This was her fault. Bitch. She's mine. How can she not see that? MINE. She had no right to just wish me away, to leave me alone. She belongs to ME. And I've been 's been FIVE YEARS and I haven't even talked to her. How can I? ..ME. Bitch. Fucking bitch. Sleeping. Sleeping like nothing's wrong, the way she always sleeps. I know, because I always watch her. Bitch.
'tfair. She thinks she's allowed to do this to me? To torture me like this? I'm fucking done with this. She's mine and it's about time she fucking knows it.
I get up from my chair. Yeah, it's MY chair. I don't give a shit if she knows it. It's mine. I take my knife out of my back pocket. I always carry it. I use wi when I'm pissed. I use it on myself or whoever happens to be there. (not the Harmons, or Beau, or Nora.)
I step next to the bed. Violet is breathing. She doesn't need to do it, but she does anyway. I love her breathing. Her tiny body moves up and down at a perfectly steady pace and it's fucking beautiful. I stare. Then I put the knife in my mouth.
I reach out and grab her wrist. It's so damn soft. It's mine. She stirs, but doesn't wake. I pin it above her head. I use my other hand to do the same with her other perfect wrist, then hold them both down with one of my hands. I can hold them both there because her hands are so small. So delicate. Again, she stirs but doesn't wake.
I get on the bed. I'm sitting on her, one knee on either side. I'm holding her down and my knife is in my mouth. Finnaly, her eyes (DAMN THOSE EYES) blink open. She's confused. She might think this is a dream. It isn't.
...Does she dream about me?
"Tate?" She asks, half asleep. As if she doesn't recognize. As if she's forgotten. She's tired. She moves to whip the sleep from her eyes. She can't. I'm holding her. I'm holding her because she's mine.
Now she's scared. I can see it in her eyes. She's squirming, trying to get me off of her. As if she has any physical power over me.I use my free hand to take my knife by it's handle. I hold it to her neck, pressing, almost breaking her perfect skin.
"Get off of me." Her voice is shaking. She's terrified. I smirk.
"Say it." I demand.
"Say WHAT?" Her throat moves, when she raises her voice, against my knife. Now it breaks skin. Her blood is crimson.
"Tell me you're mine." I say calmly.
"Wha-"
"TELL ME YOU'RE MINE." I press the knife deeper. She cries.
"I...I'm yours?" But she doesn't mean it. I know. I punish her. I take the knife from her neck and slice her cheek. She cries.
"Mean it." My voice is menacing. She's silent. She can't be fucking silent. She's MINE and she needs to fucking say it. I bring my hand back and punch her. Hard. She cries harder. She squeezes her eyes shut and screams those magic words that hurtle me to the basement. I punch a wall. Bitch.