CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE

VIOLET POV

The journey goes too quickly. The world zooms by outside the window and my heart thumps at the horror that this is it. Goodbye.

      I really don’t want this to be goodbye.

      My palms are hot and clammy, and my fingers are fidgety. They twiddle around and around as I try to think of a way to make this last.

      I just want to see him again.

      My emotions are churned into a big messy ball in my stomach. It feels weird, uncomfortable, these feelings for Spencer twisting and turning, so confused. I felt so safe in West’s room, cocooned in this floaty bubble, like cotton candy at a spring fair. I felt so safe there, so safe in Spencer’s house, that I wanted to be West.

And I still want to be West now.

But I watched him. I watched him in the shower. I watched him and I liked it. I thought about him touching me and I liked that too.

      I like him.

      I like him like that.

      The combination feels icky. Weird.

      Fluttery and weird.

I can’t straighten it out and it won’t go away, so I just keep staring out of the window and praying he’ll let me see him again.

I can’t bear the thought of never seeing him again.

He asks me for directions to Maggie Connor’s house and I want to lie, tell him she lives far away, that I can’t remember how to even get there, but I don’t. I point him onto her estate in Newhaven, and he indicates onto her street.

 I direct him into her parents’ driveway and hold my breath, scared he’ll say his goodbyes and disappear now I’m back on home turf. He doesn’t.

  He puts the car in neutral and says he’ll wait for me.

      I smile in relief.

      “I’ll be right back,” I say. “Just a minute.”

He nods, smiles, and I fumble with the door handle, tripping over my nervy limbs as I bundle out of the car. I pull my cardigan around myself as I ring her doorbell, and I can smell his lavender fabric conditioner. I love the way it smells.

 It’s Maggie Connor’s mum who answers the door. She takes my arm and welcomes me in, yelling to Maggie Connor upstairs to announce my arrival.

      “Go on up,” she says. “She’s still in her pit.”

      “Thanks, Mrs Connor,” I say.

      She tuts at me. “It’s Cynthia,” she says. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s Cynthia?” Her smile is kind and laced with that little bit of pity I’ve grown used to.

      I smile back at her then make my way upstairs. Maggie Connor’s bedroom door is closed tight. I don’t bother knocking, just let myself in and navigate the trail of dirty laundry until I’m at her bed.

      “Maggie Connor?”

      She groans, rolls over, and sleepy eyes barely focus on me.

      “Maggie Connor, it’s me.”

 “Violet ? What are you doing here? What time is it?” She gropes for the phone on her bedside cabinet, checks the time and groans again. “Urgh, not even midday.”

“You took my keys!” I snap, and all the fear from last night comes rushing back. “My phone, too! My purse and my ID! I was stuck out all night!”

  She comes to her senses, props herself up on her elbow with a confused expression on her face. “What?”

      I shake my head. “Jeez, Mags. You took everything! It was all in your bag!”

      She raises her eyebrows. “No,” she says. “It wasn’t. It totally wasn’t!”

      I feel my jaw hit the floor, gawping as she roots around the floor for her handbag. She pulls out the contents. Lipstick and condoms and a load of crumpled receipts.

      “But where…” I stammer. “What…”

      “On the table!” she said. “You were in the toilet. I left your stuff right on the table for you! I even scribbled a note on a beer mat!”

      “But there wasn’t…” I think back to last night. To the horror of returning to my seat to find it occupied by other people, no Maggie Connor in sight. No Maggie Connor in the whole club.

 “I left it with those guys…” she continues. “The ones we downed a shot with at the bar… they were right there, at the table next to ours…”

 I can’t hide the horror. “You left my stuff with a load of drunk guys and disappeared? You left my money and my keys and my phone with total strangers and bailed on me, on my own birthday?”

 She covers her face with her hands. “Shit, Violet. I was wrecked. They seemed alright…”

“But they weren’t alright. Clearly they weren’t alright.”

 She stares at me, and her eyes are pink and hungover. “You got home though, right? No harm done.”

      “No. I didn’t!”

 She sits up in bed and I’m so angry, my nails are digging into my palms, thinking about what could’ve been, all because she was too busy getting down with some random guy. “So what happened?” says. “Where did you go?!”

 I try to start from the beginning, but the words won’t come. I don’t want them to. I don’t want to tell her about Spencer, or the guy in the alleyway, or being rescued. I don’t want to tell her about West’s room, and frosted puffs and watching him come in the shower.

 It feels tickly, and raw. And private.

      “So you don’t have my stuff?” I say. “Not any of it?”      

  She groans. “Sorry. I’m really sorry, Violet. I pulled an asshole move.”

      At least she knows it.

      I try not to let it upset me, just like always. Try not to take it to heart. Try not to comprehend the scale of the disaster on my hands now I’m in the cold light of day and still don’t have any of my things. But it’s hard. It’s really hard.

“I’m gonna go,” I say, and my voice is tickly.

      “Go?! Where exactly?”

      “Home…” I say. “I’ll see if I can get in… through a window…”

 She throws back the covers and starts gathering clothes from the floor. “I’ll come with you.”

      “No!” I say, and my tone makes her stop in her tracks. “It’s fine… you’re still hungover, and I’m…”

      “You’re locked fucking out,” she says, like I don’t know that. “It’s the least I can do.”

      And it is. It is the least she can do. But it’s too late for that now, and I don’t want her help, not with Spencer outside.

      I back away, heading for the door, telling her again that it’s fine, that I’ll cope, that she should get back to sleep. 

  She doesn’t need all that much convincing. No real surprise there.

      “Let me know you’re alright, yeah?” She calls after me. “I’ve got so much to tell you about Noah. That was his name, you know! Noah! And he was so hot!”

      Noah.

That’s the guy I have to thank for nearly losing my virginity to some asshole in a back alley.

 I say goodbye to Mrs Connor on the way out, and do my best not to cry before I break the news to Spencer.