Page 151 of Sweet Venom
Unlike Dahlia, who’s currently sucking Kane’s face, Violet isn’t comfortable with PDA, and if I force her into it, she just retreats into her shell, so I stopped doing it.
She’s been making so much progress in therapy, and I don’t want to be a negative influence.
I also stopped trying to separate her from the pest that is Preston, because it’s extremely rare for her to be this relaxed around anyone but Dahlia.
I still walk up to him and hit him upside the head, though, and he nearly chokes on a bite of cucumber.
“The fuck was that for?” He tries to kick me, but I dodge it at the last second.
“Stop being a nuisance.” I grab him by the nape. “She spent the whole afternoon cooking, so the least you can do is wait until dinner is served.”
“Well, I was helping!” Preston objects.
“By being a pain in the ass?”
“Veee.” Preston shrugs me off and walks to her side. “Jude is being mean.”
She smiles, but it falters when her eyes meet mine, the blue deepening until it resembles an ocean before she looks away.
My fist clenches.
Ever since I fucked her on the hill last week, she’s been…guarded?
No, she’s always been guarded around me. But this is different, taking it a step further.
As if she’s hiding something.
Which is ridiculous. I like to think that I know Violet inside out, but she often proves that she runs deeper than I think.
“I helped, didn’t I?” Preston asks while removing invisible dust from the table. “All this food couldn’t have been made without my good vibes.”
“I’m the one who actually helped,” Kane interjects as he and Dahlia bring more dishes to the table.
“Fuck off. No one asked you.” He grins down at Violet. “Right, Vee? Without me, this dinner wouldn’t happen.”
“True,” she says. “You suggested that I should host.”
“I brought it up, too.” Dahlia wraps her arms around Violet. “I’m jealous someone other than me will get to taste your food.”
“Hmph. You’re not that special, Diana.” Pres flicks her on the forehead, and Kane twists his arm.
Preston yells and protests while Dahlia waggles her brows at him.
As the three of them bicker, Violet walks up to me with a smile.
She doesn’t have the glasses on, her face looking brighter, more glowy, and her eyes spark gently.
And today, she’s dressed in a soft-blue cardigan and a light blue knit skirt that stops just beneath her knees. I’ve noticed she’s more comfortable wearing skirts and dresses lately.
While jeans and oversized hoodies are still her go-to, shesometimes dresses like this, and I love the light in her eyes when she does.
The confidence.
The way she’s growing into herself after over a decade of believing she’s worthless.
Even her journals are now more positive, filled with notes from her sessions with her therapist that she ‘loves to death’ and ‘feels lucky to have.’
She also includes childhood memories that she reflects on differently, having stopped the blame shifting and now trying to heal through finding closure.
