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The airport was silent at night, the cold breeze blowing through Violet's long blonde hair as she stared at the number open on her cellphone. Propped up against her Estrada, she sat on the far northern edge of Steelport's vacant airport, looking down at the water below. Violet had wanted to be alone for this phone call, despite how much she was dreading it. Because of that dread, she'd been sitting there for a while, drinking beer and staring down at her cell, thumb hovering over the call button. It was time, she knew it was, but if she told him… it would make it official. She couldn't pretend anymore.
Another few minutes pass until finally, she jabs her finger down over the screen, and instantly regrets it. Regardless, she brings it to her ear, and five rings later Troy Bradshaw's voice cuts over the line.
"Violet! Where the hell have you been? After I heard they released you without permissi-"
"Gat's dead." She cuts in, her voice cracking on the last word, and she grits her teeth, anger flaring at the sound. She was not going to lose it now.
"…What?" Troy answers after a moment, and Violet doesn’t reply. The silence hangs heavy in the air, and Violet doesn’t want it to end, doesn't want him to ask any questions. She doesn't want to have to explain. A minute ticks by, then two, before Troy finally continues.
"Where's his body?" He asks quietly, resigned, and Violet almost barks a laugh in his ear. He thinks this is like the other times, with Carlos and Aisha. One of them dies, and she calls Troy for the body. It was almost a fucking routine now.
"I don't know." She states plainly, and she can just picture Troy blinking in confusion at that.
"You don’t know?"
"No I don't fucking know, I heard him die over a goddamn intercom!" She bites back, anger leaking out no matter how hard she was trying to contain it. She'd been on edge all day, and now it was just spilling out. She belatedly notices her eyes and throat starting to burn.
"…Why are you calling me then?" Troy asks, something almost sounding like softness edging his voice. Violet grits her teeth again at that. Because we used to be friends, asshole.
"You know why." Is all she manages, however, and there's silence again for a moment.
"…I'm sorry." Troy offers, and Violet mentally stops in her tracks. She doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't really want to say anything. A pressing feeling to be alone washes over her instead, and she decides cutting the conversation off is her best move.
"…See you, Troy. I have a fucking city to burn." Violet attempts that remark as a joke, but finds she means it with ever fiber of her being.
"For what it's worth, good luck. Least it's not my city this time." Troy replies, humor in his voice for once, and Violet hangs up and tucks her phone away.
Leaning back on her Estrada, she lets out a shaky sigh, and takes another sip of her beer. She felt like shit. Had all day in fact, like she'd just woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Pulling her Saints jacket tighter around her against the cold, she lets her mind wander, thoughts landing on a particular conversation she'd had with Pierce. They'd been talking about how Shaundi was handling Gat's… death.
"I'm not exactly happy either." Violet had interjected, a statement that barely scratched the surface of how she was really feeling.
"I know, but you're always pissed off." Pierce had replied, like she was unaffected. Fuck him. Who the hell did he think she was, to not be upset over her best friends death? Not to mention that she…
Violet chokes up at the thought, one she'd barely even admitted to herself before this fuckin' nightmare. She had feelings for Johnny. She knew that for a while, deep down, but she hadn't told him, couldn't tell him. After Aisha, it wasn't…. It didn't feel right to.
God, she had feelings for Johnny fuckin' Gat, the asshole who always handled everything all on his own. Hadn't she told him to stop doing that; to look after himself instead of her? Maybe stop almost dying every couple years? No, he'd saved her ass each of those times, at his own expense. Jackass. He knew full well she didn't want him to do that.
She'd made him promise her, once. That he wouldn't die on her. It'd been after Carlos died, and she'd been drinking shitty beer on the roof of Purgatory. Johnny had come up the stairs looking for her, and then just came over and sat down quietly next to her, like he understood. Violet had passed a beer to him, and they drank in silence for a while.
"Promise me I won't have to bury you too." She'd said quietly, out of nowhere, her voice rough with something she couldn’t quite place. Johnny didn't reply at first, and the silence stretched heavy between them.
"I promise." He'd finally replied, a weight to his words. And Violet had held him to that.
That is, until now.
"You fucking asshole!" Anger bubbles up insider her in a rush, and she flips the bottle of beer around in her hands, gripping it by the neck. Whipping her arm back, she throws it as hard as she can, and it quickly makes impact with a pole, shattering violently in every direction. Violet stumbles forward a bit with the force she'd put into the motion, and she sways, fury coursing through her. "Promising me that and then fucking dying on me anyways!" she spits, "Fuck you, Gat, you fucking piece of sh--"
She cuts herself off, gritting her teeth as tears flood her eyes. The anger drains out of her as quickly as it came, and a choked sob suddenly forces its way out of her throat. Violet clamps a hand down over her mouth to try to drown out the sound, because fuck no, she is not going to cry, she isn't--
The tears finally overflow from her eyes, streaming hot down her cheeks and over her fingers. Sinking back down onto the soft padded seat on her Estrada, she trembles in silence, the cold air stinging her nose and lungs as she sobs into her palm. Finally, she asks the question that’s been burning on the edge of her tongue for weeks, her voice so high-pitched and strained it doesn’t even sound like her own.
"What the hell am I going to do without you, you asshole?" She pleads, but no one's around to answer.