Even Wilder

Violet

Wilder ended up with five stitches on his forehead when I shoved him off of his bed. I'd almost had sex with Wilder. It was the only thing I wanted at that moment, and just like that, it all went away. Maybe it was a sign.

I spent the next day helping Mom take down all the Christmas decorations and put them back in the attic. And when we finished, we made soup for Wilder and Bing. They were still struggling with the death of their mother. And Bing was still giving Wilder a hard time.

He wasn't handling it well at all. Not knowing how to fix something was killing him. And more and more beer bottles were gathering around his house.

I knew I should be back at school, but I couldn't leave now when he needed me.

Mom snapped the lid on the soup and handed it over to me.

"Thanks. I'll run this over and probably come back," I told her.

"No worries." She picked her phone up from the counter. She had been carrying it around a lot more. And when I asked her what the deal was, she smiled and admitted she was talking to Garrett. Normally, I'd have been happy that my plan worked out. But now I was in a different place. I was worried about Wilder. I was confused about what the hell we were doing — wondering if the blow job was a bad idea.

I was about to find out.

I headed across the street with the soup and climbed the front porch knocking on the door.

"Hey," Wilder answered. "What's that?"

"Soup."

He moved out of the way so I could come inside and shut the door.

"He's in bed."

"It's six. Did Bing get out of bed at all today?"

"To take a piss. He took some medicine for his headache and went back to sleep."

I sighed. "This is not okay. You don't think this is okay, do you?"

"His mom was murdered. The doctors said he's going to have a hard time. They suggested professional help."

I walked the food in the kitchen and took two bowls out of the cupboard. I found some spoons and something to dish the soup.

"Well, I think that's a good idea. You should look into it." I walked the first bowl over to the table. "Eat."

Wilder sat down. "A psychologist isn't going to fix this."

I made another bowl for Bing. "You don't know unless you try. Maybe even a memorial or something for her will help."

"I'm not having a fucking funeral for her!"

I flinched, not expecting the anger that escaped from him when I mentioned his mother.

"Well, what do you want then?"

"For you to let me figure it out."

"You think a couple more beers will do the trick?" I shook my head, angry with him. "You're nothing but angry about this whole thing. Bing loved her. Maybe you didn't, but he did. Forget about your feelings for a minute and do this for your brother."

Wilder shoved the bowl of soup across the table, and it sloshed out, spilling all over the place. He slammed his fist next and shot out of his chair, sending it flying backward.

"This is what you're going to do?"

"I guess so," he snapped, going out the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

I went after him.

"This isn't how you should be handling this."

He stopped on the sidewalk. I think he was about to take off. Ready to escape from the shit going on in his house instead of dealing with it.

"How do you suppose we fix it? Your dad fucked you, and you buried that deep down inside somewhere. Tell me how that's working out for you."

Words fucking hurt, and he knew it. Wilder had never taken such a low blow. I knew it was his anger and mourning talking but it still fucking hurt.

"It's not working. That's why I deal with assholes like you." I wasn't mean. I didn't do this kind of thing. But I was angry. All I wanted to do was make him feel the way I felt.

He laughed, his face red, and when he looked at me, his eyes were hard and cold. Not the loving eyes I was used to seeing.

"Then go the fuck back to school, Violet."

***

Seeing Wilder's face on Saint's Instagram post told me I did the right thing going back to school. Instead of dealing with the shitty situation life gave him, he decided to party with Saint. The guy that didn't even care about him.

The Wilder I knew was slowly evaporating right before my eyes, and he didn't even care.

Day after day, the post kept coming. Wilder never looked anything but drunk. He had his tongue down a different girl's throat every picture. And he looked completely happy about it.

Wilder could go fuck himself. I was no longer willing to care about someone who didn't even care about himself .