Page 78 of Neo
“Take your time.” He gives me a kiss on the lips. “Maybe later I’ll eat your pussy in the shower.”
“Okay,” I laugh.
I have a unique opportunity at this moment. I’m alone in Neo’s room, which rarely happens, so it would be the perfect time to snoop. I’ve never done this before. I’m not that girl who steals her boyfriend’s social media passwords or follows him after a party. There were girls in high school who made that damn near a full-time job. I was never in a relationship serious enough to warrant that.
But now you are, Violet.
After cleaning myself up and putting my clothes back on, I stall for time, tidying up the room and making the bed. Finally, when there isn’t one more thing I can fold or put away, I start the search. The obvious first place to start is his desk. If there was anything important lying around, I’m sure it would be in one of these drawers.
I’m relieved as I search methodically through each drawer to find nothing much but school supplies, hockey stuff and a box of condoms. At this point, I’m feeling super guilty for violating Neo’s privacy when I spot his backpack in the room's corner. The bag is stuffed to the brim with notebooks, a laptop, a t-shirt and a very official-looking folder. I take a deep breath as I pull the folder out of the bag, opening it to reveal its contents. I’m still processing everything I’ve read when Neo enters the room.
“You’ve got to see what’s going on downstairs, babe.” He freezes when he sees what I’m holding. “Violet?”
The world around me blurs into a watercolor of heartache as I stand to face him, holding the various letters that have just detonated our love like a grenade. Neo, with his tousled hair the color of a sunrise and eyes like a stormy sea, stands across from me in the cramped confines of his room, a chasm of unspoken words yawning between us.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” I whisper, my voice trembling like a leaf in a tempest. “You’re leaving VCU?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Violet, I?—”
“You’re leaving school for the NHL?” My voice rises, a crescendo of disbelief and hurt. “And I had to find out from some letters hidden in your bag?”
Neo looks at me, and there’s a storm brewing in his eyes, a tempest of regret and something unspoken.
“I was going to tell you,” he says, his voice a low rumble, like distant thunder. “But it’s complicated.”
“When were you going to tell me? After you packed your bags?” I scoff, the sound bitter in my ears. “And look, you have so many choices.”
He takes a step closer, his presence overwhelming, like a wave about to crash. “I haven’t made any decisions about where yet.”
“And what about us?” The question hangs in the air, fragile and fraught with unshed tears. “Is fucking me just a pastime until you figure out where you’re going next?”
“Of course not.” His denial comes quick, but it lacks conviction. “You mean everything to me.”
I laugh, but it’s void of humor, a hollow sound echoing off the walls. “Everything? Yet, here we are, with you ready to skate off into your shiny new life, leaving me behind, exactly how Kennedy predicted.”
Neo’s jaw clenches, and he looks away, the muscles in his neck tensing. There’s something more he wants to say to me, but he won’t and it’s only making me angrier. If now is the time to come clean, this is it.
“And what’s this about?” I ask him, showing him another piece of paper. This one is from an orthopedic surgeon.
“It’s nothing. Coach wants me to get my hand checked out.”
“That hand?” I point to the hand that he always clenches. The one that always seems to bother him, especially when he’s stressed.
“Yes, Violet.”
“How did you injure it?” I ask, replaying every conversation I’ve ever had or anything I’ve ever heard about Neo since the moment I stepped foot on campus.
“What?” His face becomes as white as a sheet.
“How did you hurt yourself, Neo? Because I know it’s not from hockey. According to everything I’ve read, you’ve never had a major hockey injury.”
“I was in a car accident,” he finally admits, his voice a mere whisper, a breeze trying to soothe the raging fire within me.
“Thecar accident?” I ask without pity.
He doesn’t respond.
“You told me that your brother was hit by a drunk driver. Were you in the car with him when your brother died?”