Sometimes I'd nod off while she was rambling on, just contentedly listening to the sound of her voice. I'd like to think she did the same, as she often had an afar off look in her eyes as I spoke. Whether she was listening intently or dancing around in her own little world, I wasn't sure.
Soon enough, the fact I didn't know Violetta all that personally began to unravel me. I suppose I was so awestruck by her and all her glory that I forgot she was from planet earth, that she was an ordinary person like you and I; that she led a life just like any other. Overrun with guilt, I sought it a good idea to ask deeper, more intellectual questions when we went out. She held nothing back, explaining she was the daughter of an impoverished tailor working a shop stationed near the outskirts of the city. Violetta went on to tell me they were never inherently wealthy, but rather just barely getting by. I could almost sense a twinge of jealousy in her voice when she inquired about my own past.
Yes, I might've had paper stacked miles high, but that could never make up for the fact that my folks were almost never there for me. I couldn't remember a time they ever were, really. From how Violetta made it sound, her family may not have been living the golden life, but at least they spent time with one another.
I shared with her the stories of the festivities I planned. She smiled as my eyes lit up, as they do when I'm talking about my passions. People dancing, laughing, bustling about and introducing themselves to one another. Relationships were established, the atmosphere reeked of drunken love--all in my own living room. Stories were written and dramatized right in front of me. Parties eased my loneliness; it was the only thing that maybe, just maybe I had a knack for. Meanwhile Violetta seemed to excel at everything she did. In truth, a part of me envied her.
I never really put any thought behind what could be the reason for her not looking me in the eye as I spoke. She had never come off as the bashful sort, really quite the opposite; so when I eventually realized, it started to worry me. Even still, I never confronted her on the matter.
Whether we were a set item or not, I wasn't sure--but our weekdays together were always consistent, I was overjoyed that she'd fallen in deeper love with me than the bustle of the big city.
"Good evening, miss Owens.", I smiled as I lifted her jacket off her shoulders and hung it on the rack nearby. She greeted me the same, but took no time sitting herself down on the sofa and gesturing for me to join her.
"Is something the matter, Violetta?", I inferred, with genuine concern. She almost seemed upset. "Everything is quite all right.", she began, sounding very unsure of herself, "It's just that.. My father. He's come down with pneumonia. Too many late nights on the job, I suppose. The cost of the medicine the doctor prescribed is more than all our savings combined. My mother has had no luck in finding a job of her own--but.. I'm sure he'll be alright. Anything can happen, right?"
"Right.", I nodded. "Violetta, I'm so sorry. I'd be happy to give you the money, it's no trouble, really."
"No, Vinique, I couldn't possibly take money from you, that isn't my place."
"Who's to say it isn't? Besides; it isn't stealing if I'm giving it to you myself. Really, I insist.", I placed my hand atop hers, taking her head in hand. "I don't want anything to ever get in the way of your happiness, that 24-karat smile you have. It'd kill me to ever see you cry." Despite her reluctancy, I sprinted upstairs to the family safe, grabbed what I thought would be more than enough money, and pushed it onto her. "Take it.", I urged. "Think nothing of it, as if you found it on the pavement. Buy your father that medicine, I'll keep him in my thoughts. I wish him well."
She looked to be on the verge of tears, her bottom lip aquiver as she moved her hair out of her face. "Vinique.. How am I to ever repay you?" I assured her that that wouldn't be necessary, for her presence was more than enough, and sent her off with a kiss on the cheek.
She didn't return until a week after that evening, but I never dared to question why-I didn't want to impose. When she finally met back up with me, she was as dazzling as ever. Violetta seemed to be in high spirits, which eased my worries concerning her father.
"How are you this evening, Miss Owens? I take it that your father's making a speedy recovery. You look lovely, I must say.", I took a bow while greeting her, the usual cheshire grin plastered on my face.
She plopped herself down on the sofa, tugging me down by her side before folding her hands. "He's making it along just fine.", she began. "There's still a bit of fluid in his lungs, but the doctor said it was nothing to worry about. I sincerely thank you, Vinique."
"My pleasure! I would've never let your father suffer like that--I wanted to thank you, rather, for allowing me to help.", I assured her once again that there was no need to repay me.
Violetta nodded her head, and as she did so, I could've almost sworn I saw the glint of silver earrings in my peripheral line of vision. She hadn't had them last time around. I began to worry if she had spent the money I'd lent on them, rather than the tonic for her father. The thought that her father may not have been ill to start with surfaced, but I pushed it to the back of my mind. I trusted Violetta-perhaps they were a gift from a friend; a relative, even.
I didn't confront her on the matter immediately, for she didn't ask anything of me after that meeting. Talk of her father never reoccurred, either. Even still, the thoughts of her using my money fallaciously troubled me. It wasn't that I necessarily needed it, or that I wouldn't have been happy to have given her money to spend on herself; but moreover the possibility of her lying to me. Faulty promises that my parents had made all those years ago had put a damper on my sense of trust. To ease my worries on the matter, I decided to speak with her about it the following night.
No sooner than I had opened my mouth, Violetta spoke up. "Vinique. What is it that you use your money for, exactly? A dusty fortune sitting behind these marble walls and I seldom see you around town. It's as if you're bound to this one spot, cursed to never spend a dime."
Her question befuddled me. She had never shown a direct interest in my belongings. This didn't help my suspicions, but really quite the opposite--naturally. "I've no interest in material things, Violetta. They're inanimate, without breath and soul. They cannot hold up a conversation, neither can they improve or worsen my emotional state. What need have I for petty possessions when I have all I could ever hope for in you alone?"
She flashed me a weak smile. I worried for her these days. "I'm sorry for ever bringing that up, hun. I don't know what got into me. The family's money situation has been getting to me lately, money's on my mind, I suppose. There's been talk of me having to find someplace else to rest my head, finding means of making my own money."
"Oh.. Violetta. I'm.. So very sorry. I'd be more than happy to let you-"
"Why don't I go grab us a drink? We can talk this out over a Sidecar.", she interrupted, her tone seeming to brighten at the idea.
"Yes, yes. That'd be magnificent.", I nodded. Maybe a little dulling of the senses was what we both needed--me with my overactive, bitter imagination and her with her folks' financial issues. Violetta was quite the talented mixologist, anyways--I was honored at the offer.
She returned in a matter of minutes, handing me a tall, orange glass and sitting herself down with hers in hand. She took a sip, as did I, and we set our drinks down on the coffee table in unison. I nearly laughed at the uncomfortableness of the momentary silence that followed; we resumed talking to end it as soon as possible.
A little ways into our conversation, I began to feel lightheaded. I broke into a cold sweat. A concerned expression made its way onto Violetta's face. I told her that I was fine when she asked, which was stretching the truth a bit--but I couldn't have her worrying about me.
My head soon felt like the inside of a marimba, throbbing at a dizzyingly steady pace. Nausea crept its way up my throat like an unwelcome visitor inviting themselves through the front door. The urge to be sick was so overwhelming I thought I might have to lean over the sofa arm at any moment. Assuming that the toilet would rather have my company than Violetta, I peeled myself up off the couch and attempted to carry myself to the lavatory. About halfway, my knees collapsed underneath me. My breathing became unsteady. Much to my displeasure, my heartbeat slowed. I could hear faintly the echo of stilettos coming to my aid. She moved too slowly.
The room dissolved into darkness. Enveloped in a sudden cold chill, I slipped into the unwelcoming arms of unconsciousness. I'd been poisoned.
