Cigarette Burns.

Part 3.

It had to have been two in the morning when Asher was woken up by the slamming of the motel door. Out of protective instincts Asher flew out of bed to protect Violet, only to find it had been Violet at the door. Asher fell back down against a rotting chair in the corner of the room and grabbed his heart all while Violet went on a rant that Asher tried to follow along to, failing horribly. All Asher had caught note to was “Violet, scared, rose, pissed, done, pizza, pink, cat, hippy and Sara”

“Vi, slow down. Sit down.” Asher finally stood up and helped Violet sit down by grabbing her upper arms and lowing her onto the bed. Violet did her breathing exercise that she had been taught in Anger management classes when she was nine. When Violet opened her blue eyes Asher thought the power of them would throw him back against the wall, knocking down the TV and waking the neighbors up.

With Asher’s hands on her thighs and his face centimeters from her own Violet spoke. “This summer is meant to be wild, something to help us find our self. I want to be scared and eat pizza with you. I want to capture a wild cat and raise it together this summer, then drop it off at a hippy camp in August. But finding myself is pointless if I am always pissed off and scared that someone is going to recognize me. I mean what kind of person named their child Violet Rose? I say stupid people. I want to chance my name to Sara.”

After hearing what Violet was trying to say a lot of things were rushing through Asher’s mind. It was almost as confusing as Violets cluttered brain. Of course the doctor had given Violet some medication to help unclutter her brain, but without taking it on the roads, Violet was clutter again. Or as the mysterious Vi had said when she first met Asher. “I think my feet are at war with my ears and my brain is collateral damage. It’s a right damn mess.”

Some of the things going through Asher’s brain were, this summer was more about finding her then himself. Finding a place that she could finally love him. Also he was thinking that he hated cats, and he thought that Violet knew that. Or maybe this was the clutter confusing her with her ex-boyfriend Davis who had Violet completely brain washed to point she thought she was ugly. Asher wanted nothing more than to get a couple good punches in on that guy.             

“Violet baby, you aren’t allowed to change your name. I love it too much. I think that Violet Rose describes you very well.” Asher was one of the few people that could calm a manic Violet. You had to touch her cheek so very softly that she would itch it from the tickle. You had to look into her eyes and confuse her into thinking she was okay. Because eventually she would be okay, because Asher had that power. Asher made Violet the bed Violet.

Asher loved the name Violet. When he thought the world Violet he thought, brave, wild and beautiful. He thought strong, crazy and hot as hell. Asher thought of hot summer nights and cold winter miserable fires when he thought Violet. There was a lot of thing that Asher thought of when the name Violet was brought into conversation. He most recently starting to think of the perfect women riding on the back of his bike, completely carefree and happy, happier than she had been since her mother’s miscarriage ten years ago.

Something clicked in Asher when he remembered the baby that was still born. The night Violet had opened up to him about the ‘s’ carved into her hip. Asher found the ‘S’ strange, terrifying yet so beautiful. He found it beautiful not because he was Romanticizing self-harm but because it completed who Violet was. He told Asher things about her that no story ever could.

They had been sitting on the swing at the local park when Violet was ready to talk about it. She grabbed one chain of the swing and only turned slightly, enough to see Asher. Her legs cladded in tight black jeans crossed and her hipster-boots kicked mulch all around.

“When I was nine years old, my mother was going to have another baby. I was so happy when she told me about the baby.  Jarrod had always picked on me and I wanted someone to pick on.  I had made room in my bedroom for the crib, even though I didn’t need too. When my mom was seven months pregnant, she came home with tears in her eyes. And a flatter stomach. I was too young to realize she had lost the baby, and had to deliver it dead.”

Violet had told Asher that when they told her and Jarrod the baby was an angel-even though Jarrod was fourteen and knew what really happened- she felt lost and so sad. Four days later they buried the baby in the backyard under the oak tree that held Violet’s tree house and a swing for her parents on one branch. The grave had said

                “Here lay baby Sara, venerable and loved.”

Violet had asked her parents if she could get a tattoo of the baby’s name. Being only nine they told her she had to wait until she was 18. That was the first time Violet had carved into her own skin. She hadn’t really realized what she was doing, she figured she was just disobeying her parents and giving herself a tattoo. But then something in Violet switched and she took all of her anger and sadness out on herself. And then long after the grief of her sister, she was addicted to feeling.

Violet was in tears now in front of Asher in the motel because this manic attack had hit really strong and Asher wasn’t sure how much longer it would last so he pulled back the blankets on the bed and pushed Violet back into them curling himself around her.

“She should be here Asher, I shouldn’t.” Asher just shh’d Violet because as much as he believed that Sara deserved a place on earth, no one deserves it more than Violet.

“How about tomorrow you can go get her name tattooed on you, you’re old enough now to do it yourself.” That calmed some of the tears and Asher was glad, but he wished he could fix all of Violet’s problems with just a couple words.