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(Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed.)
(Gods and Monsters-Lana Del Ray)
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Violet stands in the pouring rain, imagining that she's drowning. It's nice to submerge herself in something other than her own thoughts and all she wants to do is open up her mouth and scream. Something prickles her skin and she's unable to come to grips with herself. The sky is a dreadful heavy grey that looks like velvet, thick purple clouds growing darker as day melts into night and the rain just keeps pouring. The yard to the house has become something almost soupy, the mud so thick.
"It's been raining for days." Tate states blandly from behind her, leaning over the rail of the house to run his fingers over her arm. His touch is oddly warm, and all she can do is stand stupidly and shiver. "It'll have to stop, you know. Only so much the sky can do before it has to stop."
She doesn't know if she's even crying, or if it's just the rain against her cheeks. Her eyes sting though, so she imagines she might be crying despite her best fist clenching efforts. "Go away."
The driveway is empty and the house is even emptier seemingly. Moira isn't even dusting down the shelves, leaving Violet to roam the halls alone and fade through the rooms.
There's something horribly wrong with her, but she doesn't even care. Violet feels so many thoughts and emotions knotted up within her, catching at her lungs and her heart until it's to the point that simply existing burns. Everything feels like a cage to her, like iron bars are tight around her chest.
Her wrists burn and ache, she realizes, with the angry slashes of healing crimson. She glares hard at the paleness of her skin before savagely clawing at her left wrist with her nails and sobbing at the pain.
Tate vaults over top of the rail neatly and grabs her roughly. "What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" Her hair is plastered to her face and he pushes it out of her eyes almost gently. There's a dark pain glittering in his black eyes, and she wants to hurl herself away from him but his grip seems unbreakable. "Get off of me."
He pulls her up the porch steps and opens the door for her, escorting her into the house. She's dripping wet and he's no better but neither of them really seems to notice. Tate pulls her up the stairwell quietly with her hand tiny in his own. "You're going to get sick." He informs her as he leads her into the bathroom, her feet bare on the floor tiles.
Violet flinches at the sight of her reflection, all large eyed and pale faced. She wants to break the glass, slamming her fist and breaking apart her very image. Tate doesn't give her the option, throwing a white fluffy towel over her head and rubbing at her hair roughly. "You're hurting me." She protests weakly, trembling from the coldness that had settled around her such a long time ago. "Just go away, Tate."
Suddenly his attempts at drying her off seem more soft and soothing, the towel slipping down over her shoulders and forcing her to step closer to the taller boy as she tilted her head back. "I'm not going away." He tells her quietly, and it sounds like a promise. His arms slip around her and they feel unbreakable, forcing her closer and closer to him. "I'm not ever going to go away. You're hurting right now, Violet. I know that, and I care. I'm not going to let you hurt like this."
Violet bites her lip as she presses her forehead against his shoulder. "I feel so cold all the time. It hurts, Tate."
"Will you let me help?"
She doesn't answer but she also doesn't have to.
He leaves her perched on the edge of the bathtub and returns with a few articles of her clothing folded neatly in his hands. "You're going to get sick if you don't get out of those." He tells her as he slowly unbuttons each of the buttons on her soaking wet black shirt that's plastered to her skin. Tate carefully peels the fabric off, kneeling down to sit before her. She flinches when he takes her hands and runs his lips over each livid cut. "These are like battle scars, you know?" His expression is so tortured it burns her. She swallows a sob. "They represent all your pain. Everything you feel is marking you, but it's time to stop."
"If I cut deeper, everything will go away." She informs him blandly. She could imagine it now, lying eagle spread across the floor with red streaked over everything white in the bathroom. Her blood staining the perfectly white towels and smeared over the marble bathtub, marking her entire existence.
His expression is dark. "Nothing ever really goes away."
He helps her into a dark blue sweater that hangs off her body ridiculously and step into a pair of soft leggings. "Why?"
"I love you."
Her father's claimed that before, and it always sounded so paper thin. Her mother's told her that before, and it always sounded so damn weak.
With Tate it sounds like something indestructible and forever, like a monument.
He picks her up and carries her off to her bedroom, settling her beneath the covers. She feels like a child in his arms, his warmth spreading though her icy cold body. "The rain will stop soon, you know?"
She hums something that might be an agreement, but she isn't really listening anymore. The heavy sounds of the Ramones are playing in the air, each note drifting over her as Tate slips in behind her and drapes himself over her freezing body.