"Goodbye Tate." Her lips whispered when they parted from his own. When he opened his eyes, she was gone. And he cried.
This wasn't supposed to happen. How could everything have gone so wrong? He fell down and hugged his knees tightly to his chest, weeping like a child who was lost. Which he was. He was lost in the darkness that oozed from this house and the only light that could lead him from the dank and disgusting tunnel surrounded by evil was gone; it left because helping him from himself was too much for anyone to handle. He was a walking disaster.
'Goodbye' was much worse than 'go away' in Tate's eyes. Goodbye meant leaving and leaving meant forgetting and never coming back. Was Violet never coming back to him? Was his only source of existing never going to forgive?
Of course she won't forgive you, his mind whispered and the words echoed around his empty body and he hated how true they sounded. He had hurt her more than anyone ever deserved to be hurt. He promised to always protect her and by doing that, he damaged her himself. He made her cry. And he couldn't stand that. She was the one person that never deserved to cry.
Tate tried to get up but it was no use. His heart was too heavy with sorrow. His heart that disappeared from life and then was remade when Violet came to this house, was broken and crumbling and he thought, yes, let it break. After everything, it's least it can do.
Everything came back to Tate in the next few moments, every kiss, every look, every hug, every word shared, every secret, every touch. All that could be gone, forgotten, never to be repeated because of him. And his body ached for her. Ached for one look, one graze of the hand, anything. He wanted her to come back and hold him and say that she loved him. He saw her face so clearly in his mind and wanted and wanted and wanted for it to go away but it didn't, it was glued there. To mock him. He couldn't have her. Not now. –Maybe- Not ever.