Chapter 2

Violet:

The apartment I shared with Chloe had never felt like a home. Not really. It was just a place where I kept my things, where I slept between classes, where I pretended the life I was building with Marcus was solid and real. I walked straight to my bedroom and pulled out my suitcase from under the bed.

I started throwing things in. Jeans. Shirts. The hoodie Marcus had left here three weeks ago. I stared at it for a long moment,  then threw it across the room. It landed in the corner like garbage. Like him.

The tears came then. They blurred my vision as I yanked clothes off hangers, as I emptied drawers, as I tried to fit three years of my life into a single bag. It wouldn't fit. Nothing would fit. I was stuffing too much into too small a space, and I wanted to scream at the injustice of it all.

A pair of earrings caught my eye on the dresser. Chloe had given them to me for my birthday last year. Gold hoops, simple and delicate. I'd worn them every single day since. I picked them up, my fingers trembling, and for a moment I considered keeping them. They were pretty. They were expensive. They were proof that at some point, Chloe had loved me.

I dropped them in the trash can.

The bedroom door creaked open behind me. I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. I could smell her perfume, the expensive floral scent she'd been wearing since freshman year.

"Hey." Chloe's voice was small and broken, like she was the one who'd been wronged. "Please. Please just look at me."

I didn't turn around. I kept packing, a pair of sneakers. My laptop. The charger. The photo of my mom I kept on the nightstand.

"Look, I know you're angry." Chloe stepped closer, and I heard her sink onto the edge of my bed. "You have every right to be angry. What I did was unforgivable. I know that. But I need you to understand..."

"Understand what?" My voice came out flat. I finally turned to face her, and the sight of her sitting on my bed, her eyes red and swollen, her mascara streaked down her cheeks, did nothing to me. Not a single thing. "Understand that you slept with my boyfriend? That you waited until I was gone and climbed into his bed like you had every right to be there? Please, Chloe. Please explain it to me like I'm five."

Chloe flinched like I'd slapped her. "It wasn't like that. It just... happened. We were both upset, and Marcus was drinking, and one thing led to another..."

"Bullshit." The word cut through the air like a blade. "You don't accidentally sleep with someone. You make a choice. You chose to betray me. That's the bottom line."

Chloe's tears spilled over, and she reached for me, her fingers grazing my wrist. I yanked my hand back like her touch was venomous.

"Vi, you're my best friend. You're the most important person in my life. I can't lose you. I'll do anything to make this right. I'll never see Marcus again. I'll..."

"You'll what?" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You'll undo the last three years of lies? You'll take back every secret you shared with him? You'll make me unsee what I saw in that bedroom?"

Chloe's face crumpled.

"You're leaving?" she whispered, her eyes darting to the half-packed suitcase on the floor.

"Yeah." I zipped the bag shut with more force than necessary. "I'm leaving. I'm done. With Marcus, with you, with this whole goddamn situation."

"Where are you going to go?" Chloe stood up, her hands out like she could physically stop me. "You don't have anywhere else. Your parents are across the country. You don't have money for..."

"I'll figure it out." I slung the duffel bag over my shoulder and grabbed my backpack. "That's what people do when they don't have anyone left to rely on. They figure it out."

*****

The hotel room was tiny. I'd found it three blocks from campus, the kind of place that rented by the hour but had a bed and a lock on the door. I threw my bags on the floor and collapsed onto the mattress, staring at the water-stained ceiling.

I didn't sleep. I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them. Marcus's arm around Chloe. Chloe's hand on his chest. The way they'd both looked at me like I was the one who'd done something wrong.

My phone buzzed incessantly. Texts from Marcus. Texts from Chloe. Even one from Jess at the café, asking if I was okay because Amara had told her something was wrong. I didn't answer any of them.

By the time the sun came up, I had made a decision. I needed something. Anything. A drink. A distraction. A way to feel something other than the hollow ache in my chest.

I showered in the tiny bathroom, dressed in the first clean clothes I could find, and walked to the nearest bar. It was eleven in the morning, and the place was empty except for the bartender wiping down glasses. I ordered a whiskey. The bartender raised an eyebrow but didn't argue.

The first sip burned going down. The second was easier.

I was halfway through my third when the door swung open and a group of guys walked in. They were loud and laughing, their voices bouncing off the walls. Hockey players. I could tell by the way they moved, by the cuts on their faces and the cocky swagger in their steps. They were wearing team jackets with the university logo.

One of them caught my eye. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that curled slightly at the ends. He had a bruise on his cheekbone and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He was flanked by his teammates, but he wasn't laughing with them. He was watching me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.

I turned away, my fingers tightening around my glass.

The bartender muttered something I didn't catch. I didn't care. I just wanted to drink until I forgot the look on Chloe's face, the sound of Marcus's voice, the way my entire world had collapsed in a single moment.

The hockey player slid onto the stool next to me without asking. He smelled like ice and sweat and something expensive I couldn't name.

"Tough morning?" His voice was low, rough around the edges.

I didn't answer. I just stared at the amber liquid in my glass.

"Buy you another?" He gestured to the bartender.

I finally looked at him. His eyes were dark, almost black, and there was a hardness in them that told me he'd seen his own share of pain. For a moment, I considered telling him to go to hell. But then I thought about Marcus, about Chloe, about the empty hotel room waiting for me.

"Sure," I said, surprising myself. "Why the hell not."