Peeling off the surface

RYAN

A tense silence filled the space between us, the air heavy with unspoken words. Violet’s eyes bore into mine, sharp and probing, a quiet storm brewing beneath the surface. She knew. There was no doubt about it.

Had Ashley told her? Regret gnawed at me, twisting in my gut. I shouldn’t have confided in her. I should’ve known better than to trust her with this.

I didn’t know how to start, what to say to justify what I’d done. And the way Violet stared at me—cold, detached, yet laced with an unmistakable hurt—made the words stick in my throat.

“Do you know why I didn’t want to involve the police?” she asked suddenly, her voice calm. Too calm. It sent a shiver down my spine because this wasn’t the Violet I was used to.

I held her gaze, swallowing hard, unsure where she was going with this.

“You probably think it’s because I’m weak,” she continued, her tone steady but her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “That I can’t stand up for myself. That I’m just some fragile little girl too scared to face reality.”

“No—” I started, but she held up a hand, silencing me.

“I’m not done,” she said quietly.

Her jaw tightened, and I saw her fighting for composure. Every muscle in her face was taut, a mirror of the turmoil I knew she was holding back.

“The truth is, Ryan, I couldn’t do it,” she admitted, her voice trembling now. “I couldn’t hand Luke over to the police because it would mean acknowledging how deeply he betrayed me. It would mean admitting that someone I trusted could destroy me so completely. And maybe that does make me weak.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, and I clenched my fists at my sides, willing myself to stay silent, to let her finish.

“But what did you did?” she said, her voice rising slightly, anger simmering beneath her calm exterior. “You went behind my back, Ryan. You took it into your own hands, like you always do, thinking violence would solve everything. You didn’t stop to think about what I wanted, how I felt. And that... that hurts more than anything Luke did.”

I flinched. Her words were sharper than any blow I’d ever taken.

“I told you once, didn’t I?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “I hate violence. I hate it because it doesn’t fix anything. It only makes things worse. And now, because of you, I have to deal with this all over again.”

“I was trying to protect you,” I said finally, my voice low, rough with guilt.

“Protect me?” she repeated, shaking her head. “You don’t protect me by hurting others, Ryan. You don’t get to decide what I need.”

Her words cut deep, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. She was right. As much as I wanted to believe I was doing this for her, it wasn’t about her at all. It was about me—about my anger, my helplessness, my need to make someone pay.

“I’m sorry,” I said, the words tasting hollow even as I spoke them. “I... I just couldn’t stand the thought of him walking free after what he did to you.”

Her eyes softened for a fraction of a second, but then she shook her head, stepping back.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she whispered. “This isn’t about him anymore. It’s about us”

The room felt colder as the weight of her words settled between us.

She turned to leave but stopped at the doorway, her hand lingering on the frame. She didn’t turn back, but her voice carried a quiet force that made the hairs on my neck stand on end.

“This isn’t just about Luke, Ryan,” she said softly, her tone laced with something heavier than anger—disappointment, maybe even hurt. “It’s not just about making him pay for what he did. You didn’t go after him just for me. You did it because you needed to. Because there’s something inside you that won’t let you stop.”

Her words struck a chord I didn’t want to acknowledge. I opened my mouth to respond, to deny it, but she wasn’t finished.

“You think I don’t see it?” she continued, her voice rising slightly. “That constant need to lash out, to control, to take matters into your own hands because you can’t bear the weight of... whatever it is you’re carrying? You think I don’t notice how tightly wound you are, like you’re holding something back every second of every day?”

My chest tightened. She was wrong—she had to be. This wasn’t about me. This was about protecting her, about doing what she refused to do herself.

“I don’t know what it is, Ryan,” Violet said, her voice softening again, and she finally turned to face me. Her eyes shimmered, and for a moment, I thought she might cry. “But I wish you’d let me in. I wish you’d stop burying it so deep and just tell me. Because if you don’t, if you keep holding it in, it’s going to fester. And when it does, it’ll destroy you.”

Her words landed like a blow, each one cutting deeper than the last. I wanted to argue, to tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about. But as I stood there, fists clenched and jaw tight, something shifted.

She was right.

The truth I’d been avoiding hit me like a freight train. It wasn’t just about Luke. It hadn’t been for a long time. This anger—the fire that burned hot and unrelenting—wasn’t new. It had been with me for as long as I could remember, buried under layers of control and denial. Luke was just the latest excuse to let it out.

And now, Violet saw it too.

Her voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. “Until you figure it out... until you’re ready to talk to me, to stop keeping secrets... I’m done, Ryan.”

My head snapped up, but she was already halfway out the door.

“Violet, wait—”

“No,” she said firmly, not turning back this time. “I can’t do this anymore. Not like this.”

And just like that, she was gone. The sound of her footsteps faded down the hall, and I was left standing there, the weight of her words settling over me like a suffocating blanket.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, running a hand through my hair before sinking onto the edge of the bed.

The room was too quiet now, the kind of silence that made it impossible to ignore your thoughts. My hands rested on my thighs, bloodied knuckles a painful reminder of what I’d done—and why.

Violet was right. This wasn’t just about Luke. This was about something deeper, darker. The anger that had simmered inside me for years, the pain I’d learned to swallow until it became second nature.

I thought about the fights I’d picked, the punches I’d thrown, the satisfaction I’d felt every time my fists connected. It was never just about the fight itself—it was about release, about control, about keeping everything else at bay for a little while longer..

But Violet had seen through all of that. She’d peeled back the layers I’d spent years building, and now there was no hiding from it.

“Damn it,”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands. For the first time in a long time, I felt something other than anger. Guilt. Shame. And a flicker of something I hadn’t let myself feel in years. Fear.

It wasn’t the fear of losing a fight or facing some kind of consequence—it was the fear of losing her. Of losing Violet. Because deep down, I knew she was right. I couldn’t keep doing this, couldn’t keep running from whatever it was that haunted me.

I could feel the remnants of that pain and guilt creeping in, pushing me toward this destruction, this path of self-sabotage. But I kept it locked away, buried so deep that I convinced myself it didn’t matter anymore.

But it did.

I sat there, the weight of my past pressing in on me. I thought about my childhood—the things I’d tried so hard to forget, the things I never could.

And now, Violet saw it. She was seeing it all, and it terrified me. Because she was right. If I kept holding this in, if I kept pretending like I didn’t need to face it, it would destroy me. It would destroy us.

Maybe it was time I let her in. Time I stopped pretending. Time I told her everything. Because the alternative—losing her—was something I couldn’t live with.