside my chest as I drown in a sea of alcohol, where nothing bothers me. I relax and breathe the cool night air and just exist without all the weight of my past inside me. I’ve been drinking more frequently, especially since my past has been forcing its way into my life again. Stuff’s been happening with my sister, Amy, specifically questions about her suicide that happened eight years ago. I thought it’d been put to rest, but it was brought up a month or so ago, questions mainly about what really drove her to throw herself off the roof that night. Plus, on top of it, my dad’s decided he wants to become a huge part of my life again, after being pretty much absent since I was five. It’s bullshit and I don’t want to think about it or deal with it. I just want to get trashed, fuck as many women as I can, and live my life the way that I want to.

I lose track of how much time has gone but somewhere along the lines I stop walking and end up with my back against the tree. I’m not aware of too much going on but there are three things I’m sure of: (a) It’s nighttime, since I can see the stars, (b) I feel very relaxed and in control at the moment, and (c) there’s a blonde kneeling down in front of me with her mouth on my cock.

I have a fistful of her hair as she sucks me off, muttering something incoherent every once and a while. As she moves her mouth back and forth I feel myself verging closer to exploding and I let myself go as I approach it. It’s the only few moments of peace that I have, where I don’t have to think about the past, the future, just the God damn moment. Once I’m done, though, the silence of the night tears at my chest as there’s nothing left to do but think. I’m back to that place where my past and who I am haunts me. The only thing that gets me through is the fact that my body is numbed by the potent amount of alcohol in my bloodstream.

I zip up my pants as the blonde gets back up to her feet. She mutters something about that being amazing, biting her lip as she tracks her fingers up my chest, looking like she’s waiting for me to return the favor. I’m not going to, though. I only do things for myself and no one else. I spent too much time when I was younger living under restrictions, never living for myself, never enjoying things, and I refuse to go back to that place again.