Page 84 of Crimson Desires

I inhaled sharply through my nose. “Yeah, well, I can imagine that seeing me grown-up would be shocking. Seeing as how you weren’t there for most of the growing part.”

“Aster, what do you remember about our childhood?”

I was taken aback by that question. I furrowed my brow, taking a moment to think. Then, slowly, I answered, “It was fine. I mean, Mom was Mom. But overall, it was pretty normal.”

“Mom was Mom. And I don’t think you were old enough to realize this at the time, but she was a lot more Mom to me than she was to you.”

The Floridian breeze danced through my hair and tickled my skin. The smell of salt and sunscreen and seafood teased my nose.

My eyes tracked a droplet of water as it trickled down the side of my glass.

“I remember that you two fought,” I admitted, my voice smaller than I’d intended for it to be. “But I don’t remember much else.”

Violet nodded, accepting this. She picked at the skin on the back of her hand. I scrunched my nose—I always hated it when she did that. When Violet was a teenager, she’d pick at her skin until she broke it. Then, she’d lick at the blood like some kind of freakish vampire.

I always thought it was just her being weird.

Now, as I looked at her otherwise scabless hands, I wondered if it was a more specific stress response.

“Mom and I had a really bad relationship, Aster. I won’t mince words—she was abusive to me. Emotionally and physically.”

Violet’s words hung heavy in the air. I suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

“I tried my best to protect you from it, but I could only do so much.” Violet laughed humorlessly. “Do you remember that time you accidentally broke the microwave because you left a metal fork on your plate when you tried to reheat some leftovers? I told Mom that I did it, because I was so scared of what she’d do to you if she found out the truth.”

I tried to summon the memory to my brain. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I was unable to.

I could see fragments of it. Fuzzy still images of sparking microwaves and the faint smell of burning. But I couldn’t tell if those memories were real or invented. Yet, I didn’t needto be sure of my memory to know that Violet was telling the truth. It only took one glance at her haunted expression to assure me that she was.

“Mom beat my ass so badly that I couldn’t sit right for a week,” Violet said.

I frowned. “Dad let her do that?”

“Dad wasn’t around. He was at work.” Her voice took on a bitter quality. “All Dad ever knew was what Mom told him.”

The waiter came back with our food. I forced a polite smile and thanked him as he presented our meals to us.

My hot plate of garlic-brushed fish tacos looked delicious, but I couldn’t dredge up the appetite for it. Violet seemed to feel the same. She didn’t even look at her shrimp carbonara.

“Things only got worse as we grew up. I tried to tough it out, but by the time I was eighteen, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I knew that running away would mean leaving you behind. But for my happiness and survival, I had to choose myself,” Violet said.

My mind drifted back to Jack’s story about his mother and the seashell. Jack’s voice played like a skipping record in my head: “It’s okay to be selfish sometimes.”

As Violet explained herself, my anger faded like a candle’s flame being denied oxygen. I tried to recall the fire—the burning anger that warmed my chest and set my jaw. I tried to remember the sting of being abandoned by my older sister. The resentment of having to take care of our father alone.

But all I could feel was sorry.

Sorry for Violet. Sorry for myself. Sorry that we had become victims of a pain that kept on giving.

“I get it,” I finally said. My voice felt raw. “I get why you left. But still... why didn’t you ever try to reach out to me? I would have understood.”

Violet poked at her food. “I didn’t know how to. I wanted to contact you, Aster. Honestly, I did. But trying to do that without alerting Mom or Dad was impossible. Or, at least, it felt impossible. I know that’s not a good excuse. I wish I had a better one.”

I listened to the waves crash against the shore of the sandy beach below us. I focused on the hypnotic drone of restaurant patrons talking, laughing. I tried to remember the lyrics of the pop song playing over the speakers.

Yet, no matter what I did, I couldn’t distract myself from Violet. My sister. The woman who shared my face, my history, my DNA.

I took a steady breath.

---