The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 2)

Those eyes are the reason for the bracelet.

In my life I’ve never seen eyes so damn wide and alive—they are going to haunt me for the rest of the night. Maybe longer. I caught a glimpse into her soul in that moment, which makes me sound like a fucking lunatic, but to hell with judging my own inner thoughts.

Violet just…

Just…

I can’t even describe the moment, couldn’t if you paid me.

Fucking Violet and her sappy, bleeding heart. This restlessness is all her goddamn fault.

I thought she was normal.

I didn’t realize she was hurting, too.

I roll this idea around in my mind, fluffing my pillow again so it’s resting against my headboard, trying my damnedest to relax.

It doesn’t work because I’ve realized Violet is broken.

Hurt. Damaged. Like me.

I punch my pillow angrily, frustration building—I can’t even formulate my own fucking thoughts anymore.

Whatever, I’m not going to be around her long enough to find out what her problems are. She might be a friend, someone I’d take to fundraising dinner, but it’s not like we will be hanging out any more after tonight, painting each other’s toenails and sharing crybaby stories about our childhoods.

Especially since she stares straight through me, trying to figure me out. Sees through my bullshit.

I pound the pillow one last time, tossing one of the four onto the floor.

Violet might be quiet, might stutter, but she’s no fool.

Maybe the fool here is me.

Zeke

Violet: Hi…

I’m surprised to see a text from Violet when my phone pings; we haven’t seen or spoken to each other since the fundraiser. Not because it’s been weird, but because my training and traveling and tournament schedules have been fucking insane.

I had to cancel on Kyle this week to accommodate wrestling, and already feel kind of guilty about that.

We’re entering town when Violet’s second message pops into my notifications, the streetlights illuminating the inside of our bus. Around me, my teammates and coaches stir as we approach campus.

Violet: I know it’s been a week or wahtever but I just wanted to see how everything was doing. Summer was asking about play date, but no rush. I know you’re busy and I won’t hold you to the three but lets’ I don’t want to let them down/

Zeke: Okay.

I stare at the text, reread her message a few times and can’t think of any way to respond, mostly because there doesn’t seem to be any point in her random text. Considering this is Violet we’re talking about—organized, prompt, studious Violet—the run-on sentence, bad punctuation, and misspelled words throw me off.

I frown.

Violet: I’m sorry, ignore that

Too late for that, Vi.

Palming the phone in my hand, it glows again when the bus passes through security at the stadium, drives across the expansive mass of concrete, pulls up near the building. Stops.

We wait patiently as Daryl, the bus driver, does his quick cross-check, speaks with Coach at the front, and finally unlocks the folding door at the front.

We’re home, and free to exit the bus.

Grabbing my shit from the overhead bin and the empty seat next to me, I follow behind my teammates as they’re slowly herded forward, shuffling down the aisle, my wireless headphones still in place, heavy metal guitar riffs playing in my ears.

A few stadium personnel are already in the process of unloading our bags by the time I hop off the last step, dragging the black hood of my sweatshirt up over my head. Spot my duffle immediately. Swipe it off the ground and head toward my truck without a shower, head down, thumb brushing over Violet’s text.

A few things occur to me then: I don’t think she’s ever been the one to text me first. It isn’t much of a shock, since she’s generally more reserved, the least pushy girl I’ve ever met.

I wonder what she’s been up to since the fundraiser—since she kissed me in her driveway. That kiss kept me awake longer than it should have and had me watching Tumblr porn when I should have been sleeping, not jerking off my rod.

I wonder if this means I’ve actually missed having her around?

Or just that I like jerking it to porn gifs?

Or both?

Regardless, Violet is the only person that’s texted me since we left for Ohio State; the team’s been gone for thirty-six hours.

My thumbs tap out a reply.

Zeke: The team just got back into town from an away meet in Ohio. Literally just pulled into the stadium, which is where we park our cars during away meets. What are you doing right now?

I briefly wonder if she’s drunk.

Violet: What am I doing right now? Nothing because its wild and crazy Friday nigh, juts me myself and I.

I yank the ball cap out of my backpack, sliding it on under my hoodie, twisting it left, then right, then squeezing the bill so it’s tighter. My fingers work fast.

Zeke: Violet, is everything

Hit send. Oops.

Zeke: Vi, is everything okay?

Long pause.

Violet: Do you want me to be honest?

Violet: No, it’s not. Everythng i not okay.

Movements in my peripheral catch my eye and I glance up, propping one foot on the running board of my truck. Oz is approaching with all his shit, duffle bags slung over his broad shoulders.

He raises his arms. “What the hell man? You couldn’t wait five minutes?” His blue eyes narrow into suspicious slits. “You weren’t gonna leave me here, were you?”

“Nah, just had a few texts messages that couldn’t wait.”