A/N: So this story had gotten really popular on AO3 (probably because AO3 is full of perverts) so I decided to publish it here as well. Anyway, enjoy!
Briarcliff School for Wayward Girls. This school sucked. A bunch of junkies and skanks from the sound of it. And why was she the one kicked out of Westfield? Why not that bitch whose stupid mouth she punched? The first time she heard the damn thing open she was talking about some guy doing coke off her nipples. And the second time she was telling her to eat a lit cigarette. Horrible first impression, if you were to ask Violet - the girl was asking for a sandwich made of knuckles. But of course no one listened to Violet. No one ever did, it seemed.
Conduct Disorder - the counselor had said. Marked antisocial behavior. Her father had been mortified. What would his patients think if they knew what a menace his daughter was? Well what would they think if they knew he cheated on his wife with a girl nearly his daughter's age? And of course her mother just sighed and shook her head in that fake concerned way - like she gave a shit about Violet even before she lost that baby. Yeah, they were disappointed but fuck them. Fuck them.
" - enforce disciplinary action. I know most public schools are averse to corporeal punishment but we find it works rather well on the more difficult ones." The old lady wittered from across the desk. From the sag of her face Violet surmised she was at least of near-death age.
"So you're going to beat me?" She crossed her ankle over her knee and slouched back into the chair.
"Violet." Her father warned. "Just - don't. Not now." She rolled her eyes. She looked around the office. It was made up of dark, over-polished wood and ugly oriental rugs. Seriously, the rugs were everywhere. At least three that she could see on the floor and one hanging up on the wall next to a dusty china cabinet. On the desk was a picture of a much younger version of the woman in front of her shaking hands with a cardinal or a bishop or whatever. Why her parents were sending her to a catholic school instead of some remedial thing was beyond her. Violet couldn't remember the last time they went to church. She just figured they were atheists now. Apparently not.
"Of course Mrs. Harmon. You're actually welcome to meet one of our teachers now if you like. You can look over her lesson plan. Academia is our top priority. We don't simply wish to be a place to dump troubled girls. We want to make sure they get the same opportunities as all the others."
Violet alternated between picking at the loose strands at the heel of her too-long jeans and at the loosening string on her too-long, coffee-stained, well-loved Joy Division t-shirt. This was bullshit. Her parents brought her here to give her the illusion of choice, but the trivial questions her parents were asking and the fact that anything Violet said had been immediately shushed hinted that the decision had already been made. The old woman stood and hobbled around the desk. Surprised she doesn't need a walker.
"If you would just follow me." The woman held the door open for them and they were making their way deeper into the building. The walls glowed a dull grey under the florescent lights. It's what Violet imagined a mortuary to look like. All washed out and lifeless.
They turned down another hall - this one decidedly more cheerful than the last. Though the color was an ugly pastel yellow, Violet found it pleasant. It added to the black and white checkered tile that made up the floor - a pattern the girl had always liked. The woman knocked on a door to their right and was immediately invited in by a sweet sounding voice from within.
A young woman stood in front of the blackboard, heavy book and several notebooks in hand jotting down talking points. She smiled at them, juggling the items in her arms but dropping them on her desk in a rather undignified manner, knocking a stack of papers to the floor.
"This is Sister Mary Eunice, the World History professor." The old woman introduced her. The young woman smiled apologetically.
"I'm terribly sorry. I'm just trying to -" She scrambled around the desk, quickly recovering the papers. She stacked them neatly and collected herself. "I'm just trying to organize my lesson plans." She beamed and politely shook their hands.
As they exchanged 'nice to meet you's' Violet sized her up. She seemed like one of those people that wore a mask of confidence over a very fragile ego. It had probably come up in some performance review that she wasn't assertive enough. Like a little girl trying on her mother's clothes to look grown up - all the elements were there, they just didn't fit. There was a weariness about her. This job was wearing her down, Violet could tell.
Mary Eunice went on to tell them about the daily activities in the classroom and the general performance of her students. It sounded painfully dull.
"So how often do you discipline the girls?" Violet asked.
The woman seemed surprised. "Well," She started slowly. "I don't normally do that. I either send them to the Mother Superior's office or I send them to Sister Agnes'."
'"Who's that?" Violet asked.
"Oh, it's not a person." The old woman laughed. "It's sort of the therapy wing of the building. You'll do exercises in self-reflection, have to write papers on how your behavior effects others and the like. It's where we hold the etiquette classes as well."
Ben Harmon smiled. It was faint, but Violet caught it. Etiquette classes. That sounded… horrific. Hopefully she wouldn't be required go - or to pass it. Her parents were obviously happy with the school. Whether or not it was because Violet would be staying there 9 months out of the year was up for debate.
Her parents were invited back into the old woman's office while Violet was ordered to wait outside. She paced across the hall, shuffling her feet so they squeaked on the linoleum. She was so lost in her own little world that she didn't hear the footsteps until they were right up on her.
"You waiting on someone?" A man, probably mid-twenties, gestured to the door. Despite herself, she immediately slunk back, letting her hair fall in her face. She hated when she did this. Anytime someone even moderately attractive so much as looked her she suddenly turned into this… Shrinking violet. She sneered internally. And he was attractive. He was at least a head taller than her with unkempt blonde hair, big brown eyes, and what she deemed a 'charming' little freckle on the end of his nose. She feigned nonchalance, twisting a strand of hair around her index finger.
"No, I just broke into the building and now I'm loitering out here for the hell of it." She mumbled. To his credit, her sarcasm seemed not to faze him. He simply nodded as if she had answered him politely. He cracked the door open and knocked quietly. He obviously got the reaction he was looking for as he disappeared into the room. Violet could hear friendly conversation from behind the door. She continued her obsessive pacing, finger still twisting her hair. Before long the young man emerged with a large file, giving her a look of pity. He stood there for a moment just staring at her and looked as though he wanted to say something.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" She snapped. She was starting to feel a blush creep up on her cheeks from the way he was looking at her. There was no way she was going to embarrass herself by letting him see the reaction he was causing.
"I'm sorry." He stuttered a bit. "It's - it's just that the ones signed up for the studies… well." He sighed, shaking his head and walking down the hall.
"What studies?" She asked. He ignored her. "What studies?!" She shouted after him. He paused, seeming to take a moment to collect his words. He moved hesitantly back to her, checking to be sure no one else was around. He was too close for comfort. At this distance she could smell the spicy scent of his body wash overlaid with the harsh smell of laundry detergent. She tried her best to meet his eyes, but ended up mostly staring at his shoulder.
"Like um…" He pointed to the ceiling. "You see that up there?" She followed his gaze upward. "You see that big 'gullible' written on the ceiling?" If the capillaries in her cheeks weren't full to bursting yet, they soon would be. She pushed away from him sputtering. The combination of arousal and humiliation shut down any kind of smart assed remark she could have made.
"You should probably be more respectful of the staff if you plan on going to school here." He smirked, turning away. "Also, watch your language." He strode down the hall toward the classrooms.
She grasped for a word other than idiot. Idiot. Violet you fucking idiot. She finally settled for her old, faithful friend.
"Yeah, well fuck you, asshole." She usually made it sound less desperate and weak, but it was better than whatever pathetic witticism she could come up with in this state. Could be worse. She didn't even look to see if he had heard her. She just folded her arms as tightly across her chest as she could manage and ducked her head down, trying to disassociate herself from the situation entirely.
A/N: Tate is kind of a weird and a dick in this chapter because he was a dick when he first met Violet. He was actually pretty flipping unbalanced in the first episode period. It was only later that he became the cherubic sweetie who shopped at grandma stores and the baby gap that we all know and love. That will be the case in this story as well.
