"I can't think of a time where I wanted to cut that much before. Maybe, I had so much built up in my mind that I just snapped; that I felt like it was in my blood and I needed to let it out, I guess. Most of the times, I only think about it and never do it. But, this time I finally did."
Violet watched the woman in front of her scribble on an obnoxious yellow pad. The lady's light blue eyes met her whiskey ones and she looked quickly to her feet.
"How long has it been since you felt that way? I see that the injuries from your last 'fit' have healed nicely."
Both of their gazes flicked to the now silver lines between the crook of Violet's elbow and her wrist.
"A few weeks I guess. Clearly, I haven't sliced my arm again", she quipped, nodding in the direction of the scars.
Her mind flashed, remembering the night she had had enough of her new step-mother's shit and her love-drunk father siding with her opinions and rules.
The step-brother she hadn't met yet abandoned a shaving kit that sat in the medicine cabinet with fresh blades, fortunately untouched by rust and still sharp.
At first, she put a blade to her throat, tried with all her might to actually pull it across. But, she couldn't find the power to kill herself. She didn't want to die, that would just satisfy them, she wanted to let her pain inside come out.
So, she started on the middle of her arm, one cautions, experimental swipe to test the waters and her pain tolerance. It was sharp, slightly stinging, but when the blood slowly surfaced, she oddly felt a little better.
Line after line, slice after slice, she felt all her problems gather at the brink of her wounds and spill out with the blood.
She was so wrapped up in watching the red in stark contrast to the white of the sink that she hadn't heard the door open.
The scream that erupted from her stepmother's big mouth snapped her back to reality and seconds later she was in the car on her way to the hospital with a towel around her arm and tears streaming down her face.
It's been almost a month since then and it was her last 3 times a week therapy session. Now, she'd start going only once. If she improved more, she'd go every other week, then once a month.
"That's very true," the woman commented, giving a light, practiced laugh at the end.
Violet wanted to choke her. This pretentious woman had no idea what she was going through.
She opened her mouth to say something sarcastic when a high pitched "ding" rung out in the stuffy room.
"Well, our time is up for today. Have a nice weekend! I'll see you on Wednesday."
Violet practically jumped from the brown faux leather chair and jolted out the door. She waved a quick goodbye to the receptionist, Chad, and he returned it without looking up from his copy of the month's issue of "Cosmo".
Outside the L.A. sun was blaring and her ratty mustard cardigan wasn't helping. She trekked home with her iPod blasting in her ears. When she arrived, she slowed her pace. She hated everything that was going on behind the doors of that old house. Violet headed up the short walk to her house; the building looked particularly menacing, but she shook the thought away and hurried inside.
It was quite, which worried her. Silence meant that the place was empty or that her father and step-asshole were in the kitchen waiting to berate her with questions about her session.
She walked through the foyer and glanced to her left. The living room was clear. She walked further and looked to the right, dining room was empty too. She passed the stairs and took a slight turn and entered the kitchen. No sign of her guardians anywhere.
She took a breath of relief; she'd have peace for a little while. Violet backtracked to the main stairs and took them two at a time. She walked down the hall to the last door at the back of the house, her sanctuary.
She closed and locked the door. Her space was simple, a bed, dresser, iPod dock, dark blue-green walls, lots of books, random trinkets, a few posters from old movies, and a viola. Violet threw off her bag and picked up the viola. She took after her mother, whose love had been the cello. Violet preferred the higher, sweeter, sometimes even sadder sounds of the viola.
She plucked the strings gently, checking to see if it was in tuned, then picked up the bow. She went blank and began to play.
Violet was not in her body, the sound of the music, the flow of her playing pulled out her soul. She and her mother shared this experience when they played, both soaring with the notes of whatever melody they produced from the gliding of the bow across strings.
The internal sheet music reached its end and Violet took a deep breath as she returned to the real world. She frowned, putting the viola back on its stand. She missed her mother. It hasn't even been a year yet.
Violet silently cursed her father, Ben, for marrying another woman so quickly, just three short months after her burial.
Her stepmother, Constance, waltzed into their lives and scooped up her father in his most vulnerable state.
With a sigh, she returned to her mind and set down the instrument. The front door opened and she faintly heard Constance speaking excitedly and Ben responding happily.
Great, they're home.
"Violet, Come down at once! We have something wonderful to tell you!" Constance's southern accent rang through the halls from the bottom of the stairs.
She left her room and met her guardians in the living-room. Constance was in one of her usual sundresses; her dyed blonde hair pinned up neatly to replicate a 1950s style and Ben's arm was wrapped around her waist. It made Violet throw up a little in her mouth.
"Vi, your mother and I-"
"Step-mother," she corrected. The tone made Constance fidget a bit.
"Constance and I have great news. Her son is coming home from boarding school. He'll be going to UCLA in the fall and living here with us."
"Oh. How wonderful."
Constance's face brightened. "It is! Oh, you'll love him, Violet. He'll be the perfect older brother for you."
"He won't be much of an older brother; he's only a year older."
"Violet." Ben's warning made her eyes roll.
"When are we expecting my dear older brother?" Her voice was laced with subconscious sarcasm, but Constance paid no mind to it.
"He'll be home any minutes! I'm going to go start dinner. Be a dear and set an extra plate for my boy?"
Ben smiled and nodded, following her into the dining room.
Violet began to mutter. "Great, there's gonna be a stupid eighteen year boy living here with us. What a fucking joy."
On cue, there was a knock. With the most convincing smile she could muster, Violet opened the heavy front door to reveal a shaggy, bright blonde haired boy with the darkest eyes she'd ever seen. He greeted her with a dimpled smile that made her breath catch.
"Hi. I'm Tate. You must be Ben's daughter."
Violet released the door and moved a bit so he could come in with his suitcase. She took in his striped sweater, holey jeans, and scuffed up converse. Tate set his bag down and brushed his hair from his eyes to get a better look at the girl before him.
Deep purple tights, floral patterned dress, mustard cardigan, and old boots. Her straight, dirty blonde hair touched the tops of her two perky breasts that he just couldn't help himself from noticing. Her eyes reminded him of honey and absentmindedly wondered if her pale skin tasted like it.
Pushing his thoughts of her away, he shut the door and flashed another smile.
"Yeah, I'm Violet. My dad is in the kitchen with your mom getting dinner ready. I'm sure my dad would like to meet you."
She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
"Cool. That way, right?" Tate pointed.
"Yup. Want me to take your bag to the room they set up for you?"
Her kindness toward him was shocking to herself, but the look of him intrigued her. He was attractive and in some way, the thrill of having this unattainable boy living in the same house made her insides twist deliciously.
"Seriously? That'd be awesome. Thanks."
His smile widened, dimples deepened, and noticed her slight blush. He watched as she grabbed his bag and took off up the stairs. He was hypnotized by the slight swing of her hips beneath her layers of clothing.
"I've been away from girls for far too long," he sighed.
He shook his head and made his way toward the sound of voices. Being at a private boy's boarding school made him miss the sight of girls. Violet was a forbidden fruit and Tate wanted to take a huge bite.