Violet screamed, "Go away!" with the tears already beginning to fall. She mustn't let him see her cry, after all they've been through. After all Tate has put her and her family through. She needs him to know the rage boiling up inside her, see the blood pouring from her veins. She loves him, she knows that. But the pain he put her through, just so he could pretend to fix it again, it's not right. She hates him for that.
To see Violet with so much hatred towards him, kills Tate. The look in her eyes as she screamed at him, alone, makes him sick. If only he weren't dead. If he was alive, all he would do was get out of that god forsaken house, drag himself to the beach, jump into the water and swim straight to the bottom, the absence of the air in his lungs killing him. But, he was a ghost, and trapped in this house, this "Murder House" forever. For always. So, Tate made his way to the roof of the house, sat on the muddy mustard tiles and cried. The tremors in his body overpowering every one of his senses. Every once in a while, he cried out to the empty street, pulling at his hair until it was almost falling out. He even jumped off that roof, once, just to see what would happen. The seconds while falling gave him some peace, just for a little while, before he crashed to the ground head first and appeared back in the house's foyer again.
Tate is trapped. Stuck with this misery, this pain, forever. As for Violet, he'll wait, forever if he has to, to kiss her again. He broke her heart, but they belong together, or so they told each other, in that bathtub. This is what love is, the tears, the pain, the eternal heartbreak. It kills them both, but it all adds up. There's just so much pain, there's no balance. Too much sorrow and not enough joy. Too much blood and not enough laughter. It's not fair.