dear violet ➳ andy biersack (currently editing)

35

__________

chapter
thirty five
violet

________

Just as I was about to lunge forward and shout for their attention, I was distracted by a voice from behind me.

My head snapped over my shoulder.

It was Catelyn, running hard towards me, her chest heaving with quick breaths and pale wisps of hair escaping into her face.

"Violet!" she called urgently. "Violet, this is for the best! Leave them alone; trust me!"

I hesitated, glancing quickly between the figures framed black against the sun and my frantic mother, her eyes wide and the colour of ice cubes, her face flushed pink from all the running.

What was going on?

I demanded to know exactly that, and Catelyn shook her head once, quickly, gesturing for me to move away from the parking lot.

A feeling of tight unease had gripped me, and my eyes refused to stop gravitating towards the parking lot.

It was Andy and my father back there. I was sure of it.

What did they want from him? 

"What the hell is going on?" I burst out loudly, and Catelyn tried desperately to pull me away from the exit. She seemed eager to keep me hidden from them, to keep me safely out of the way.

Like hell.

"Get off!" I smacked her hands off my shoulder and arm, filled with panic and confusion. "That's my father back there, isn't it? With Andy? What does he want from him?"

Catelyn froze for a moment, and uncertainty flashed across her face.

It wasn't a lot, but it was enough.

"Was it my father who hurt Andy that afternoon? After the interview with you? Was it?" My voice rose almost to a screetch, and somebody called out from the parking lot behind me.

I started to spin around in the direction of the voice, but Catelyn caught my wrist tightly, tugging me back around to look at her. Her eyes were round and very, very serious.

"Violet. I want you to listen to me carefully. Your father and I would never hurt Andy. We would never hurt anyone who meant anything to you. We love you." Her eyes brimmed with tears, shiny and liquid, and she blinked them back. "And we've missed you so much. All those years. They were -" she squeezed her eyes shut, face contorting slightly, and drew a trembling breath. "agonizing. Not knowing where you were, what you were doing. It hurt more than anything in the world. You have to believe me, honey. I love you so much. Your parents adore you."

I felt myself go still. A deep, sweet sadness bloomed in my chest like an early autumn rose.

Memories that I'd never known threatened to unfurl. Memories of being tucked into bed, memories of hugs and kisses to the cheek, memories of being pushed on a plastic swingset, memories of a happy, loving childhood.

Memories that I'd read about in books, seen in movies, but never experienced firsthand.

Instead, when I dredged up my own childhood memories, all that came was a collossal loneliness. Because I had tucked myself into bed, I had written stories about the comfort I'd ached for from the parents that were barely home, I had sketched and painted all those games I'd so badly wanted to play with the friends I'd never had.