Vanishing Act [Violet/Vanyel]

Violet tried calming herself down, hiding it in the look on her face, but it was hard. Her body reacted on its own and revealed it all. The look on Solomon’s face told Violet she was safe from him realizing what it might have meant. Violet wasn’t sure whether it was trust, ignorance, or his normally optimistic outlook that kept him from recognizing that darkness. In a way, that was an endearing quality, but…

Violet got the opposite reaction from Vanyel. He knew. He knew immediately. He wasn’t a psychologist or a doctor, so was it experience that made him recognize it? In a way, she felt bad that he could recognize it, but that emotion disappeared when she realized her secret had been exposed. She didn’t want anyone to know. She was dirty now. She felt it Every. Single. Day. And now they also knew it.

‘I can’t clean this…’

That word. That place was haunting her every single night. Vanyel had been witnessing that with her weekly nightmares and night sweats. She woke up screaming multiple times a week. Her showers were always longer than most people would consider normal. Any hugs were initiated by her; she'd dodge others.

Violet looked to Vanyel, her eyes squeezing out tears. She couldn’t answer immediately. The nod that answered his question was forced. A single sob escaped and Violet backed away from them so far that she stepped back into the bathtub. She leaned back into the corner, knocking some bottles of soaps and conditioners off the shelves, as she slid down until she was sitting in the actual tub. The entire time, she was still holding tightly onto the bottom of her shirt. They knew now.

Violet kept shifting her gaze between Vanyel and Solomon. Even though Solomon was silent, standing there stunned, Violet felt like she needed to know what he was thinking. She had considered him her best friend, though truly, until Vanyel had moved in to help teach her to fight, Solomon had been her only friend. In a way, this silence was damning because Violet’s mind was just making his answers up in her own head, but each answer was dripping with her father’s venom.

Immoral. Freak. Dirty. Whore.

Unclean. Unwanted. Disgusting. Filthy. Worthless. Whore.

Used. Trash. Broken. Unworthy. Shameful. Whore.

'I hate this...'

Vanyel inched toward Violet, the sound of the broken glass moving along bathroom tile caught her attention and pulled her from her personal hell. Violet shifted a little, watching him like an animal with its leg stuck in a trap, as if any quick movement would startle her. She put her hand on her side, over her wound, and then looked at her hand. It was bleeding, but not gushing, so she wasn’t in danger of dying, which made Violet look disappointed at the small amount of blood. She said nothing though, letting those thoughts stay hidden from them. And she had no choice, even if Vanyel said so. They weren’t going to let her bleed out.

“I can’t... I can't see it,” Violet muttered, her bloodied hand shaking as it lifted her shirt just enough to show the wound. It was clear that the wound wasn’t too deep, but it was long and wouldn’t easily stop what bleeding it was doing. Once Vanyel began, Violet glanced up to Solomon again. She couldn't look him in the eyes anymore, so it was only for a moment. 'I just… can't do this anymore...'

"...Mexico?"

Solomon blinked, maintaining a dumbfounded gaze as his eyes shifted between them. He recalled her injuries and the anger that laid dormant that day, the damnable regret that never vanished. After all, it was precisely because of that event, that he felt such an abject fear toward letting her join the Vandenreich.

He never wanted to repeat that event, to bear witness to the pain she had endured, and the way she had tried to console him. Solomon kept his space as was instructed, his eyes never leaving Violet as he recognized her glancing at him, even if for a moment.

He cursed that he couldn't read her mind, or even read the mood of the room. His mind awash with confusion, he simply shook his head as he offered Violet a reassuring smile while Vanyel nursed her wounds. At the very least, he would continue to assure her that Vanyel's words were undeniably true. Supporting her was his topmost priority right now.

"Again... I understand why you feel that way right now. What I said was harsh and dismissive, ignoring everything you've done to improve. Training with me. Training with him. All so you could make a name for yourself... and prove your parents wrong. And because I feared you might get hurt again... I spoke out of turn. I understand if you need your space, but know this; from now on, I'll never make that same mistake again, I'll never turn my back on you, and I'll never treat you as anything less than someone capable of great things. You have my word."

Finishing those words, he kept his distance as Vanyel instructed, his eyes never leaving her in the slightest.

Violet kept eye contact with Solomon, maybe even a little too much. She seemed really focused on him, his words, his eyes…And when Vanyel touched her with whatever he was using to clean her wounds, she tensed and twitched. She kept holding her breath, exhaling when she couldn’t anymore. Her expression distorted to pain and discomfort… with some fear, but she never looked away from Solomon.

When the cleaning stopped and the glass was out of her leg, Violet turned back over and sat up normally, or as normal as one could get while squished into the corner of a tub. While more movement was occurring, Violet looked between them. The medical stuff was disposed of and Vanyel turned to her again, so her hyper-focused eyes stopped on his. She considered his offer, eyes now darting left and right, not looking at either man while she thought about his question.

‘I can’t stay in here anymore… I wanna leave. They wouldn’t…’

“Carry me…” Violet answered. She was barefoot and it would take a while to clean up the glass. “I… Just… Don’t… I…” She couldn’t get the words out. She couldn’t figure out what she wanted to say, but once Vanyel reached in, she didn’t fight him. She just felt so tense in his arms, each part of her trembling.

Solomon's gaze never left Violet's as he continued to observe her. Some small part of him genuinely wished she felt comfortable enough to tell him what else happened in Mexico, but he dared not press the issue. At the moment, Violet was following Vanyel's instructions.

He was thankful they were able to progress that much compared to the last few minutes. He would remain here as long as she needed and would leave only when she demanded. For his grave error, for the bed that he had made with his own words, he would support and prove to her that he genuinely cared for her.

"Don't worry, Violet. I don't mind leaving this room if you need space. At the very least, let Vanyel tend to your wounds. Whatever you have to say to me, if you have something to say to me, can wait... if that's what makes you feel at peace."

True to his word, he rose from the ground to go to the door as he nodded his head. He didn't leave exactly, but if she wanted him to go while Vanyel tended to her - then, that, too was fine. Her condition was his topmost priority right now.

‘I hate this…’ Violet didn’t want Solomon to go… She hated watching him walk out of the room; he just didn’t get it. She couldn’t say the words out loud. She couldn’t let him know what happened back then. It was embarrassing. Under Solomon’s gaze… Violet just felt… unclean. ‘I get it... Even I wouldn’t want to touch me…’

Violet ended up in Vanyel’s arms, tense, and once again burying her face in his shoulder to hide it all. She couldn’t look at Solomon anymore; the shame was too much for her. She just wanted to disappear. The next thing she knew, she was in her bed. She turned away from Vanyel, hid herself under the blankets, her head under the pillow. The only thing he could hear was a muffled, weak, “No, thank you…” before she started crying, and VIolet did not stop crying… until she fell asleep.