SKINTIGHT (Part 1)

Chapter 14

Rio

Violet takes the glass I offer her, her hand trembling as she brings it to her lips. They're swollen and red, just like the rest of her face. The front of my shirt is still wet from her tears. I didn't know what to do. I just held her. I've never had someone cry in front of me before. At least, not in that way. A few tears, sure, but she was sobbing. She was fully bawling her eyes out — like a baby who won't fall asleep. It must've taken at least 10 minutes just for her to calm down enough to stabilise her breathing, and then the aftershocks hit. Every time she'd start to settle, it'd begin all over again. I thought she was going to suffocate at one point. She barely had the chance to fill her lungs between cries. It was one thing after another — a constant onslaught of sobbing and wailing. She's alright now, I think. She's settled, at least.

I took her up to the roof of the gym. I figured she could use some fresh air, and the parking lot definitely isn't the best place for that. It's nice up here, too. It's not the top of the Empire State Building, but it'll do. We sit on the edge of the roof, each of us on a rusted fold-out chair. It's dark already, but the streetlights beam across the suburbs. We can see the city in the distance, filling the sky with too much light to let us see the stars. Violet looks up anyway.

"So..." I start. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Nope," she states.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"Nope."

"And this has nothing to do with the bruise on your face?"

"Nope."

"And it has nothing to do with Jack?"

"Nope."

"So, you're happy to just sit here in silence?"

"Yep," she nods.

"Alright," I turn away. If she doesn't want to talk about it, that's fine. It's clear she's lying about Jack, but there's nothing I can do. I'm not going to force it out of her. I might be wrong, after all. Maybe she actually likes Jack, and maybe they've got some fucked up kinks. Maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there. I'm biased by my own experiences, creating a scenario that would only make sense in my world, not hers. But what else could it be? She was fine until Jack was mentioned. Her whole body shifted. Her ambivalence turned to anger, and then to sadness. She completely lost it. She let all her fury out in her punches. That's exactly what I need from her, but not like this. She wasn't in control.

"Fuck, I hate crying," she sets the glass down on the ground, wiping her tears away with the palm of her hand. "I feel so shit afterwards."

"Really? It should make you feel relieved."

"No, it fucking sucks. My head hurts and my nose gets all crusty. It's disgusting."

"It's not the best look, is it?" I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just blurting out the first thing that comes to mind that has the least chance of upsetting her more.

"I fucking hate it," she complains.

"It's not that bad," I try. "It's supposed to be good for you."

"Bullshit. It's fucking miserable."

Well, she clearly has some strong feelings about it.

"Why do you hate it so much?" I ask her. I just want to keep her talking. She needs to be distracted from whatever's going on in her head. And the more she talks, the more clues she gives me, and the more I can understand her.