Grey

Chapter Three

“Violet, I don’t get why you do this to yourself. I really don’t,” Ivy said to me. It’d been two days since the fight and Grey hadn’t called so I asked Ivy to meet me. Through ice cream and a one hour talk, I finally got all of that night and morning out.

“I know,” I sighed. “I know it’s wrong.” It was wrong, but all of it felt so right. It was innocent, forbidden, treacherous heartache. I was so in love with him, but every time I thought to tell him, I knew he’d run away. And I knew I couldn’t deal with the pain of losing the two closest people in my life. I’d already lost one of them.

Ivy swirled her spoon around her empty cup. “It’s more than wrong, Violet. He practically…you know…he,” Ivy whispered, avoiding all eye contact with me. She told me constantly how wrong it was. I knew she was disgusted with the fact that I was with him, sleeping with him, fighting with him.

I wanted to scream. Sometimes I wanted to forget about the whole thing, forget about his death, or that he even died. Other times I wanted to talk about it. Right now, though, I didn’t want to. Grey didn’t murder my brother. He didn’t put a knife to his throat or a gun to his head. He lost control of the car and soon after lost control of his life.

I nearly slammed my fist down on the table. “It wasn’t his fault.”

She looked at me in disgus. Ivy showed her true feelings for the first time and whatever she was about to say, I really didn’t want to hear it. “I know you love him, Violet, and I know you want him, but look what he did your life! He ruined it.”

Rolling my eyes, I got up from the table. “Yeah, Grey changed a lot of shit in my life, Ivy. Did he do it intentionally? No. It was an accident for Christ’s sake! We can’t change what happens to us, Ivy. We can either be miserable over it or make the best of it. Yeah, I don’t have a brother anymore, I don’t have my best friend anymore, but I have Grey. That’s all I need, okay?” Ivy was speechless as I strode toward the door, throwing my long blonde hair into a pony tail. I was pissed off and sad at the same time; two feelings I was so used to. 

When I got in the car I found myself driving in the direction of Grey’s apartment. I doubted he would be home, and if he was, I was afraid of what I would find. When I pulled up the complex, I spotted Grey’s truck in the parking lot and bit my lip. Moving the gear into park, I shut off the ignition and sat back in the seat. His apartment number, 32C, stared me down.

  What if I knocked on the door and he answered it but he was drunk? Or he was high? What if I just walk in instead? But then what if there’s another girl in his bed? What if I find him sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, with suicide on his mind? Jesus, Violet, stop it. I got out of my car and walked up to his door.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. A few second later, Grey opened up, his hair damp, a toothbrush in his mouth, a towel around his waist. I crossed my arms and looked down at my Vans.

“You didn’t call and I was just in town,” I muttered, tracing a crack in the concrete with my eyes. I sounded like some love obsessed teenager. It was true that I was, but I’d missed him lately. And I knew why.

When I looked back up, Grey had taken the toothbrush out of his mouth and painted a mischievous smirk on his face as he wrapped an arm around my waist and tugged me inside. Inside his apartment, there was a ratty old love seat with a hole in the cushion, a small coffee table with duct tape around one of the legs, and an old TV on it. Clothes and trash littered the floor and his bed was torn apart, like he’d had restless sleep or some rough sex. I tried to block the second image out of my mind. In his kitchen was a rusted oven and an old refrigerator that barely kept the food cold. Take out boxes and McDonald’s bags covered the counters and beer bottles lie on the ground. My fingers itched to clean it up, but they stayed clasped to his bare shoulders as he held me against him.