A/n: I speak spanish. My native language is spanish. And I have this strange relation with english language. However, I wanted to take the chance to do this.
You can find the original story in my profile.
Any review is accepted—Be gentle, please, it's my first time –wink, wink-
Disclaimer applied.
Oct 4, 2016 - This work was betaing by Melanie O'Connor and the sweet Sunset82. Thanks, girls!
Pain
"GO AWAY!" She shouted at him, and the next thing he knew was that he was standing in the basement with tears streaming down his cheeks. He took a sharp breath and led a hand to his chest because it hurt and it oppressed as if it were a physical injury. Tate had never felt like this before, the rejection of a beloved person, all the agony of knowing that he could never be with her, that because of his own fault he was doomed to be unhappy for eternity owing to irreparable acts done by him and no one else that him.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" He whispered softly, hiccupping and sniffling, drowned in an uncontrollable crying that came from the soul. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry ..."
"Oh, poor little Keats, crying for his ladylove... Whom he has lost for not having enough balls".
He didn't look up because he knew that it was Hayden and he would not fall into her provocation. He turned his back as he tried to wipe away the tears.
"What will you do now? Will you start to shoot or dive into a pool of misery while you express your grief and self-pity?"
"Shut up, Hayden" he clenched his fists. "Shouldn't you be trying to steal babies?"
"The bitch of your mother beat me to it" she spit with all the contempt she was capable of. "So basically it's her fault that I'm here now making fun of your pain" she paused, delighting her to see the movement of his shoulders shaking from his silent tears. "Your girl hates you now ... Oh, wait, she's not your girl anymore."
Tate couldn't bear it and he bent forward, kneeling on the floor and supporting both fists on the concrete. The moans and groans were cut off with the name of Violet in them. His chest hurt so much that he wanted to die. The tears didn't stop falling from his eyes and he wanted to scream, hoping that his voice would reach her up there—in that room that now seems so forbidden—, and then she would decide to forgive all his sins.
Another voice was heard:
"I realize that my day hasn't been a complete shit when I can see you in this state."
Chad. Tate clenched his jaw and bit his tongue until it bled to not let escape the sobs that scratched his throat.
"It hurts, right? That the person who loved you stops doing it."
"Violet still loves me, she told me" he said with a choked voice.
"Yeah, still."
"I told you that bitch was tough" Hayden mentioned.
"Don't you dare call her like that!"
"I also told you're like a girl. A fucking fagot."
"Hey!" Chad exclaimed. "More respect for the guild, honey."
Tate continued crying. Listened to the pair discussing and put his hands to his head to cover his ears and take advantage of his hair flopping— the physical pain helps a little, but not enough. —Violet, Violet, don't leave me, no, no ... It's all he could think of. Her absence was so big that he wondered how the hell he did before to exist without her at his side when he didn't know her. Violet had gotten into his skin, under his nails and deep within his guts.
He felt he couldn't breathe.
It was when Hayden pronounced the following words that Tate paid attention to his environment again:
"What if we kill him? You know, finish him off so he doesn't suffer anymore."
"He will go away just for a couple of minutes."
"Whatever it takes to stop listening to him, shit."
He gasped and turned towards them, scraping the knees of his jeans against the floor.
"Y-Yes, yes! Do it!" he whimpered to Hayden. "Kill me! Kill me now!"
Both of them exchanged glances.
"Very enthusiastic" the man mocked, with his ever-sardonic eyebrow raised.
"Come on, proposals" animated the ghost woman. "I say we can cut his dick until he bleeds to death. Anyway, he doesn't plan to use it anymore ..."
"Interesting idea" said Chad but he wasn't really paying attention to her, he was looking at Tate's eyes; he hated this little psycho, this monster who killed him in cold blood, without remorse, and now pathetically crawling like a puppy over a melancholic girl who is now far away from his possibilities, and that was something Chad would take advantage in his favor: "I, however, incline me for this."
In just two strides, he planted himself in front of him and kicked his face with his expensive Gucci shoes. Chad had kicked asses before, even if now was a Martha Stewart with a penis, there was a time that he had to defend himself from bullies from his high school who assaulted him only because of his way of speaking— stupid and homophobic teenagers just as the guy who is now under the sole of his shoe. Chad pressed the heel against the stomach and gloated for Tate's spasms.
"Does it hurt?" was a rhetorical question this time. He crouched down to indulge in his misery: Tate had his eyes half-closed and wheezed while hot tears soaked his face and snot out of his nose. It was a regrettable spectacle. "How about this?" he moved both hands to his neck and gradually tightened. "You tried to kill me this way, remember? Watching me in the eyes without any kind of remorse. Do you think that Violet would believe in your lies again? That you've changed? That you are sorry? Come on."
Tate huffed for the effort and instinctively moved his own hands to Chad's wrists. The blood slid from the corner of his lips, Chad had kicked him near the mouth, hurting his gums.
"She will eventually stop loving you."
"N-No!"
"Oh, yeah. She will dedicate to ignore you for all eternity."
"S-She…"
"And then, if there's some luck, she will get someone better. A new tenant, perhaps?"
"V-Violet!"
"She will fall in love again, maybe I'll make her the favor and murder him for her. Then they can be together forever" Tate kicked and scratched Chad's arms. "You'll hear them fuck around the house, I'll make sure of that. So maybe they'll let you see, you, little pervert, like all the times you looked at her on the sly while she was changing her clothes or while she was taking a shower. You're so pathetic."
"And you're so fucking cruel" accused Hayden behind his back, but she actually was smiling. "When are you going to kill him?"
Chad pressed harder —the delicate Adam's apple crushed under his palms—until the boy's face was purple, with veins gushing down his forehead, unable to answer anything else, moaning in grief.
Then he let go of.
"What the fuck are you doing?" the woman questioned.
"There are worse things than death, honey, I know that very well and I'm sure you also know it" he stood up without leaving his eyes from Tate. "It's time that Norman Bates Jr. knows it too."
Tate was now a dispossession of arms and legs. Cowering in a fetal position, he was devoting to cry while pressing his hands, which turned fists against his face, his body shook violently with each whimper; he stammered things that none of the other two people could fully understand, but sounded like Violet being his forever and ever.
Hayden's voice is flat when she said:
"He's suffering."
"He is" Chad agreed.
There was no harshness this time in their attitudes, they were just seeing a fact. Hayden wondered whether this would finally get Tate's heart turned completely black and his soul of a poet would end to corrupt and disintegrate. Chad, meanwhile, calculated how long would it take to the naive Violet forgive him.
(Deep down, he knew he couldn't blame her).
Both disappeared in silence. Then Tate started to scream.
THE END