A/N: These are mini drabbles of Tate, Violet, and the both of them together – each will be individually titled under the overarching title Tainted Pure. Some are canon and some are AU.

This first drabble is an AU with Tate and Violet both alive, in a relationship, and attending Westfield together.

I had my first graduate level class today and let me tell you, shit just got real.

Boom, Boom, Bang, Bang

The coke felt so good going up his nose.

He held it there until he could feel all the particles dissolve and he waited for the high to come. He knew that he was going to do this; he couldn't stand another second of walking around those hallways and watching those kids act so high and mighty because they get nose jobs and Chanel for Christmas while he only gets an extra slap in the face and if he's lucky, a sneak of some nice Grey Goose when the bitch isn't looking.

He had to take them away. He tells his therapist that he has these fantasies of killing these kids to take them to a clean and kind place where this is no pain, but that's bullshit. These kids piss him off, he has no use for them as they have no use for him, but unlike them who greedily clutch and cling to their toys, he believes in some good old spring cleaning. And they are toys to him, pawns that bore him, and it's time for something new.

He knew Violet was sick – she had a cold and he convinced her to stay home and rest when he visited her yesterday – so she was safe. She wasn't a toy, she was precious to him, the only person that ever evoked love and sacrifice from his black heart, and he wanted her nowhere near Westfield today.

He got his guns from under the bed, cleaning them as he could feel the effects of the cocaine in his system. He stuffed them into his backpack and closed his door, not at all sad that this was the last time he would see his room.

The brains of the first kid he shot were satisfyingly oozing into the dirty cracks of the tiles. His head had fallen in like a sinkhole, shards of skull intermingled with soft tissue; the contrast between the two was downright poetic.

He gunned down the secretary as she tried to flee, her heels flying through the air as she fell flat on her now dead face, the crunch of her nose resounding in his ears as it lost its battle with the hard floor. One red pump was haphazardly flung onto the statue of Westfield's mascot – the wolverine, which he thought was fitting for him right now, vicious, gnashing of teeth and ripping of flesh inherent in its nature – while the other was still stuck on her foot, the heel snapped and dangling like a dead tree branch or broken limb.

He could hear people evacuating the school, the stampede of feet as kids and teachers panicked and ran frantically away from him. He wasn't here to kill all of them, it would take too much time, and besides, some of them deserved to rot in this filthy hell than to be spared and taken somewhere clean by his gun.

He fired a warning shot through a window, eliciting a beautiful, discordant cacophony of screams.

He smirked.

Even though he was just a nobody to all these people before, all these people who didn't give a shit about him or anyone else but themselves, who bullied or ignored him before going back to slam down the Ecstasy tucked carefully in their Fendi purses or Gucci wallets, right now to them he was God.

And he wasn't in the mood to be merciful.

He killed everyone in the library. It was an eclectic mix, each one a trophy to his murder collection. The popular jock, the head cheerleader, the brainiac, the goth – all met the same fate. Death is the ultimate equalizer. He liked seeing all the different ways their heads would explode after he pulled the trigger.

He exited the library, walking down the now deserted hallway.

"Tate!"

He stiffened, a shiver racing up his spine, because he knew that voice.

It was her voice.

"Tate! Where are you?"

What was she doing here? She was supposed to stay home, far away from the physical manifestation of the horror that was his mind. She wasn't supposed to see this. She wouldn't love him after this!

No!

He would lose her and it would kill him, even though he was pretty positive that he was already all dead inside.

He heard her footsteps getting louder and then, her gasp as she rounded the corner and saw him in all his homicidal glory, gun hanging at his side as though it was always meant to be there.

"God, Tate!"

She ran to him, grabbing the gun and throwing it away from him. It clattered on the floor, skidding until it hit the row of lockers with a thump.

"Why, Tate? Why would you do this?"

He was dumbfounded at the sight of her, angry and confused, tears stubbornly clinging to the corners of her eyes as she tried to stay strong, because she was not supposed to be here. Why is she here?

"You aren't supposed to be here."

"But I am and you just murdered people in cold blood. I – " she took a step back from her, her eyes betraying her fear – "I feel like I don't even know you."

"I'm sorry, Violet. I'm…"

Sick? Cruel? Demented? What adjective could he use that would describe him?

"What, Tate? You killed people! Kids, like us! How could you?"

"Violet – "

"No, Tate. I don't want to hear it."

She yanked his arm and started pulling him down the corridor until they were just out of sight of the front doors. She turned to him, conflicting emotions running rampant on her face.

"I don't want to believe that you could do such a thing as this. I don't think I can ever forgive you."

His face fell, his heart crushed under the weight of a thousand sorrows, and he looked at her forlornly, hoping that she could still see how much he loved her, how much she means to him.

Suddenly her lips were on his and he was so surprised that he had hardly reciprocated when she pulled away.

"But I will always love you, even if it damns my soul to hell."

She then dragged him out of the front doors into the SWAT team's waiting arms. As he was brutally subdued to the cold cement of the entrance steps and before the black armored uniforms completely crowded his field of vision, signaling the end of the rest of his life to be spent behind bars, he looked up to see her walking away without a backwards glance.

A/N: What'd y'all think? I wasn't sure if I could pull off this scenario because I don't think Tate would have killed those kids if he had had Violet in his life, but I tried. Reviews make me happy.