American Horror Story -
Through The Eyes of Tate.
Time is irrelevant when your dead. In fact, I don't remember the last time I even looked at a clock. Actually, that's not true, at 3.30pm every weekday she would return home from school. The Harmon's had found a vintage grandfather clock that belonged to the first residents of the house, not that The Montgomery's would have much use for the clock now. Like I said, time is irrelevant when your dead. Even if I hadn't been waiting by the antique clock for her to come back to me, I knew she was home by the sound of her footsteps up the grand staircase. She walked with anger, it bounced off of her on every step she took, yet there was something so delicate about the way she moved.
I don't hear her move any more. In fact this house of the living dead has never before seemed so well, dead to me. Since the house is still on the market, and The Harmon's are determined to frighten off any potential families, things are getting really boring around here. There's too much time to think and reflect, that's how most of us occupants feel in this house. Some find ways of entertaining themselves, like Chad and Patrick, the poofs, they find a source of entertainment in arguing, though I'd argue that was still their hobby when they were alive. Nora spends most of her time locked away in the basement, singing a lullaby or some other melancholy number. I'd like to talk Nora more. I get lonely, and even amongst old friends, like Nora, I get a sense I'm not welcome. I can still play with Beau though, he doesn't judge me, mainly because his mash-potatoe mind can't let him, but it's still nice to know there's someone in this house who doesn't look at you like shit on their shoe. Well, most of them won't look at me at all. Hayden's my only other company, she let's me hang around with her sometimes. She's just as bitter as I am about the events that happened. It eats away at her, then she begins to trash the house. When she's finished with the screaming, the breaking, she's not good company. I'd rather be alone actually.
A perfect little family. It's almost comedy worthy. A family of the walking dead, with the new addition of baby un-born and the ghostly godmother. If I was still Mr Harmon's patient, I'm sure he'd tell me I'm 'being resentful as your lusting after a family scenario you will never have Tate'. I'm not resentful though, no, I'm just angry at how this whole god dam situation played out. I'm angry at myself. I'm angry at myself because I know I could have been a part of that family. I know they would have accepted me if I hadn't done all that fucked up shit. Even Mr Harmon would have come around. He's actually not so bad. Twice now he's seen me in the garden, sitting on me and Violet's wall. He never says anything, he just smiles.
I still go to our wall everyday. Not because I think she's coming back to me, I'm not that fucking naive, but because I still like to pick up the ends of her cigarettes. I like to twirl them around between my fingers and think about her lips being pressed against them. Her lips being pressed against me. On my lips, on my neck, on my..
To tell the truth, I can't even think about sex any more, and believe me I used to think about sex a lot. I start to feel guilty when I think about being with her like that, like I'm somehow abusing her in my thoughts like some sort of rapist, ironic huh?
She hasn't shown herself to me since she found out, but today something usual happened, a sign, maybe. After months of hearing nothing from her, I occasionally go up to her bedroom to reminisce about the times we shared. I picked up some of her favourite CD's, and laid them on the floor. I fondle with them often, Violet loved her music so much that when I touch them I feel like I'm so close to touching her again. I looked up and noticed that a new message had been scribbled on her blackboard, underneath my note, 'I LOVE YOU'. The chalk had spread, and the letters looked shaky, like she'd been shaking when writing her reply, 'I LOVE YOU TOO'.
