AN: The shooting happens in 2013 instead of 1994 to avoid confusion and to make this easier to write since this time frame suits the plot a lot better. Please review because I wrote up the whole chapter on my phone and it all deleted so I had to re-type it which took a long time :( It would mean so much if you guys even just left a line, thankyou so much for taking time out of your day to read my story, will up-date tomorrow! Also, I'm going to use all characters in Murder House apart from Violet as I think it would be a better read if the parents of my OC are Vivien and Ben. Enjoy and please please please review! x

Tainted Love: a love you have for someone else so deep that it feels like it should last forever, but can't for some complicated, unfair reason.Corrupted love.

His eyes were the last thing she saw before it all went black, and her last conscious thought that there are worse things to look at as you take your last breathe.

Dakota Myers was wealthy, beautiful and popular. She was everything anyone would want to be, and she knew it, because when she laughed everybody laughed and when she smiled the whole world smiled back at her.

People didn't know what lay in her eyes, all the emotion that she hid under fake smiles and makeup. She didn't think anybody could understand her. But when she saw Tate Langdon's eyes, though they contrasted greatly with her sea blue ones, being an extremely dark indescribable colour, kinda like melted chocolate, it was like looking into a mirror. Almost. She saw the same pain she felt in her own, but there was a certain darkness in his eyes unlike her own that she didn't quite understand. It scared her, she had to admit to herself.

Dakota didn't exude confidence, but she certainly had enough of it in her to strike up a conversation with pretty much anyone in the school. Anyone but him. Something about those dark eyes looking into hers as she spoke to him was too much. Tate wasn't a jock, nerd, goth, punk or loner... He liked being alone, by choice, it seemed, so although he didn't seem to have or want friends, he didn't exactly qualify as a loner. With his looks as mysterious demeanour, he'd be popular if he wanted to be. At least with the girls, she thought to herself with a giggle and then realising she'd been staring too long. Giggling in a quiet library. At him. But he didn't seem to notice, lost in a book about birds.

Dakota should've have been in school that day. Her dad had insisted she go study an extra day in the library, and her mom had agreed with him. She didn't mind, though, because she'd decided today would be the day that she finally spoke to Tate Langdon.

Her heart began to sink along with her hopes of seeing him as she studied the clock more than anything else as it landed on 11:30. He was never late. Never. In fact, Dakota found herself worrying about him, then almost laughed at how ridiculous she was being about this and tried to focus her attention back to half studying and half listening to her best friend talk about their shopping trip this weekend and what dress she'd buy for the upcoming dance.

What could only be a gunshot rang out in the hall outside the library, shattering through Cara's words on dress choices and the dance. It was followed by panicked, terrified screaming and several more gunshots.

Before anyone could react, a punk rocket kid that Dakota knew as Kevin burst through the doors with blood on his clothing. He immediately tried to bolt the door shut with a chair and even pushed a small bookcase in front of the door, before announcing to the small amount of people in the library that "some kid" was shooting the place up.

Dakota immediately got to her feet to help him with his wounds, but he stopped her before she got too close. "It's not my blood- You have to hide, all of you, hide! Hurry!"

Dakota and Cara scrambled under a table at the back of the room to increase their chances of survival, which began to seem bleak as the shooter managed to shake off the chair from outside the door and the bookcase somehow fell away, too. "Shit," Dakota muttered.

They all watched in horror as the librarian was shot, trying to block the door and hold it shut. Then he walked in, every step slow and precise. He was taking his time, toying with them all. And they were sitting ducks, tables didn't do shit against shotguns, and they all knew it. Especially Dakota.

It began to sink in, even more so, as he stalked Stephanie Boggs between bookcases, a girl that Dakota had had issues with in the past and even recently. She resented Dakota for her fortune and the fact that she was well-liked. But right now, Dakota felt her heart breaking for the girl as the shooter whistled a slow, haunting melody that Dakota was sure she had heard someone whistle before and pushed several books off of the row of the shelf behind Stephanie's head, causing her to scream as they clattered and fell in a heap beside her feet. He knew where she was now, she'd alerted him of her location, though Dakota was convinced he already knew and was just trying to terrify her; as if killing her wasn't enough.

Her heavy breathing was abruptly cut off when he shot her. And she was dead.

The nerd who Dakota was pretty sure was called Amir was next, as he tried calling the police or anyone for help using the phone. The jock under the table with his cheerleader girlfriend had signalled to him to do it. Dakota and Chloe couldn't see Amir but they had a feeling he just knew he was going to die in the next few seconds when he stopped dialling, and probably looked up at the shooter. He didn't get a chance to beg.

Kevin pleaded for his life, looking up at his killer. This, the girls could see. They exchanged a look of sheet terror as the shot rang out.

Dakota held her breathe, eyes widened, as the shooter appeared to approach them. However, the jock decided to be a hero and told Tate to simply stop, that that was enough. Obviously, it didn't work. Then his girlfriend cried out in sobs, trying to be quiet, probably covering her mouth. They couldn't see, they could only hear and imagine what was going on feet away from them beyond the main office desk that was thankfully obstructing their view. Hearing her beg and sob as the shooter lifted the table that she had been hiding under sent tears rolling down Dakota's cheeks and she stifled a sob. Cara just closed her eyes tightly, allowing a few tears to be released but trying to hold most back.

"WHY?!" Chloe, the cheerleader half-cried, half-begged. Then she pleaded, and the gunshot rang out. She was gone. And that left only Dakota and Cara remaining. They exchanged a different kind of glance, somehow more terrified and panicked than the rest. Because they knew they were next.

He walked in the direction of the door and a flicker of hope shone in both the girls' eyes. But then he sharply turned on his heel left, around a table and back in their direction, and it was evident that he had been trying to give them that illusion of hope, to kill them emotionally first before killing them completely, playing with them like it was some horror film. That's exactly what it felt like to them. A horror film.

Sirens were approaching, but they felt too far away to do the girls any good. Because they were.

The shooter began to whistle that melody again, and he clearly knew exactly where they were. He paused before the table and the two girls clutched onto each-other. Dakota was the first to exhale a sob, as he grabbed the table. "No..." He pulled it up. "No!" It clattered behind them.

And she remembered where she had heard that song just as his face was revealed. That darkness was even more evident in his eyes. His expression changed slightly when he saw Dakota, his jaw set. His expression wasn't entirely empty, but intense, with purpose.

Dakota didn't really want to beg him for her life. It was pointless, wasn't it? She knew she wasn't getting out alive now. She hadn't accepted it, really, but she was aware. So she just stared up at him, frozen.

"Why do you wear long sleeves in summer?" He asked simply, his eyes flickering with curiosity, still clutching the shotgun tightly. They burned into Dakota like flames into her flesh. "I-I..." She stammered, she didn't want to reveal one of her biggest secrets to the boy who was about to end her life, but this was Tate. The thoughtful boy who liked to read about birds and was never late to school. Who shoots up schools, she reminded herself.

Cara sighed and grabbed her right arm, pulling up Dakota's sleeve, exposing her scars; some new, some old. He blinked, his intense gaze softening for a fraction of a second. Then it returned to what it formerly was. Dakota snatched her arm away from Cara and shot her a glare, frowning. How had Cara known and only thought to show it now? To him? It wasn't like he'd let them walk out of here because she had a few cuts on her arm.

He loaded one bullet into the gun, and it made the bolting, snapping noise that shotguns make when they're loaded. One bullet. Why one? They both realised that only one of them was surviving this, and one wasn't.

Panic set in and it became real to Dakota when he did that, staring right at her as he did it. "Why do you like birds?" She asked shakily. He had glanced down at the gun and his penetrating gaze snapped back to Dakota. "You always read books about birds. I always thought there was something special about you. Your eyes, too, they're so dark and beautiful. And you're never late. I thought- I thought today I'd finally pluck up the courage to talk to you, but you were late."

Cara glanced at her friend in confusion, surprised by this revelation.

"'Cause they can fly away when things get too crazy, I guess," he answered after a few seconds, thoughtfully, almost softly.

"I like birds, too," she found herself almost smile, almost. Then she remembered that he was about to kill her.

Tate didn't look quite guilty, though his expression changed. It was... Conflicted, definitely.

Hope sparked up in their eyes again. It was shattered when he raised the gun at Dakota, aiming for her head. She didn't drop her gaze from his eyes and somehow managed to lock it there. She exhaled shakily, trying to prepare herself for the hopefully brief moment of pain awaiting her. "God, no, please don't, please!" Cara begged for her friend's life. "It's okay," Dakota closed her eyes and nodded, her voice heavy with tears. "It's okay Cara, I'm okay." She opened her eyes and stared back up at Tate, waiting for the bullet. "Just kill me. P-please just do it, okay? Just kill me!" She cried, getting angry as he made her wait, seemingly intent on making her death as horrible as he could possibly make it.

At the last second, he turned the gun on Cara and before the bullet could get to her, Dakota threw herself in front of her friend. It hit her in the chest, just below her collarbone but above her heart. She screamed, but didn't realise that it was her own voice making that sound until a few seconds later. It sounded so foreign to her.

"Dakota, Dakota, no..." Cara whimpered, stroking her friend's hair after pulling her head onto her lap gently. Dakota looked up at her friend for a second and managed to smile, she'd saved her. It was worth it. Then she closed her eyes, hoping she'd drift off soon and all the pain would stop. "No, don't do that. Stay with me, c'mon. Don't you leave me. Don't you dare!"

Tate watched blankly, wiping his face of his initial shock and regret. He didn't regret it anymore, he couldn't. Nobody could stop him for doing this, not even himself. It was ironic, really. Nobody could have stopped Dakota from saving her friend, either or attempting to.

Cara didn't notice Tate loading another bullet until he cocked the gun. Then she looked up, and he shot her right in the heart. Where the original bullet should have went.

Dakota somehow snapped back to her senses when her friend's hold on her fell limp and her body fell back. She blinked her eyes open and glared into his, until her brief look of hatred was replaced by one of sheer fear and horror. Then she scrambled back from him slowly but surely, wincing with every movement until her head bumped against the table that had, minutes ago, sheltered them from him and his bullets. He stepped toward her and her whole body trembled violently, blood soaking her shirt. The cops should be here by now. But they weren't.

Tate crouched down and took her other arm in his hand gently. She flinched and tried to pull away, sobbing uncontrolably at this point, but he pulled her sleeve up to reveal similar scars on her other arm. Then he met her eyes and she was shocked to find remorse in his. "I'm sorry." His eyes were the last thing she saw before it all went black, and her last conscious thought was that there are worse things to see as you take your last breathe.