Author's Note: This story is a first time for me, and I'm also writing it with oreo-child.

Disclaimer: I barely own a car, so I do not possess anything to do with this series, just an overactive imagination.

1993

Tate had always preferred the comforts of solitude, rather than to scrutinize every detail within social interactions. He just could never feel normal when he tried to emulate the other kid's actions and mannerisms. Even at a young age he had chosen to play by himself, despite Constance's continual tries to get Tate to engage in activities with his peers. Tate would normally just refuse, stating that they wouldn't care for his company, nor would he care for theirs. Instead, he would dive into books as a means of escape. In his stories, it was easy to see how one character could so easily communicate with another, as he had the secret insight. He was allowed into the mind of the characters, something he wasn't granted in his life, and therefore he would have to live vicariously through their whimsical tales. He would also study social interactions between his peers, which would often lead to an internal debate as to why he couldn't be "more like them," as Constance had pleaded with him many times before. He already could see the differences in how he was regarded between his siblings. Poor Beauregard couldn't even leave the constraints of his room. Addy could at least go out into public without their mother bursting into hysterics, but not often would she be allowed to leave the house. Constance feared not only for her reputation as a fit mother to be affected, but also for Addy's safety. She knew that with her condition, Addy would see the world from a skewed view, as to be so entrusting in most people, and saw no wrong in bridging social barriers that others wouldn't dare attempt. All the while, Tate could roam freely, as her "promise child." He felt disgusted with himself, he saw no harm in his siblings leading a happy life, if they couldn't have one, why should he? He was surely no better than them.

This was his first insight as to how cruel the world could really be. He could often recall how his mother would snap at any complaints they had against their designated roles. Whenever Beau would make too much noise to even acknowledge his existence, Constance would have Larry go upstairs and quiet him, for fear of the neighbors discovering their dark truth. Similarly, when the allure of the outside proved to be just too much for little Adelaide to resist, Constance would reign her back inside claiming that it was a "dangerous place" for her, though Tate wasn't sure how much truth there was in her statement. By just watching how differently each of them was treated, he saw exactly how much the rest of the world valued relative "normalcy." Though to Tate, he never felt "normal." Sure, he looked the part, and could act it when he felt like it, but he couldn't control himself. This is why he often felt it best to distance himself from the world. His moods could change on the flip of a dime. One minute he'd be happy, or at least content, and the next, the slightest disturbance would set him off. More often than not, the cause of the explosion would come from when he felt his façade slipping, when he could feel himself turn into the old self-destroying Tate that he reserved only for himself to see, though many people would see the result from his inner self showing. He was exhausted from the charade of a life he had been dealt. He needed room to breathe, room to be himself without the constant judgment from others. He needed a space reserved just for Tate, and Tate only.

This pessimistic outlook had also deterred him from seeking any form of friendship. Not only was he on a different level than most kids his age, but he just couldn't trust himself to be happy. This made for a very lonely life. Despite his feeling of urgency to disconnect, it didn't mean that he didn't yearn for another person to reach out and try to understand him. Even on the rare occasion that he would converse with others his age, it was often just to perform a type of social experiment. His peers were his puppets, and he had enough practice to know how to pull the strings just right to get them to do exactly what he wanted. Often, it would begin as a small idea to infiltrate their minds, to cause doubt and panic. Then it would develop into actions, though none on his part. He would merely give them the verbal boost that they needed to confront their fears. Then it was time for Tate to watch it all unfold. After years of this constant meddling, Tate grew tired of it all. People were predictable, he saw what they sought after, dangled it in front of their faces, and quickly pulled back. It was all too easy to them, all of the plastic girls held no underlying depth, and all of the meathead guys had absolutely no sense within their core. Though he would never admit it to himself, he felt envious of the shallow people. He watched as they made it seem that forming meaningful relationships was so easy. The thoughts grew in his mind as a disease; he refused to become Constance's "perfect son," he felt like nothing to anybody, he just couldn't grasp how it seemed to come naturally to so many people. Then his temper would get the best of him, often in the form of material destruction at his family's expense. Still, he continued to play his games, if anything in a way to spite his oblivious peers. He was a lamprey, lurking through the waters of public education, just seeking out his prey. Once he had tasted the blood, he would move onto another, just for the thrill of the chase. It felt like more of a systematic schedule, he felt compelled to intervene in his acquaintances' lives, but even the chase would lose its appeal. Before long, it became tiresome more than anything, and he was itching for someone to prove him wrong. He needed an exception to the rule.