Tate watched diligently as Violet rummaged through the stacks of CDs, a look of disgust evident on her near flawless features. His hands gripped the wood door frame, his palms becoming damp with accumulating sweat. His breath, though almost silently quiet, came out in large puffs and gasps of oxygen.
Violet continued fingering through and looking at the labels of each and every CD, though he could tell just from her obvious expressions that she didn't approve of whoever's taste of genre. The thought burning in the back of his mind ached and pulled at his heart strings. He wanted to walk over to her, hold her small frame in his arms and kiss her like old times when he thought, when he knew they were perfect for each other.
Though with one indulgent mistake, one he never took the time to process in his troubled mind, their relationship fell through his fingertips.
"Go away, Tate."
Her words which were filled with anger and hurt rang in his ears and flooded his mind. He smacked the side of his head, desperately wanting the memories that still tortured him to this day to fade away into that disturbed mind of his, the one Ben described in sheer detail.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
Tate snapped his head up in surprise, backing up further behind the door, even though he had complete control over his visibility. A boy no more than both of their ages stood in the doorframe of the room. Violet looked up, her usual blank expression plastered onto her facial features.
"Wow, these are complete shit." She said, her eyes fixture upon the CDs.
"Well no one asked for your opinion!" The boy said, anger evident in his statement.
Tate became heated, his fingers digging into the door frame and his nostrils flaring violently.
"Who are you anyway?" The boy said as he leaned against the all to familiar door frame of the room both Tate and Violet had shared.
Violet pushed herself off the bed and extended out her hand, "Name's Violet, I live a couple houses down."
Tate couldn't stand it anymore, seeing her converse with any new male resident
of the house ignited a burning fury inside him. It set his most powerful emotions on fire, anger, sorrow, and horrible jealousy. He tried his best to forget about her, to forget about them, though whenever he would see her in the hallways and their eyes would meet for no more than a split second, he remembered why that task was impossible. She was such a big part of him, and when she left, it was like she took that part of him with her.
He felt a hand rest upon his shoulder, and he immediately whipped around in extinct, only to be met with the calming eyes of Nora. He wanted to yell at her, he wanted to rip her hand away from him and run away, though she was such a fragile soul that even the task would be difficult for even a troubled and heartless soul.
"Just let her go, Tate. Her presence shouldn't trouble you so heavily." She said, voice as sooth and calming as ever.
"You would know all about that, wouldn't you?" Tate said in agitation. He loved Nora like a mother, more than his own backstabbing one that he refused to call mom, but at times like these he couldn't help but be hateful.
Nora looked down to the wooden floor, slowly lifting her hand away from Tate's shoulder. She didn't say a word as she left the hall, probably heading back down to the basement where she spent most of her time.
Tate continued watching Violet talk to the new owner's son, though before long the burning jealousy was too much to handle. Tate lifted his hand away from the door frame and fled the hall, heading to the bathroom.
He closed the door softly behind him, making sure not to make a single sound. Eyes screwed shut and hands gripping onto the side of the sink, Tate felt tears roll down the sides of his face, his breath coming out in choked cries.
He promised himself that he would never do it, especially when he met Violet for the first time. He knew of her addiction to the stinging pain of a razor, as he was before. And maybe, just maybe he still was addicted to that pain. Though whenever he slid the blade over the soft skin of his wrist, the depression and the dark thoughts flooding his kind made the pain fade int just a full throb, and he could hardly feel it's effect. Though when he would finally feel like he had done enough to where the pain subsided, the aftermath would be evident to him.
Tate remembered the small razor she hid in the medicine cabinet behind several untouched bottle of medication, and he slowly took it out of its place. Tate could see the faint dried blood on the blade, and he sighed, clutching I'm his sweaty palm. He promised never again, never again would be open these old wounds he inflicted months ago.
He had been clean for months, and it seemed useless to break that record now, but the escalating heartbreak and the depression made the idea seem more appealing as the days passed.
Tate shakily pulled up the sleeve of his sweater to expose his scar covered wrist. He looked to his biggest and deepest cut that was now a thick, pink line. It was the one he had inflicted onto himself when his father left, and he was left with his horrible excuse for a mother.
He looked at himself in the mirror as he pressed the razor deep into the once healed wound, drawing minuscule beads of blood which began to trickle down his forearm. Tate continued this process nine more times, and every cut he made couldn't be felt as thoughts of Violet flooded his mind.
"I said go away!"
He squeezed his eyes shut as the memory flooded his mind once again, and he made another long and deep cut.
Tate wiped away the tears stinging his face with his free hand, washing the blood off the blade. Taking a washcloth from the cabinet, he wiped away the streaks of crimson from his wrist and stuffed it into his pocket, not wanting the new family to find a blood soaked cloth the first day. Though he knew all to well that they wouldn't be here long.
Sliding down his sleeve, wincing slightly as the cloth passed the fresh cuts, Tate looked at himself once again in the mirror, his eyes blood shot. He opened the bathroom door and made his way down the hall, not leaving a trace of his previous act.
Making his was down to the basement, he just so happened to pass Violet. They didn't exchange hand gestures or words, but just made eye contact briefly before she walked past at a faster pace, leaving Tate distraught and heartbroken in the middle of the corridor.
He wanted her back so badly, though she just wanted to forget his existence.
Tate pulled out the same small razor out of his pocket.
Maybe just a few more cuts wouldn't hurt...