Author: ScarlettWoman710
Title: Band-Aid Over the Bullet Wound
Summary: "I love you," he murmured softly to her. He knew she couldn't have heard him, but in an act that could be entirely symbolic of their entire relationship, she flicked her cigarette away and vanished.
Rating: M
Warning(s)/Kinks: Language, slight slash, smut in Part II
Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story.
A/N: Hello loves! First things first: this is a companion piece to "Paper Cuts," a fluffy little piece I wrote about Chad and Violet's friendship and Violet's reunion with Tate. This is "Paper Cuts" from Tate's POV. You gotta read that one first, guys, if you haven't already. Otherwise this isn't going to make a lick of sense for you. Anywho, this started as a drabble then went to a one-shot then ended up as a two-shot because I just kept wanting to go further with it, so here we are.
One warning - this is from Tate's POV, so that means that it uses some horrible and hateful terminology that I would punch someone in the face for using in real life. Unfortunately he's a bit of a homophobe, we saw that in the series, so leaving that aspect of him out would have made him OOC. Luckily, he grows out of it a bit by the end of part II.
AND FINALLY I don't normally do this but The Atari's "San Dimas High School Football Rules" kind of inspired the first half of this piece and is worth a listen if you want to get in the mood for some angst. Away we go...
Tate Langdon shifts on the floor of the dusty attic and rolls a small red ball back to Beau. His legs feel cramped, although it amazes him that he can feel anything at all. It's not being dead that has him questioning his own existence - he's been six feet under (so to speak) for over twenty years, and he got used to "living" while his body rotted away in the cemetery a long time ago - it's that after Violet had told him to go away, he thought he'd never feel anything again. His heart felt... empty. That was the only word he had to describe it. It was different from anything he'd ever felt in his life or afterlife... not that he'd had a lot of experience with girls to compare it to.
He wasn't a virgin when he'd sleep with Violet. There had been others - a slut drunk at the one party he'd gone to, a girl from a club he'd snuck into when he was sixteen, and a girl that had screwed him under the bleachers for a hit. Hell, he'd even had a girlfriend when he was alive. She'd lasted for about a month before he got bored and sick of pretending to be enthralled by her bullshit fake goth shtick and Poe obsession. He snorted as he thought of her now. What a fucking poser she was. She wasn't a real Poe fan, she'd given him a blank stare and an unsure giggle when he quoted a line from "Dreamland" to her. He couldn't respect someone who pretended to be something that they weren't - she wasn't dark or literary, just in it for the fashion of it. Their relationship had come to a glorious end when she had tried to suck him off in the basement of the high school. He was too repulsed by her and high on coke to even get it up and had thrown up on her head while she knelt before him and tried to make him rise to the occasion. She had run screaming up the stairs while leaned against the wall and laughed. It was hardly love, nothing that even scratched the surface of what he'd had with Vi.
He had been convinced he was in hell until Violet had shown up. All of the poems he had spent his life reading suddenly had meaning. She was everything to him, the rope that tied him to reality, the lifeline that kept him human. When she had said goodbye to him, he felt like nothing more than the ashes she flicked away from her cigarettes. He had drifted through the house without being seen or heard, sobbing, trying to breathe. He wanted to hate her. He really did. It would have been so much easier for him to write her off as some bitch that he didn't care about.
But he did care. He cared a lot.
He had given in to the darkness at first, trying to murder the new boy who had skated through the house and picked the room that was once his and then hers, but Violet hadn't let him - although he wasn't sure if he would have gone through with it even if she hadn't stopped him. He didn't get the same self-satisfied high he used to get from death and destruction. Violet had changed him. He'd hate it if he didn't find it so fucking ironic. Here he was - completely able to kill and maim and be exactly as bad as all the voices in his head wanted to be because he now lived in a land without consequences - and he didn't want to hurt anyone anymore.
As the years rolled by, she had gotten lonely or bored or maybe both and had stopped hiding from him all the time. At first, they barely spoke. She'd offer a simple "Hey," in greeting or ask where one of the ghosts were before walking away from him. For Tate, who's list of fellow conversationalists was limited to Ben, Beau, and Thad, these encounters felt as good as the long ruminations they used to have over the best Bret Easton Ellis novel or whether Courtney killed Kurt. He would have been content to live like that forever, sharing three word conversations and invisibly sneaking into her room to watch her try to make herself cum before bed, but fate continued to smile upon him. Soon she was seeking him out to play chess or scrabble - and sometimes, even just to talk. Those were the moments he liked best. They'd lie on the floor of the attic and gaze at the ceiling and talk for hours before she'd turn to him, smile prettily, and leave - off to spend time with another resident.
For a long time, it had been enough. Then he noticed that the "other resident" she had been spending time with was Chad.
Chad pissed him off, always had, even when he was alive and prancing around the house like the fucking fairy that he was. There were many, many times that he had wished he had left the queen alive and just killed the blond fag. Chad probably would have left after Patrick was murdered, or at least been hauled off to jail for the crime. Tate grinned savagely at that thought. Poetic justice. Then again, maybe Chad wouldn't have minded. No problem finding a butt buddy in the slammer.
Chad and Violet spent a lot of time together. They smoked and sipped wine and talked, sometimes behind closed doors. It pissed Tate off to no end. Who the fuck were they trying to keep out? Him? Besides, if he wanted to be near Violet, he would be, no stupid wooden door would stop him. But when they disappeared behind her bedroom door he stayed away, only because he knew she'd hate him if he came barging into the room after breaking the door down.
It was once he had realized that Chad was the person she was leaving him to go visit with that he stopped being satisfied with their long talks and board games. They were only a band-aid over the bullet wound, a futile gesture to preserve what was left between them. It was bullshit. He was the person Violet should have been talking to, not some fucking friend of Dorthy. What could Chad offer her that he couldn't? Expansive lessons on how to properly take a fisting? Please.
In his more self-reflective moments, Tate knew the truth - he was jealous. Really, really fucking jealous. He wanted to be the person that made Violet happy, not Chad. Tate was that person once and he knew he could be again, but he was afraid he'd never get the chance. He was even more afraid that Violet liked Chad more than she liked him.
At least he didn't have to worry about them fucking.
He looked at his watch. "Beau, I have to go now, okay?" he said, rolling the ball back to him. "I'll come back later, I promise."
Beau grunted in response and Tate smiled at him, patting his shoulder before disappearing. He materialized in one of the back bedrooms, one with an excellent view of the gazebo.
Every day at four in the afternoon, Violet would go outside to sit in the gazebo, smoke, and read. He loved to watch her from the window, book in one hand, cigarette with chewed filter in the other. Even when they talked she was still so guarded with him - almost like she was afraid that if she spent too much time with him she'd catch his psychosis. It hurt him to watch her be so cautious when she had once been so open with him. He loved watching her with her defenses down, the corners of her mouth twitching into small smiles as she read the cheesy Harlequin Romance novels that belonged to the Old Woman that now owned the house. He didn't know why Violet read them, but he knew that she traded them back and forth with Chad after she had finished one and was ready for another.
He hated the idea that there were things about her that he didn't know. He hated that there might be things about her that he didn't know that Chad did.
He leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. "I love you," he murmured softly to her. He knew she couldn't have heard him, but in an act that could be entirely symbolic of their entire relationship, she flicked her cigarette away and vanished. A moment later, he head her laughter mingle with Chad's and echo up the stairs to him.
Fucking perfect.
In a blink, he was outside in the gazebo picking up the book she had left behind. "A Bride for the Island Prince," he read aloud, and snorted. Such fucking trash, he thought, opening the cover and starting to read.
An hour and a half later, he closed the book and leaned back. It was horrible - he knew it would be - and he had no idea why Violet would read them in the first place. The romance didn't compare to the love and tragedy of Romeo and Juliet. A woman left her husband for a man she liked better, which just meant she was a fucking cheater in Tate's opinion. The whole book was all sweeping declarations of love and massive grand gestures. Stupid drivel, nothing like Violet at all. He tossed the book on the bench in the gazebo and went back into the house, off to find Violet and convince her to play a round of cards.
When Tate heard the grunts and groans of sex drifting out of one of the bedrooms a few days later, he had to investigate. Well, he didn't have to, but he was curious. It sounded like Hayden but it didn't sound like Travis or his dad. Had she picked up some new guy from the street again? If she had, he'd have to go in there and stop her from murdering whoever it was. He was not about to share the house with another twenty-year old douche bag. Luckily, Violet had never so much as looked at Travis, but he might not be so lucky if a new guy came in. If she was half as horny as he was, she had to be pretty desperate.
He nudged the door open, peering in through the crack. Hayden was riding somebody, her back to the door. Her red hair swung as she bounced. The guy she was fucking sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn't place the voice. Her thrusts became more erratic and she bounced once, twice, three times more and collapsed against her lover, burying his face in her tits. He put his hands around her hips to make her move so he could cum and she reached to the table beside the bed, pulling out a letter opener she had stolen from the old woman's desk. Before he could stop her, she had leaned back and stabbed the man in front of her.
"FUCK!" he bellowed, bursting into the room. "Jesus Christ Hayden, isn't one fuck buddy enough? We've got enough fucking people in here for chrissakes -"
His words died as abruptly as her man had as she climbed off of her conquest, her breasts splattered with blood. "Asshole," she sneered meanly at him. "If you don't like what you see, quit watching. Pervert." She grabbed her clothes and disappeared, leaving Patrick reclined on the bed, oozing blood.
"What the fuck?" Tate muttered dumbly, taking a step forward. Patrick's dick was still hard.
Patrick was gay. He was gay! What the hell was he fucking Hayden for? Tate knew Pat wasn't loyal to Chad - the fact that Ben spent most of his time balls deep in Pat's mouth was the worst kept secret in the house - but why fuck Hayden? He didn't like pussy, he liked dick. Obviously. What was the point?
He stayed there long enough that Patrick's wounds stitched back together, the life slowly returning to his eyes. Suddenly, Pat gasped, shitting up sharply. As he coughed and sputtered, tears streaming from his eyes, he spotted Tate. "You," he hissed.
Tate held his hands up. "Hey, it wasn't me this time."
Patrick narrowed his eyes at him and looked down at his chest, apparently remembering his last few moments of consciousness. "That cunt!" he spat, swirling his fingers through the blood on his chest. His cock twitched as he covered it with his hand. "Fuck," he groaned. "She couldn't even have waited until I came? Fucking bitch."
Tate just continued to stare dumbly at him. Patrick's brows lifted. "Want to come help me find a little relief here?" he said, wrapping his fingers around his dick. "I used to have a thing for younger guys. I could pay you back for the fire poker."
Tate felt bile rise in his throat. "Fuck you. Fag."
Pat rolled his eyes. "Very original," he said sarcastically. He stood and gave Tate a withering glare. "I guess I better go find Chad. This hard on isn't going to take care of itself." He strolled past Tate, leaning in and snapping his mouth in the air near Tate's neck. Tate jumped back and Pat laughed, disappearing down the hall.
Tate collapsed in a chair. What the fuck had just happened? What had he just walked in on? As his thoughts swirled, his stomach started to twist. Was that Chad and Violet were doing behind closed doors? Oh Jesus, he thought. He was going to be sick. He had freaked out at the thought that Hayden might have brought someone new in the house that Violet might like. The idea that she had already found someone in the house was unbearable, especially if that person was Chad. He'd rather that she fuck Travis.
Well, maybe not Travis.
He wasn't sure how long he had stayed in that chair, but it was dark by the time he finally got up. He trudged into the hallway, feeling like he was sleepwalking. He wasn't paying attention to where he was going, which was why he nearly walked directly into Violet.
"Hey," she said. He felt his heart warm. "Hey," he said softly back. His fingers twitched at his sides. He ached to touch her.
She smiled at him and then walked past him into her bedroom. Chad reclined on her bed, an empty glass in his hand. Tate watched as she grinned and held up a wine bottle triumphantly for Chad and then shut the door behind her.
He felt rage overtake him. Fuck that little faggot. He'd kill him, again, and once he came back to life he'd get to keep doing it over and over. And no bullet to the chest this time either, he'd find another fire poker and really make him suffer.
But Violet wouldn't like that.
And he couldn't be without her. He wouldn't. It was torture the first time. Even if all he had now was her friendship, he couldn't go back to stalking her through the house, forced to stay invisible lest she go away. The band-aid wasn't enough to fix the bullet wound, but it was sure as hell better than nothing.
He vanished and re-appeared in the attic, curling into a ball and screaming into a pillow. He was right the first time he died. He wasn't in heaven at all.
He was in hell. And it looked like he was going to stay there.
Tate had stayed in the attic for two days, pulling his hair out in tufts. It grew back, but he was grateful for the moments of distraction and pain.
It wasn't fair. There was no way that Chad could ever appreciate Violet like he could. He was too old for her, to begin with. So what if Violet would have been in her twenties. She still had the body of a fifteen year-old and if Chad was turned on by that, he was a fucking sicko and a half. And he was such a fucking pussy, always bitching and moaning about the home decor and the Old Woman's love of glass statues. How could Violet be in to that? And if she was desperate and lonely and wanted a fuck buddy, hell, why the fuck couldn't she come to Tate? Was she not even attracted to him anymore?
Fuck this house. Fuck everyone in it. Fuck her, especially.
Too bad he didn't believe that. Even in the moments of his worst rage, he couldn't be mad at her.
This was even worse than that trashy novel he had read in the gazebo. At least the girl in that story had left her husband for a dude that was straight. Her husband didn't have to question his manhood too much. If the girl you love would rather fuck a fag than you couldn't have been to great in the sack. At least Tate's dick had never been in anyone's asshole.
God, what if she blew him? Jesus. The more he thought about it, the worse it got.
He still loved her though, and he'd never do anything that hurt her. If this is what she wanted, he wouldn't stand in her way. So that's what love is, he thought to himself grumpily. Pining and being miserable and watching the only person you'd ever care about flounce around with her new gay fuck buddy.
He'd rather die. Unfortunately it wasn't an option.
"Hey."
He lifted his head from the floor. Violet was walking towards him, her brown hair flowing around her like a halo. The autumn sun filtered through the windows, lighting the dust motes and making them twinkle around her. She looked like an angel.
She looked like one, but she wasn't. There are no angels in hell.
"Hey," he croaked back. He pulled his body into a sitting position.
She walked over to sit beside him. Was he seeing things, or did she have a skip in her step? The thought that she was that happy made him wish he could kill himself and make it stick.
"I haven't seen you in a few days," she said, settling on the floor. "Why have you been hiding up here?"
He shrugged. He couldn't say what he was thinking, that he had been hiding from her because the thought that she was happily having sex with a queen was making him want to bash Chad's face in.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He hated the caution in her voice, hated that it was because of him. He forced a smile on his face. "I'm fine," he said. "Really."
She smiled at him uncertainly. "Chess?" she asked, reaching for the chess board.
"Sure."
He loved her, even if she didn't love him and would rather fuck a gay guy twice her age. And he'd rather have her in his life than be without her, so he had to choice but to take it. He slid his pawn forward, knowing that in a matter of time his king would be hers, just like his heart already was.
"Harlequin Romance novels? Really?"
Tate's eyes snapped up from the book he was reading. He had stretched out on the couch in the den and found another one of the Old Woman's books stabbing into his spine from between the cushions. Considering Violet had fallen asleep outside with her mother, he didn't have anything else to do but read. The books were fucking terrible (and made him horny as hell, though he hated to admit it) but he had already read all of the decent books in the house and it kept him from finding and killing Chad.
"Fuck off," he muttered to Pat, going back to his book.
"If you're hoping to pick up tips, don't bother. Hayden's the only person in this house that would fuck you. The only thing you need to know about her is to hit it from behind so she can't kill you before you cum."
"You would know."
"Unfortunately yes, I would."
Tate set his book down on his chest. "Did you come here for a purpose? I'm not going to fuck you, if that's what you're thinking. Find somewhere else to stick your dick. There's a beehive out back, if you're looking for suggestions."
"Thanks for your concern. In spite of this place being huge, I've got no place else to go at the moment. There's a ghost in every fucking room of the house and I just want to get some peace and quiet. Since everyone in the house hates you, me included, I figured wherever you were would work since everyone avoids you and I'm guessing you don't feel like chatting with me."
"Nope," Tate said, picking up his book.
"Good," Pat said, sinking into a leather chair and resting his head on the chair back.
Tate stared at his book. The the words were swirling on the page. He couldn't concentrate with Pat in the room.
"Patrick?" he asked quietly, keeping his eyes on his book.
"Yeah?"
"Why did you fuck Hayden?"
Pat sighed and brought his hand to his head, pushing hair back from his eyes. "I don't know. I was bored, I guess. Horny. Didn't feel like all the bullshit Chad would put me through before and after we did it, and Ben was doing something with Vivian."
Tate sat up. "No, I mean... why did you want to fuck her? You're not attracted to girls, right?" He was desperately hoping that Patrick would confirm his hope - that Pat hadn't wanted to fuck Hayden, that it was an experiment, that it wasn't something that would ever happen again or could ever spread to Chad.
Pat shrugged. "I wasn't always gay. Hell, I even had a girlfriend when I was in high school."
Tate felt his heart sink. That wasn't what he was hoping to hear.
"Why do you ask?"
"No reason," Tate mumbled. He laid back down on the couch and went back his book. The two outcasts of the Murder House spent the rest of the afternoon in silence.
Over the next couple of days, Tate and Patrick had spent a surprising amount of time together. Tate relished the moments he spent with Violet but they were fractions of the hours that he had to fill every day. Patrick would rather be spending time with anyone but Tate, but considering how the various members of the Murder House family felt about him, he didn't have a lot of other options for company. Chad was still pissed at Pat for fucking Hayden, and Pat was still angry at Chad for cutting off his dick, so they avoided each other. Naturally this gave Chad a lot more free time to spend with Violet. It killed Tate but he wanted her to be happy, and if Chad was what made her happy, so be it.
Tate was watching them from the stairway as they reclined on the couch, legs tangling on the sofa, when Pat plunked down next to him.
"You've got to get a fucking life, man. Girls don't like it when you're all obsessed with them. They need space."
Tate huffed out a breath. "What would you know about it?"
"I did have a girlfriend once, remember? And besides, it's not just a girl thing to want space. It's a human thing. Everyone needs a life outside of the person they're with. It's not healthy to be all crazy obsessed."
"I'm not crazy obsessed."
Pat snorted. "Yeah. Right."
"I'm not. I'm in love. There's a fucking difference."
"There is a difference, but you're coming down on the wrong side of it." He leaned back, resting his elbows on the stairs. "Listen, all I'm saying is that you've got to give her some room to breathe. If Chad had given me some space, maybe we wouldn't have ended up the way we did."
Tate looked back at Pat. "Why did you guys ever buy this place? It sounds like you were fucking miserable together."
Pat shrugged. "Not always," he said softly, eyes miles away. "It was great when we first got together. We really loved each other. Then, Chad just kept crowding me, and crowding me... he wanted to go everywhere that I was going, he texted me all the time -"
"What's texting?" Tate asked, confused.
Pat rolled his eyes. "Never mind. Point is, he was always all over me. It got to the point that I didn't even feel like I could take a shit without Chad coming in the bathroom to talk."
"And that's when you started fucking other guys?"
"Yep."
Tate leaned forward to peer at Chad and Violet. "Do you still love him?"
Pat sighed. " I don't even know anymore. Sometimes I think I do, I guess. Sometimes I wish I would have never come home from the gym that Halloween."
Tate nodded. Pat's eyes narrowed at him. "Thanks for that, by the way," he said dryly.
Tate shrugged and went back to staring at Violet.
Tate was walking down the hallway later that afternoon when he heard a voice calling his name from an open doorway.
He took a step backwards to look into the room that had once been Dr. Harmon's office. Ben's there with Patrick, trying way to hard to be casual as Patrick lounges in a chair and grins. Ben doesn't know that people know the truth about the little chats that Pat and Ben have on what is becoming an increasingly regular basis - or more likely, has convinced himself that no one knows what goes on. The key difference is the door. Ben keeps the door to his office open with during his sessions with Tate, while he chats with Violet, even on those few occasions that he's talked brain function with Charles. Whenever he's in there with Pat, the door remains shut and locked. Ben's never quite gotten an grip on the whole ghosts can be invisible concept and doesn't realize that there are times that others have witnessed Patrick's lips wrapping around Ben's cock. Tate knows for a fact that Hayden really likes to watch.
"Yes?" Tate asked, keeping his voice even. He thinks Ben's a fucking hypocrite but he doesn't want to make him mad, considering he's one of the few people in the house that he's still on speaking terms with.
"Could you go and find Violet for me, please? Vivien wanted to make the baby's Halloween costume today, and she wanted to do it as a family."
Tate smirked. The idea of Ben Harmon going off to be a family man after he had just been on the recieving end of Pat's tongue made Tate laugh. He kept his thoughts to himself, however. The last thing he wanted to do was piss Ben off.
"Sure thing, Dr. Harmon," he chirped.
He had seen Violet and Chad disappear upstairs an hour ago. He had wanted to follow them to see what they were doing, but he remembered what Pat had said. Space. Violet needed space. He hated the idea, the very sound of the word when it came to Violet. He could never be close enough to her. If it were up to him, he'd wear Violet as a backpack, her thin legs wrapped around his waist as her soft arms held her chest pressed against his back. She'd never walk again, he'd carry her everywhere if she'd let him.
He walked down the hallway peeking in the doorways when he finally heard Violet and Chad's voices drifting out of the master bedroom.
"We look like we've gone back in time," her voice chimed. She sounded so happy. Tate felt a stab of pain in his chest. He wanted to be the reason she was happy.
"Buddy Holly and Peggy Sue," Chad said. "Oh my God! I know what we can do! We can dress up like this for Halloween!"
Tate finally let his curiosity get the better of him as he nudged the door open with his toe. He could see Chad, wearing an old red sport coat, but Violet was at his side, hidden from Tate's view.
What he could see were the clothes she was wearing earlier scattered over the floor.
Tate's vision blurred as white hot rage bloomed in his stomach. Well. There it is, then. His worst fear confirmed. Violet was fucking him. She was fucking the fag. Of course. The one person Tate hated more than anyone else in the entire house and that's who Violet wanted inside of her, making her moan and making her all happy and chipper after.
And just as quickly as it had come, the anger was gone, replaced by sorrow instead. Because Violet was happy, and above all else, wasn't that what Tate wanted most? He had almost killed for her happiness. He wouldn't deny her of anything she wanted, Chad included. He would have to live with it. He'd learn to be like everyone else in the house, taking what they could and being grateful for it. Like his time spent speaking with Ben or Patrick, like Patrick handing out blow-jobs to Ben, like Vivien's moments with her long dead children. Like Tate's moments of games and chats with Violet. The ghosts all took whatever they could get, never satisfied but still somehow appreciating that they had anything at all.
Band-aid's over bullet wounds. That's all any of them had.
Tate realized where he was and what he had come up there for when Chad's voice drifted back to him. "...well, that and candy. The old bat that lives here never buys any."
"Mmmm," Violet said. "I would kill someone for a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup."
"If you want one, you might have to," Chad cracked. The pair descended into giggles. Tate decided he couldn't bear to hear anymore and opened the door fully, saying Violet's name.
She and Chad turned, and Violet jumped behind Chad, hiding herself from Tate's eyes. "Yes?" she asked, then cleared her throat. "What do you want?" she asked fiercely, clearly unhappy at being interrupted.
She didn't want him, not at all. Tate looked down at the floor, refusing to let Violet see him upset. "Your dad is looking for you. He wants you to help your mom with the baby's costume."
He watched the crease form in her brow. She doesn't want to leave him, he thought. Fan-fucking-tastic. "Fine, I'll be there in a minute," she said, a clear dismissal.
He stepped back through the door and, after a pause, closed it behind him. See, he thought to himself. I can change. I did change. The old Tate would have stormed in the room, slit the fag's throat and watched him bleed out all over his pretty red jacket. He might have even killed Violet too, for good measure, since she'd just come back in a few minutes anyway. The new Tate couldn't do it - he wouldn't do it. The new Tate would always give Violet whatever she wanted, even if was killing him.
Violet slipped through the door dressed in her clothes from earlier a minute later. She looked tense, her hands curled into fists. Remember when I used to matter to you? He wanted to scream at her. Remember when you used to want to be near me? When I didn't frighten you? Because I remember, even though I've tried really fucking hard to forget.
"They're in the downstairs den, I think," he said. She nodded and turned to walk down the hall. He followed.
"All your clothes were on the floor," he said, a hint of accusation in his voice. She smiled, apparently relieving good memories of her cunt clenching around Chad's dick. Ugh. He was going to puke, right there on the stairs.
"We were playing dress up."
"I've been hanging out with the other fag -"
"Don't call them that," she snapped. Probably because Chad wasn't one, anymore. He was too busy fucking Tate's ex-girlfriend.
"Ok, sorry," he said. "I've been hanging out with Patrick. He doesn't really have anyone to talk to now that he's fighting with Chad."
"He can't talk to Hayden?" she sneered, and Tate grinned. He knew that Violet hated her father's mistress and loved hearing the rage in her voice. It made her sound a little more dark, a little more like him.
"She stabbed him after she came, but before he did," he said, leaning in close to whisper to her - he had been looking for an excuse to be closer to her since he walked in on her and Chad's post-coital bliss a few minutes earlier. She still smelled like her, not like Chad's heavy cologne, thank God. Smelling Chad's scent on her probably would have finally caused him to snap. "He's pissed at her. Travis doesn't like him because he flirts with him too much, your mom doesn't like him because he blows your dad, and when he and your dad are together Patrick's mouth is full. I think he's lonely."
"Good. He deserves to be," she said savagely. Tate wondered if she was still talking about Patrick. "We have that in common, then," he muttered under his breath.
She paused at the foot of the stairs. "Well, I'm going to help my mom, I guess," she said, looking up at him. "We can play Scrabble later, if you want."
There it is, another dismissal. He wonders how he went from meaning everything to her to meaning nothing. He gives her a small smile and walks back upstairs, off to find a place to hide until she's ready to pull him out of his despair once again.
True to her word, she finds him later that evening for a round of Scrabble.
"You're awfully quiet," she remarked, laying down her letters. "Quote, double letter score on the 'Q.' Twenty-seven points."
He gave her a half-hearted smile and wrote down her score in their tiny notebook. "I guess I have a lot on my mind," he said, holding out the bag of letters to her.
"Tomorrow's Halloween," she said cautiously. "Do you think that you'll maybe go out this year?"
He shrugged. They both knew that he hadn't left the house since their first date. He had been terrified when he had run into the kids he'd killed years before on their solitary date and had no desire for a repeat performance. That, and he had no interest in going anywhere without Violet anyway.
"How about you?" he asked, moving his letters around on his tray.
"Nothing special," she said. "My parents want to go to the zoo. I hate their 'let's pretend we're a happy family' bullshit. We never even go to good places. We stuck in this fucking house 364 days a year, I don't want to waste my one day of freedom looking at zebras."
He knows that she's all false bravado. She loves her parents, loves her brother, and likes their yearly family field trip, even if she'd never admit it. Her parents just don't know her at all and never take her the one place she wants to go - Disneyland. She'd never voice it out loud but he's seen her look longingly at the Old Woman's pictures with her grandchildren, sitting in teacups and grinning happily.
He'll take her, he decided. He'll take her early in the morning, and they'll ride on all the rides. They won't even have to wait in line if they don't want to - they'll just disappear and walk past the crowds and reappear happily in seats, no one the wiser. He'll buy her ice cream shaped like Donald Duck and he'll kiss it off her lips. Before they leave, they'll take a picture in front of Sleeping Beauty's castle wearing Mickey Mouse ears and right before the flash, he'll tell her he loves her just so the camera captures her smile and blush.
He hopes Disneyland is still standing a hundred years from now, when she gets over her new boy toy and finally forgives him, like he hopes she will.
"It's your turn," she said, nudging his knee with her converse enclosed foot.
He looks sadly up at her through his bangs. "I've got a word," he says softly, laying his tiles on the board.
"Remorse."
Halloween dawns bright and cool, a perfect fall day. Perfect for zoos and Disneyland and whatever mystery outing she and Chad needed costumes for. He wanted to say goodbye to her before she left but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He could imagine her smiling face, the excitement in her eyes, her laugh as she flounced out the door. He didn't need a visual, not when the visual hurt so much. Instead, he hid in the attic until the ghosts all left for the day and then went down to Violet's room, burying his face in her pillow and trying to smell her on the sheets.
"Jesus Christ, you're fucking pathetic. What the hell are you moping around for now?"
Tate rolled over and glared at Patrick. "I'm sorry, shouldn't you be up to your dick in twinks by now?"
Patrick glared at him and flopped down in the chair opposite Tate. "I'm trying to change," he spat. "I miss Chad. He hasn't talked to me in a week. I miss him."
Tate barked out a laugh. "Well, I think you missed the fucking boat on that one," he said, rolling back over. "He's too busy fucking Violet now."
"What?"
Tate sighed. He didn't really want to talk about it. "Chad and Violet. They're together." He waited for Patrick to speak, but there was no reply. Finally, he sat up. Pat was looking at him, a bewildered look on his face. Then he started laughing hysterically.
"Yeah, it's really fucking funny," Tate grumbled, pushing his back against the headboard. "Fucking comical."
Pat gasped. "Yeah, it is. It's hilarious, actually."
"For someone that misses him, you don't seem to mind that he's boning a fifteen-year old girl instead of you."
"Tate. Chad is not fucking Violet."
Tate shook his head. "You don't know that," he said, staring at the ceiling. "They're always hanging out in here with the door closed. And yesterday I opened the door and Violet's clothes were all over the floor."
Pat gave him a sardonic look. "She was naked?"
"Well... no. At least, I don't think so. But the clothes she had on were lying on the floor when I walked in there."
Pat started laughing again. "You're so fucking stupid," he said, chuckling. "Tate, they're friends. They drink wine, they make each other laugh. They're not fucking each other."
"Well, what the hell are they doing with the door closed, then?" he asked, frustrated. "Closed doors are the house symbol of sex, basically. You and Hayden, you and Ben, Ben and Vivien - if the door is closed, people are screwing behind it. Might as well put a fucking sock on the doorknob."
Pat sighed. "Space, remember? Violet wants space. Just because she wants privacy doesn't mean that she's having sex with someone."
Tate started to feel hopeful in spite of himself. "It doesn't?"
"No. Besides, Chad is very, very gay. He has no interest in sleeping with a woman. Trust me."
He narrowed his eyes at Pat. "You fucked Hayden," he said accusingly.
"Yeah, but I'm not Chad. I promise you, Chad and Violet are not fucking." He sighed again, and flopped back into the chair. "And I don't want to get in the middle of your teenage bullshit drama, but I overhead Violet and Chad talking the other day. They were talking about you." He opened his eyes into slivers. "I think she misses you, though I have no clue why she would."
Tate felt his heart soar. She wasn't fucking Chad. She wasn't fucking anyone. And the thought that she might miss him... it was better than he could have hoped for.
He looked up at Pat. "You better not be fucking with me," he said fiercely. "I'm serious. If I find out you are, I'll make the fire poker feel like a massage compared to what I'll do to you next."
"I'm not fucking with you. Jesus. You have really got to work on your anger management issues."
"Yeah, I know." He started toying with the thread of his sweater. "What do I do now? Should I talk to her?"
"That would fall into the category of 'shit that is not my problem." Pat rolled his neck from side to side. "Besides, I've got my own shit to deal with. I've got to figure out how to get Chad to forgive me. In part because I miss him, and in part because there are certain needs that I have that Ben hasn't let me fill... yet."
Tate made a disgusted face. "I really do not want to know."
"Well, I had to listen to your fucking problems, now it's your turn," he grumbled. "What am I going to do about Chad?"
Tate shrugged. "You need a grand gesture," he said, thinking of the Harlequin novels he had been burning through in the last few days. "Declare your love, or whatever."
Pat cocked an eyebrow at him. "Which one of us is gay?" he snorted.
"Fuck you. I'm just trying to help."
Pat leaned forward. "What kind of grand gesture?" he asked finally. "I've got to admit, Chad seems kind of like the grand gesture type."
Tate's eyes screwed up in concentration, and then he remembered the conversation between Chad and Violet that he'd walked in on yesterday. "I don't know what he's doing, but he's dressing up like Buddy Holly for Halloween..." he said. He looked at Pat, and then sprang out of Violet's bed. "Come on."
Pat looked at him warily. "Where are we going?"
"We need to find you a tux."
Hours later, the house was nearly empty, save for Beau, Pat and himself. Violet and Chad were still out shopping, her parents had gone to show off the baby's sheep costume, Hayden was surely out trying to seduce drunk frat boys at a club somewhere, and the rest of the ghosts were all making the most of their night of freedom.
He always felt bad for his brother on Halloween. Beau didn't seem to mind or want to leave the house, but it still made him wish things with his little brother had turned out differently. Tate had played with him for a few hours before Beau got tired and Tate had tucked him into bed. He was exploring the attic now, picking through the corners and long abandoned boxes that previous owners families had left behind. He had a pile of discarded items at his feet - postcards, Christmas decorations, even an old baseball glove. He reached in the bottom of the box and pulled out an old rubber monster mask.
He rubbed the mask between his fingers. If was old, the face was grotesque. He pulled it on and wasn't surprised to see that it fit perfectly. It was only fitting, now he looked on the outside like the monster he was on the inside.
He jumped when he heard the doorbell ring, and he walked over to the window to peer outside. The street was lined with trick-or-treaters, their bags bulging with sweats. One little girl was too excited to wait until she got home and reached into her bag to pull out an orange and black wrapper and popped the peanut butter cup into her mouth.
Candy. Chad and Violet missed candy. Hell, a grand gesture of his own couldn't hurt, right? His mind made up, he headed downstairs to swipe a pillowcase from the linen closet.
Just because he was a monster didn't mean he wasn't trying to change.
A/N: Part II is already written and will be up Saturday... or maybe FRIDAY NIGHT but only if you are very good little boys and girls.