A/N: This is only my second fan fiction so bear with me! I decided to write this because, let's be honest, Violet and Tate (Violate) have the most twisted, messed up love story and we're all obsessed with it. So here's the first chapter! Let me know what I should change or add in and whatnot (: This first chapter is mostly just an intro to the characters. I think I'll write the rest of it from Violet's perspective.

Violet

"What's it like?"

"What? Being dead? Or crazy?"

"I don't think you're crazy, Violet."

"My parents do. That's why they sent me here."

"No. They sent you here because they're worried. Your mom tells me you haven't been leaving your room. You haven't been eating. These are clinical signs of depression."

"I don't need to eat. I'm dead."

"That isn't the point, Violet."

"Then what is?"

"I'm here to help you. But I can't if you won't let me in."

"I don't want your help. I don't need it. The dead don't need anything."

"Why do you keep referring to yourself as dead?"

"Because that's what I am."

Truth is, I am dead. It's my fault. I killed myself. It's been a year now and to be honest I don't really remember why I did it.

I'm trapped here like the rest of them; stuck in the same rhythm I died in—dark, troubled teenage girl with serious family issues.

It's not as bad as some of the others. Moira is bound to the house with cleaning because she doesn't remember anything else that used to give her joy. Hayden is doomed to be a vengeful ex-mistress forever, trapped on the sidelines while she watches my parents fall in love again.

I mean at least there's that, right? Despite the bullshit we're all living in, someone is happy. My parents, I mean.

And it's not like I'm not happy. I can still feel—the cold when I leave my window open; the sting of my red skin after lying in the sun too long.

At first I thought I'd lost those feelings. I was numb for so long after I saw my own dead body lying frozen on the basement floor. I guess that's normal though, to freak out after seeing your corpse covered in flies, left to rot. I'm over that now though.

My parents don't believe me. They think I'm still messed up over everything that happened in this freakish house. That's why they send me to see a shrink. My dad could just as easily 'diagnose' my problems, considering he's a psychiatrist and all, but he wants an unrelated, third party outsider's opinion.

They don't know how much fun I'm having messing with Dr. Moore. He thinks my problem is that I think I'm dead.

My problem is that I am dead.

I'm coming to terms with it, as my dad would say. I can still do everything I used to, which wasn't a whole lot. I stuck to my room mostly. I'm a fan of my solitude, what can I say?

I can still do everything but leave this property. Once I died here, the house owned me. I joined all of its other prisoners.

Thank God poor Marcy has had a shit of a time selling this place again. Everyone who moves here are guaranteed an eternity with us; they just have to die first.

But we've done our best to make sure that doesn't happen. Mom and dad do a good job of scaring away anyone who moves in. And it's been months since a living soul has been on our property, with the exception of Constance, of course.

She's still doing a good job with her role of obnoxious next-door neighbor. Not a day goes by that she doesn't let herself in and cook up something repulsive in the kitchen, claiming if we eat it it'll free our minds.

Our minds are free. It's our souls that need saving.

Besides playing chef, Constance hangs around mostly to rub it in our faces that she still has a pulse, that she can come and go as she pleases. And above all, that we can't follow her out and lay a hand on her precious grandson.

This is where things get complicated.

Her grandson is my mom's child. My brother.

It gets messier. My mom was raped by the darkness. The darkness is my ex-boyfriend. He's gone now. I sent him away. But Constance still talks about him like he's still her baby boy and couldn't do any harm.

The first time she came around and starting blabbing about him, I jumped out my bedroom window. I'm not stupid; I know I can't die twice. But his name starts a fire in me that sears my heart. I jumped to get away from it for a while. I blacked out for a solid day and a half before I woke up in my bed, sore as hell.

My mom wasn't too happy about finding Moira dragging my limp body through the front door. That was the day she and dad sent me to Dr. Moore.

I'm not too bitter about it. He's pretty entertaining to watch when he gets all flustered with my refusal to stop telling him I'm dead. Funny how some people ignore the truth, even when it's right in front of them.

Tate

I'm so stupid. Here I am, trapped in the same house with the girl I love for eternity and I can't even speak to her. I can barely look at her. It hurts. A lot.

I can barely look at myself.

I am a monster.

But that's how life goes, isn't it? One moment you've found the light and the next, you're sitting flat on your ass because all the shit you've done has finally found you and knocked you down.

I used to laugh at people who screwed themselves over. It's sick, but I did it. I thought how can one person do that much damage that nobody wants anything to do with them?

Now I know. Now I understand.

You win some, you lose some, right?

I lose everything I touch.

I didn't always used to be like this.

At one point in time I was even happy.

My mother ruined everything. She's a poisonous snake who couldn't keep it in her pants after my father was gone. Her affair destroyed two families. So I destroyed him. Set his face on fire.

Watching him smolder gave me a sick satisfaction. Maybe it was all the coke in my system heightening my senses, but I couldn't get enough of his pain.

After what he did to my brother and to my family, he deserved to burn.

What came next is just a blank space in my memory. I must've blacked out from the drugs. But next thing I knew, the police were tearing holes in my body, burying their bullets in my rotten heart.

They say I shot up a school; killed innocent kids without a second thought.

Why would I do that?

I still don't know.

But the rush I got from setting Larry Harvey on fire was addicting.

Mrs. Montgomery wanted a baby. After what her psycho husband did to her first one, I didn't blame her.

When the gay couple that had moved in decided they weren't going to adopt one anymore, I went mad. Nora deserved that baby. How dare they take it away from her?

So I killed them.

I'm sick. I'm a monster.

But at least I know it.

At least I can say aloud what I did.

Dr. Harmon hangs out with me sometimes. We talk about things that don't matter, but it's company. I don't know how he can look at my face after what I did to his wife. He's a good man; despite everything he's done.

I guess my standards of what is and isn't good shouldn't be trusted, though.

The things I've done, I deserve to rot in hell.

But this is as close as I'll get. And it's hell enough.

The other day I watched Violet throw herself out of her bedroom window, just because my mother said my name.

I did that to her. It's my fault she can't ever be normal again because she'll always know in the back of her mind that I love her.

I wonder what it's like to have a psychopath be in love with you.