We talked endlessly about anything and everything for what felt like an immeasurable number of hours. I had sobered up and was forming coherent sentences, much to my relief. Violet kept asking about my death and my former life and ignored all my attempts to skirt around the subject. I didn't feel like she was being rude, though; she was persistent and determined and devious and I loved it.
I tried the whole you-tell-me-your-story-I'll-tell-you-mine trick, but she was just as smart as I had assumed and she didn't fall for it. She simply gave me a tight-lipped shake of the head but her eyes were playful.
The sun began to rise in the east and I was suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. It was so easy to lose track of time here – I'm pretty sure I had never encountered a clock – but especially when you finally found someone you were happy to talk to for so long. I had met this girl all of twice and she was already my one reason to get up and leave the house. I hoped she hadn't developed some crazy mind-reading power when crossing over because otherwise she'd think I was a complete psychopath. I guess I probably was.
She studied my face and ghosted her fingers on my face, tracing the circles under my eyes. "You're tired," she stated. I simply let a smile play on my lips because I didn't want her to leave, but I was exhausted. Drinking always made me tired which was why I avoided doing it in excess. Old habits die hard, even in death. "Let's go," she decided and hopped down off the brick ledge. I followed suit, amused in my delirium at the numbness in my backside. We walked back the way we had come and slipped beneath the barrier again, following the direction of the rising sun.
I wasn't aware of how long it took us to get back to my apartment building; considering the bar we had left Odessa in was several towns over, I was surprised I'd had the energy to make it all the way back on foot. Violet came to a halt at the door with the flaky red paint job and electronic key pad. "This is my stop," I said awkwardly, truly not understanding the strange, fluttering disappointment in my stomach at her having to leave. She smiled and nodded. "Where are you staying?" I probed.
She shrugged her tiny shoulders. "Wherever I end up."
I worried at my bottom lip; I didn't like the thought of her roaming around endlessly on her own. I suddenly felt an obligation to protect her from this place that we had both gotten ourselves into. The idea was stupid – I mean, we were already dead. What exactly was the worst that could happen? Still, I ignored my rationale and tilted my head slightly to the side before speaking. "Want to come inside?"
"I'm not going to sleep with you," she said bluntly, raising one eyebrow at me in an are-you-kidding-me kind of way. I laughed loudly again, like I had done earlier, in that way it seemed only she could make me. She raised her other eyebrow to match the first.
"I didn't mean like that. I don't think you're that type of girl," I flashed her a smirk before turning my back and punching in the four-number combination on the keypad of the door. The light glowed a dim green colour and I heard the click of the door being unlocked. I pulled it towards me and stepped aside, swinging my arm before me, gesturing that she should enter the building. She rolled her eyes at my dramatic chivalry and stepped over the threshold.
The building was already beginning to heat up with the rising sun and I tugged at the neck of my shirt uncomfortably. I noticed Violet was wearing a long-sleeved shirt again and began to sweat more just thinking about how warm she must be. I led the way towards the rickety elevator on the left wall of the foyer. I pressed the button to head up and the doors opened automatically. We both stepped into the cramped space, full of stagnant air and I pressed the button for my floor. The elevator moved excruciatingly slowly; I had figured that since no one really needed to rush about things anymore that they never bothered fitting a speedier one. I was hyper-aware of how close we were; her tiny frame was squished up against mine. I felt my palms sweat again and that pathetic, aching need for physical contact returned. I wondered if she felt the same or maybe she hadn't been dead long enough to miss it.
I was relieved to put a little bit of space between us when we trudged out of the elevator and along the corridor, until we reached the door of my apartment. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of nerves and embarrassment at my dingy home. I stuck the key in the lock and shoved against the door; the cheap, hollow wood was painted the colour of mint sauce and the apartment number had long since fallen off.
I let myself in and Violet followed closely behind, her dark eyes darting around and observing her surroundings. Her expression was indifferent and I mentally shook myself for feeling nervous around this girl. I barely knew her.
"Can I have a drink?" she asked and I grinned, as she had requested it just as I was about to ask. She always surprised me yet, at the same time, was exactly how I expected. I nodded and strode over to my mini refrigerator. I opened it and observed its mainly empty state. I grabbed two sodas and closed it, heading through to the sitting-room-type area where Violet was already making herself comfortable on the sofa. I handed her the cool can of carbonated drink and she took it gladly, popping the can open with a satisfying fizzle and slurping loudly. I laughed as I sat opposite her and thirstily glugged my own.
"Have you had a girlfriend since you've been here?" Violet asked suddenly and I was once again surprised by her boldness.
I shrugged my shoulders. "Not really. There aren't many people around." I hoped I didn't sound pathetic having not had a girlfriend.
"Do you think it's possible?" She took another sip of her soda. "To have those sorts of feelings, I mean."
I shrugged lamely again. "I guess. Yeah. I don't know, maybe?" She rolled her eyes at my nonsensical statement.
"I had this one boyfriend when I was alive," the sentence seemed to sit bitterly on her tongue. "I thought I loved him. He thought I was crazy." She grinned toothily. "I guess I am." She placed her can down on the coffee table in front of us and her hand seemed to stroke along the inside of her wrist of its own accord. I studied her for a minute or two before she looked up at me through her lashes; her eyes seemed darker and more mysterious. "Wanna know how I died?" she offered, almost excitedly. I put my can down too and sat back, trying to appear relaxed and passive.
"Sure," I said, resting my left ankle on my right knee. My eyes followed her hands as she tugged up the sleeves of her cotton shirt. My eyes widened slightly at the sight of her skin. There were sloppy, lumpy scars marring the pale skin of her inner-wrists. I could see ghosts of older scars; they were neater – line after line of perfect, silvery scars. But these ones were newer. I could tell, as they hadn't yet faded to that translucent colour and were still angry, noticeable, puckered wounds. They criss-crossed through each other and I imagined how deep the cuts would have to have been to create such heavy battle wounds. The thought made my stomach cringe. I looked back up to her face and her eyes were wild.
"I used to cut myself," she said breathily. "It was an addiction. I started when my dad cheated on my mom with one of his students..." Her face contorted into a look of pure hatred and disgust. I couldn't decide whether it was aimed at her father or the girl he'd slept with. "My mom literally caught him in the act – balls deep in some slut that was young enough to be my older sister. What's worse is that my mom had only had this brutal miscarriage a few months earlier." I didn't know why she was telling me all this; I figured perhaps it was a diabolical case of word vomit as her words were tumbling out before she could even stop herself. "That's when I started. I'd seen people do it in movies and it looked easy and I did it and it worked. I loved the pain and I loved the blood and it was so... Liberating. It relieved everything; just drawing that blade over my skin and watching my troubles seep out." She spoke so passionately and I was reminded of the few times I too had cut myself when I was alive. I had made myself stop before I made it a habit. "Anyway," she shook her head, obviously going off-track. "My boyfriend – I guess now he's my ex – Evan, well I really thought I loved him. Then he started getting all weird and distant and I panicked. I thought he was cheating on me because I'd seen it happen so easily with my mom and dad, even in marriage. So I started asking questions and he got really mad and said that I was too clingy and I was obsessive. And I mean, dude, I was obviously fucked up. I hurt myself on purpose to deal with my problems and I was so fucking sad all the time. So I took that shit personally. And he dumped me by text and avoided me and made everyone at school think I was a frigid, crazy bitch. So I left school early one day, headed straight home and ran a bath. Then I got in the bath and I got my blade and I cut and cut and cut and cut," I could see the sweat beading down her temples, both from the heat and from the exertion of emotions. Everything inside me hurt to watch her face contort with distress and to imagine her when she was alive, fierce but fragile Violet, so broken up and damaged inside by her own family and a boy she just wanted to love her. I fought back pathetic tears from my eyes and slipped around to sit beside her, rubbing soothing circles on her back with my hand. I wasn't sure if she noticed, but I felt better in doing it anyway. "And I just lay there and bled and I guess I died like that. I think I died crying," she laughed in an ironic sort of way as she wiped away tears she hoped I wouldn't see with the sleeve of her shirt, staining it a darker colour. She sighed heavily and leaned her head against me.
I let her calm down, still rubbing her back like a small child because in that moment, that was what she felt like. Then I made her lie down on the sofa and her eyelids fluttered shut without me telling her to. I watched her until her breathing slowed and I could hear tiny snuffles coming from her nose. I brushed her hair from her face in a foreign, tender gesture and made my way to bed. My thoughts and dreams were filled with visions of Violet: sad, lonely, heartbroken and betrayed. The need to protect her grew stronger within me and I knew that I would never let a single soul hurt her ever again, not even herself.