His face reddens as he hunches over, lowering his face so it’s right in front of mine. His breath is searing hot and a large vein bulges in his forehead. “I’m not that much fucking older than you are, Violet! So stop with the age shit!” he shouts, the muscles in his neck tensing.

A surge of energy instantaneously crashes through me, my chest lifting and descending as I catch my breath, my heartbeat booming in my ears. It feels like I could do anything at the moment and maybe I will—maybe today is the day that I’ll take that extra step and finally fly away from all of this. As I rack my mind for something absurdly reckless I could do, he shifts his fingers from my arm and yanks me with him as he stomps toward the house. I should probably pull back and run… Maybe when I get in the house I’ll finally run away… or when he hits me again. Beats me. Would he beat me? Do I care? I’m not sure. About anything.

“Violet, are you okay?” The sound of Luke’s voice slowly penetrates my thoughts and my adrenaline surge deflates like a balloon.

“I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth as Preston glares at him from over my shoulder.

“Who the hell is he?” Preston’s nails pierce my skin as he glances from Luke to me and there’s a slight hint of uneasiness in his expression, like Luke’s presences unsettles him a little.

“My stalker,” I lie, not as amused as I want to be. The fact that I have nowhere to live, no one to count on, no one to help me is catching up with me.

“What?” Preston’s jaw drops as he blinks at me. “He’s stalking you?”

“No, he’s just a guy.” I blow out a breath and then raise my voice. “Who won’t leave me alone.”

“Who won’t leave you alone? Seriously?” Luke suddenly appears beside me, startling me by his abrupt nearness and how much anger is in his eyes. “You keep on showing up wherever I go.”

I angle my head to look up at him. “Because you look for me.” I know he really doesn’t, but I don’t want him to think I want or need him.

“I didn’t look for you any of the times I ran into you,” he protests and then his eyes cut to Preston as he folds his arms across his chest, his lean arms flexing. “And I sure wasn’t looking to drop you off at some old pervert’s house this morning.”

I feel this wave of heat in the air, but I don’t really believe that it’s a rapid increase in temperature so much as a spike in the excitement in my body. I feel it at the same moment that Preston releases me from his hold, his attention darting from me to the house, like he’s considering walk away, but ultimately it lands on Luke.

Luke stands beside me, unbothered as Preston hesitates and then inches closer to him. I’m not sure if Luke’s protecting me, or just looking for a fight, but it’s kind of obvious that Luke’s making Preston a little nervous. I wonder if Luke would continue helping me if he knew what was going on in my head, how invigorated I feel over the fact that at any moment they could start swinging and I could get caught in the middle.

“You think some punk kid is going to scare me?” Preston says with an off-pitch laugh. “Wow, that’s a new one.”

Luke licks his bottom lip, which is still swollen from last night’s fight. His knuckles are crusted over with blood and there’s dried blood on his shirt. He also has a cut on his forehead that looks like it needs some peroxide on it. He looks pretty beaten up already and for a split second I actually care enough that I consider taking his arm and pulling him away, to protect him from getting hurt, even though I’m not sure things would go down that way. But then he moves forward and lines himself up with Preston, his hands balling into fists. He’s taller than Preston and sturdier in the chest. He also seems more willing to throw a punch or two, more rough and ragged.

“Do you think some old dude scares me?” Luke’s eyes flare with the tone of his voice. “Especially one that likes to hit women?”

At first I’m confused because Preston hasn’t hit me, but then I remember how he did last night. Luke must have put two and two together.

Preston glances at my cheek without turning his head. “You told him I hit you?”

I shrug, even though I didn’t. “Maybe.”

Luke starts to open his mouth to say something, the muscles in his arms flexing. Preston flinches, like he thinks Luke’s going to hit him and cranks his arm back and sucker punches Luke right in the jaw. I cringe, tripping backward at the sound of the pop, remembering the pain I felt when he did the same thing to me. Like me, it doesn’t look like it bothers Luke, only pisses him off. Without missing a beat, Luke slams his fist into Preston’s face. Before Preston can even register what happened, Luke is driving his fist again toward Preston, this time connecting with Preston’s ribs. Preston swings right around and hits Luke in the gut. Luke’s face contorts in pain, but it doesn’t faze him, and before Preston can catch his breath Luke brings his knee up and rams it into Preston’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. I’m torn on whether to run to Preston and break up the fight or let Luke hurt him. This whole thing has gotten out of hand and I still owe Preston for giving me a roof over my head when no one else would. I want to help Luke, too, though, because he’s helped me more than most.

I can feel an ache inside my chest just thinking about the idea of him getting hurt. But I also just stand and watch them fight to see how far they’ll go, how dangerous things will get. I’m so fucked up in the head and I don’t think I can make a decision at the moment, even though it feels like I need to. It no longer seems like it’s about me, but more about them brutally beating each other up, maybe to death. And what if they do get hurt? Or one of them dies? Then what? Am I responsible? Do I care? Do I want to care about either of them?

I remain motionless, observing their movements, hearing each crack as their bones collide, their rapid breathing, the way the sunlight hits them. I hear my own breathing, the way I’m gasping for air, the way my heart races faster with each desperate breath. The sunlight starts to flicker in and out of focus as my vision spots over. This has happened to me a couple of times and if I don’t do something quickly, I’m going to collapse.

I try to step forward and unlock my knees, but I can’t get my feet to budge. My legs, arms, and tongue are numb and rubbery and it feels like an elastic band is wrapped around my forehead. I try to open my mouth to say “stop,” but the world tips to the side and I fall with it. I manage to get my hands down before I slam into the ground, but the gravel scrapes my knees, and my palms open. Warm blood oozes out. It’s been a while since I’ve had an adrenaline overload, at least a few years.

The first time was a little harder to deal with. It was right after I found my parents. I’m not sure why I did what I did when I found them. I was old enough that I should have known better and called the police right away. But I remember hiding for what seemed like forever, even after the people snuck out the window. I remember how full the moon was and how even though I didn’t fully understand what was going on, there was this excruciating ache in my chest caused by the deafening silence of the house. I think it was sunrise when I finally dared to go upstairs. It was about the time my dad usually woke up for breakfast, but the kitchen was empty, so I went up to their room, telling myself that I was just going to wake them up.

The first thing I noticed was that the door was wide open, not cracked like they usually left it, and then I noticed the blood droplets on the carpet. Seconds later I saw them. It felt like I’d been kicked in the gut, the wind knocked out of me, fingers wrapped around my neck. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to die. I’m not sure whether it was the lack of air or my rubbery knees that kept me on the ground for so long, trapping me there, looking at my parents soaked in their own blood. Or maybe it was the fact that once I moved, my life would start moving again while theirs would stay frozen. Forever.