I quietly pad across the kitchen, make myself a coffee, then cross the living room littered with garbage, chips, cards. I head for the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony, slide it open, and step out into the morning sunlight, a gentle breeze kissing my skin. I climb up onto the thick wooden railing with the cup of coffee in my hand and sit down, relaxing against the beams with my feet hanging over the edge. I stare down at the ground, not thinking about jumping for once, but thinking about the past.

I remember the first time I had to switch foster families. I was seven and didn’t understand why at first. Yeah, I knew I was acting a little crazy and I cried a lot, but people weren’t just supposed to give up kids, right? It’s not like I wanted a lot, just someone to help me feel safe from the darkness that was living inside me, the memories that haunted me, the loneliness.

The look on their faces as I packed my suitcase and headed out with my social worker was one I never would forget. They weren’t sad to see me going, they were relieved. They didn’t want me, not like my parents did. The painful, brutal, harsh reality of life struck me in the chest that day and nearly crippled me. From then on I refused to get attached to anyone, knowing eventually they’d hand me back. It was easier not to feel anything than to feel all the bad. And I’ve been doing it ever since, refusing to feel anything except the one thing I can control. My adrenaline rushes. So easy to start. To endure. Much better to feel than the harder stuff, like heartache.

I shut my eyes and let the sunlight spill over me as I sip the coffee, warm my skin, knowing that what happened with Luke last night wasn’t just an adrenaline rush. I felt stuff with him. Even drunk. I’ve been feeling stuff for him since the day he helped me get to class. He’s helped me out so much and never asked for anything in return. He makes me feel safe and sometimes when he looks at me, touches me, kisses me, it feels like he wants me. All of me. The cranky, erratic, Violet that falls out windows and kicks him in the head. Who relies on him a little too much, yet he never seems that bothered. He goes against my theory about people and I just cross my fingers that I’m not wrong.

I hear the sliding door glide open and I don’t open my eyes, holding my breath as I set the cup down on the railing.

“Violet, what are you doing out here?” Luke asks.

I keep my eyes sealed shut, wondering if he can remember last night or if he was too drunk. “Just thinking?”

“About what? Is it… Are you thinking about last night?” He seems nervous and I hear the door glide shut, so it’s just him, me, and the open ground below.

“You really want to know?” I ask softly.

“Yeah… I do,” he says, sounding strained and I open my eyes and twist around to look at him.

He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his skin pallid, almost green, and his clothes are wrinkled. He was sleeping with his head turned and his hair is flattened on one side, not the most attractive look, yet I can’t seem to look away from him.

“I’m thinking about my life.” I have to catch my breath because I just told the truth and the raw realness of it nearly smothers me.

He scans me over and then joins me on the railing, sitting next to me with his feet on the deck. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about mine, too.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because… you go against everything I’ve built… for myself.”

“Yeah, you, too,… for me…”

We stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, the sun beaming down on us as we refuse to look away, but not because we’re challenging each other. Because we’re trying to figure something out.

“Look about last night.” Luke speaks first, leaning against the beam and drawing his bare foot up onto the railing. “I think I should explain myself… I had no right to bang on that door like a fucking controlling, obsessed lunatic… I’m not usually like that.”

“Actually you kind of are,” I say, bringing the coffee cup up to my lips. “I’ve thought you were intense even before we officially met, Mr. Stoically Aloof.”

“Is that why you gave me that stupid nickname?” he asks, massaging the back of his neck.

My shoulders lift and fall as I shrug. “Maybe.” I set the coffee cup down.

He shakes his head, a small smile touching his lips. “You always find a way to get out of answering questions. It’s like you have a gift.”

“A gift for avoiding things I don’t want to deal with,” I say, combing my fingers through my tangled hair, which stinks of booze and pot.

His hand drops to his lap. “What don’t you want to deal with?”

“Everything… sometimes life is just too hard and seems pointless to deal with.”

Alarm fills his eyes as he misunderstands me. “Violet, I—”

I quickly lean over and cover his mouth with my hand. “Don’t think I’m suicidal. I already told you I didn’t jump out the window because of that… I’m just trying to tell you what’s bothering me in the only way I’m comfortable with. I’m not a fan of getting to know people or letting them into my life. Besides Luke, you’re pretty much the only person who I…” I have no idea how to finish that sentence because I’m still trying to figure out what Luke is to me. “You saw on the news… the thing about my parents. Well, after that… after they died, I pretty much didn’t have anyone. It was just me and an endless amount of foster families who were pretty much giving me a roof over my head but not much more than that. So I learned to take care of myself and it’s been that way for a long time. Just me and my life.”

“So you only take care of yourself,” he mumbles against my mouth, sounding surprisingly understanding.

I move my hand away from his mouth and slump back. “I had to. It gets hard to deal with, you know, especially when no one sticks around.” I’m not sure if I’m making any sense or what point I’m trying to get across. Maybe I’m trying to scare him away or just explain why I can’t keep getting involved with him.

“I actually get that,” he tells me. “My father bailed out on our family when I was young and now he wants to come back into my life and it’s hard.”

“I’ve had a lot of fathers,” I say, making air quotes. “And none of them wanted to come back into my life. You’re lucky yours does.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He stares at the parking lot out in front of us. “Violet, if you ever need to talk about stuff… I’m here.” I can tell it takes him a lot to say it, which makes it more meaningful.

“I’m not much for talking,” I say. “But thanks.”

“Still,” he turns his head toward me, “know the offer’s there.”

I nod, unsure how to react to what he’s saying—that I have someone. He wants to be my someone.“Okay.”

He extends his hand toward me and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “We kind of got off the subject of you and I, though, and I’d really like some answers about us, before I lose it… I came very close to losing it last night.”

“I know,” I say, curious what Luke looks like when he completely loses it. “I have issues with staying focused on tough subjects, though, and it seems you and I are a tough subject.”

He starts to smile but then frowns, looking flustered. “Violet, I don’t know what to do with us… with any of what happened… what’s happening.”

I frown in puzzlement. “Why do you have to do something with us at all? Why not just let things be?”

He blinks away from the parking lot and looks at me, eyes intense even for him. “Because of last night. I don’t just do that. Mess around and then cuddle for the whole damn night.”

“Yeah right,” I attempt to make a joke to avoid the heaviness between us. “I think we already established that you were a cuddler.”

He rolls his eyes, but grins. “Only you.”

I shield my eyes from the sun with my hand. “What does that mean?”

“It means only you have ever been able to get to me like this. Frustrate me and yet still make me want to be around you at the same time.” He scoots off the railing and stretches his arms above his head, his shirt riding up and giving me another glimpse of his abs. Then he lowers his arms and reaches his hand out toward me. “I think it’s time we did something that we’ve been needing to do since the first day we met.”

“You mean when I kicked you in the face?” I feel my stomach spin as I remember the first night I officially met him and how much things have changed since then, in both good and bad ways. “What did you have in mind?”

He restrains a laugh as I thread my fingers through his and he pulls me to his feet. “I’m going to take you out on a date.”

I choke on a laugh, but realize he’s being serious. “Oh my God, you’re not joking.”

“Of course I’m not joking.” He slides the glass door open. “I don’t joke.”

We enter the living, which has a pungent smell to it due to the garbage all over the place, and then he shuts the door. The air is musty, probably from everyone smoking, and there’s something that looks like wine spilled on the carpet.

“A date?” I ask as he steers me across the living room, kicking some cards and bottles out of the way. “Really? It seems a little formal don’t you think? Considering we’ve kissed, slept together, moved in together, and then all that other stuff you did to me last night.”

He presses his hand to his heart, still holding my hand so I touch his chest, too. He keeps it there as he opens the door to our bedroom. “Hey, don’t pretend you didn’t like it. In fact, I’m pretty sure you were the one who suggested it.”

“I did not,” I tell him. “But I did like it, which makes dating seem even harder. I mean, what are we supposed to do? Sit and eat dinner while we chat about our lives when everything between us is so intense?”