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Or at least she was.
Dee is pure and everything I’m not. I’m not sure how it happened, when I crossed the line from wanting to just fuck her to wanting to protect her. It’s a blurry line, really. Getting blurrier by the moment too.
She’s still in my black hoodie. The one I wear around the house that doesn’t see the light of day because it’s too worn for my father to deem appropriate for the public's eye. It’s also my favorite hoodie.
And warmth flares oddly within me at the sight of the large material cloaking her small frame.
Dee steps in so her entire body is in view. Under my hoodie is the thin shorts she wore most of the summer. Also a favorite of mine. Lavender shorts that stop just under the curve of her ass, they are barely visible right now, but they’re there.
I want to steal them too. I want to take it all off until every innocent part of her is bared to me.
She clears her throat, glancing at the bottle in my hand. I set the drink down against the dark stained wooden desk, giving her my attention.
“I saw Landon and I was curious what the other guy looked like. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”
I grunt, the smallest hint of a smile playing on my lips. Does she want to see if I’m okay?
Or does she hope I’m as fucked up as Landon is.
Hardly.
Lifting my arm up I show her my red knuckles, the only marks I have. The only marks I can ever have. I don’t bruise easily anyway but if my father taught me one thing it was to never let them leave evidence on my body. My hands are so scared, no one would notice a new scratch.
She huffs a laugh. “Unbelievable.”
Leather squeals underneath me as I stand up from my father’s desk chair. Her big emerald eyes watch me with caution as I approach.
“Come to tend to my wounds?” I purr.
“I think you can take care of yourself, Knox.” Violet moves to walk around me before I get too close to her. She wanders to the desk, smelling the whiskey with a frown.
I cocked an eyebrow at her. She’s not wrong.
“I’ve never been in this room before,” she says quietly, her fingers skimming along the glossy window frame.
No one comes in this office. I’m not allowed in this office. And yet, we’re both here now.
“This is a private room. My father’s office is off limits even to me.”
“Then I won’t stay long.” She looks down at the little picture, picking it up and showing it to me as if I haven't been staring at it angrily for the past twenty minutes. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you smile like you are in this image.” There’s a far off sound to her hesitant voice.
It makes me sick to even think about that age. I was confused, anxiety on edge so much that I made myself throw up nightly when I thought about the repercussions of the little things my father might punish me for.
“That was a very different person in that picture.” That was a person who hadn’t known death first hand. Hadn’t wielded his body like a weapon. Hadn’t felt someone’s pulse drain away under his fingertips. I am a very different person indeed.
“You definitely seem different.” She straightens, standing determined before me, barely meeting my shoulder but keeping her confidence locked in place.
Why does it make me so pleased that I know I made her this way? I made her stronger. She can face whatever fucked up things happen in her future.
Because of me.
“You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” she says suddenly.
Okay, she’s peaked my interest. Casually, I walk up to her. I arch a curious brow then reach around her for the whiskey bottle and take a long drink. My body thrums to life when my forearm brushes against her side.
I’ll miss the burn of her skin against mine when she finally leaves.
But I think we’ve finally done it. I think she is finally going to leave. Run away, Vi. Get as far away from this place and my fucked up father and never look back.
