Background Noise [HS]

TWENTY-SIX

Violet was an independent girl growing up. Being the only child standing between two divorced parents, she had to be. The split is what caused the shifts in her relationships, whether it be with family members or friends at school. This was the last thing she wanted to do—turn a cold shoulder to the people meant to stand by her forever and distance herself from those meant to only bring her happiness by being near. It was entirely self-destructive, what she did in those last years of high school.

The ties between childhood friends were not stretched thin by the branching out graduation brought, but severed months before.

Violet tried not to let the toxicity of her parents' split seep into her other relationships, she really did. It was incredibly trying, listening to those telling her how she should feel without taking the moment to put themselves in her shoes. "Get over it," they said, making things sound so simple.

People on the outside looking in always speak as though they have the answers. Violet knew it, for she'd played the role. Three years ago, when her mother came to her and told her of her father's cheating, she told her to leave him. For Violet, it was simple: if you loved someone—truly loved them—you wouldn't do anything to risk losing them.

It was clear to those on both the outside and in that Cyrus was unhappy. If that were untrue, he would not have gone out looking for something better for months, perhaps years on end.

The fact that he had was enough reason to divorce, Violet had told her mother. She despised cheating and thought it a dishonest, unforgiveable thing; something no relationship could ever fully come back from. It was easy to say this, to feel it; Violet hadn't lived the twenty-year-long relationship, hadn't penned all those moments to memory and clung onto the good ones in hopes of distracting from the bad. For Scarlett, breaking those vows—even if they no longer stood true—was the hardest thing in the world.

On the outside looking in, it was incredibly frustrating to watch her mother struggle to regain something lost forever. The mere thought of ending up in the same situation turned Violet off, made her ambivalent when it came to forming relationships, for she both craved and feared them after the great divide of her family.

Cyrus took twenty years of Scarlett's life with him as he went, made her rethink every moment, wonder if it was all a sham. Giving someone such power to turn back the clock, turn something into nothing at all, was something Violet wanted no part in.

Although while she was consciously guarded, there was no controlling her dreams. She had them often—ones of beds dipping in warning before a body would come barreling into awaiting arms, lips searching for bits of skin. These dreams were vivid and revolved around touch, body heat and unfathomable warmth.

Scenes similar to the one she woke up to on that Christmas morning.

The voice calling her name was low, roughened with sleep. Disturbed, she let out a groan of complaint and pressed her face deeper into the mattress, fisting the sheets in her small palms. There was a boyish chuckle somewhere overhead, amusement found in the way her eyebrows furrowed together, clearly displeased in being pulled from sleep.

Harry lied on his side, elbow supporting all his weight, head perched on his hand. True to her word, Violet had subconsciously rolled away from him in her state of slumber and now lied on the other side of the mattress, back turned. He couldn't find much fault in it, not when she ran out of covers in her effort to stay asleep for just a moment more, repositioning herself back to where she'd started: head in the crook of his neck, fingers wrinkling the fabric over his collarbones.

His mouth was near her ear, now. "Violet."

She came to slowly, nose skimming along the jutting column of neck, lips doing a long, lazy drag. Harry smirked, sure she would not be doing this had she not been half-asleep still. He wondered why he waited so long; it was obvious Violet wanted to be near him, even in sleep. She pressed to him like one would into a pillow, eyelashes tickling the silky skin of his neck, body curling so as to conform to his, the small of her frame wrapped around his larger one.