Chapter 1
Violet POV
The last three years have been nothing but smears of blurry paint on an oily canvas for Violet Harmon. Potential home owners stay well enough away from the notorious Murder House now, not many folks have shown much interest after the stint the Harmons pulled on the last family. Violet wishes she could've gone with them and left this house behind, but the dried out corpse of her former self is a constant reminder that she's bound to these walls for eternity. Sometimes she'll escape to the dusty crawl space to be alone with her body. She's practically mummified by now, the dry California heat keeping her preserved like a chili pepper. Part of her finds the sight disgusting and highly unsanitary, but the other part enjoys the eeriness of her sad, wailing corpse.
She doesn't see Tate around anymore. Once, she can hardly remember when, she thought she caught a glimpse of his sweater, but she brushed it off as a subconscious trick of the mind. She's tried her best to move on, but it's not like there's any fish left in the sea for her. She misses having somebody to talk to, somebody to hold her when she cries and tell her everything will be alright. She has her parents, of course, but so does that scrawny little baby they so lovingly named Mason. He should be three by now, walking and talking, doing all the things toddlers do, not continuing to suck the life out of Violet's mother and grab all of her attention with his incessant screams and cries. She tries to love the little brat, she really does, but it's hard to be cast to the side for a little dead baby for all of eternity. She's cursed now, just like the rest of them, forced to watch her family pretend their daughter is okay to make room for the weak soul of a stillborn.
She still cuts. She doesn't know why she bothers, they only close back up moments after they're made. It's the only way to get a taste of what it felt like to be alive again, like a clearing in a cloud of smog, allowing her to breathe once again. It's not long before the feeling wears off and the cloud suffocates her again, robbing her of her very last high strung breath over and over again in her own little silent hell. She needs to breathe, she needs oxygen; she needs Tate. He made her feel free when she still had a pulse, he's the only one who can make her feel that way again. She's done being angry with him, though she's not quite sure if she truly was in the first place. What he did was fucked up, but isn't everything that happens in this house? She can't justify her mother's rape, but she can't live a life of hallow loneliness anymore, either. It's a debate that has been tugging at her heart for far too long, she's finally ready to take her chances.
Violet stands in her room, the very room she was in when she banished Tate from her life, it only seems fitting to let him back in here. "Tate?" She calls out, her nerves making her voice sound timid and unsure. "Tate." She calls again, though this time her tone is more confident and demanding. The feeling that she's being watched hits her very suddenly like a ton of bricks. She whirls around to see Tate standing hardly a foot away from her, straining to maintain eye contact with her and not the ground. "You're here." Her cold heart fills with life, she feels as if it's about to burst out of her chest.
"I'm always here, Violet." Tate says, testing his boundaries by taking another step forward. She thinks about backing away, but that would only hinder the healing process of their already violently battered relationship. "I always will be."
He has no choice but to stay, but Violet senses another meaning to his words. He'll always be waiting for her, he always has been. He's here for her and only her, there isn't some sick baby or sadistic slut on his mind, only her and her alone. Despite her greatest effort to hold them back, tears begin to stream down her cheeks. Her knees start to go weak as she backs up against the foot of her old bed, another thing left from a past life that she's forced to hang on to. Waves of sobs pass through her body when she feels his arms around her, pulling her head against his chest, the way he used to before she forced him away. It's confusing, to feel so right with someone who's done so much wrong, but she's tired of lying to herself. She's tired of denying those feelings that were always too disturbing for her to face, she's tired of being alone, she's just…tired.
"It's okay, I'm here now." He says, stroking her hair. "I'm not going anywhere." All the tears she's never allowed herself to shed over him come all at once, she sobs so hard her body shakes. She's held so much in, too much in for those three years they've been separated, the release of emotions if something she's needed for a very long time. "I'm so sorry, Violet, I never meant…I wasn't…" She hears his voice tremble. "I missed you."
They lay there for a while, allowing their sobs to settle down into occasional gasps for air and their emotions to stabilize themselves. Needless to say, this isn't how Violet planned this would go down. She didn't want to cry, she wanted to make herself seem strong to mask the weakness of her running back into his arms, but it all proved to be too much for her poor, undead heart. She can't let her parents know about this, they'll think she's betrayed them, she has to keep this a secret. As she looks up into Tate's dark, teary eyes, she knows it's a secret worth keeping.
AN: Thanks for reading, it's pretty short because it's more of an introduction into further chapters. It's been awhile since I've written anything, but this is my first American Horror Story fic, please review and tell me if the characterization is alright, it would mean a lot to have some opinions.
