AN: This is the first time I've ever ditched something after writing some, but I really like how this second idea turned out, even though it was a last minute change of everything, and it was a blast writing this side of Tate. It was extra fun having Violet swoop in and save the day for a change. I haven't been watching the second season, that's why Kit is so scarce. I didn't want to get him totally wrong, but he was useful for a bit. If you don't get the Matilda references never talk to me again. Jk. And when I was trying to name this, I wanted to use the word hope and the only thing that came to mind was Hope Floats so everyone can just deal with it, this has nothing to do with the movie, and if you get the parks and rec reference you get bonus points.
Hope Floats
I prepare for the noble war.
I'm calm; I know the secret.
Students part, keep away, don't get too close to Langdon, he's nuts.
They think I'm what they should be afraid of. They'll see one day, how filthy the world—this school—is. They've been tricked, and I will help them. They'll thank me. They'll look up the barrel of my gun, pleading, tears and snot and lies streaming out of them, and they'll learn. I'll take them someplace beautiful, and they'll thank me.
"Hey, Tate." I whirl around. Friendly words are not something I'm used to.
It's Violet. She's looking back, smiling, a hand raised in a casual wave, the other laced with the hand of her boyfriend, Kit. She's the new kid. Our English teacher stuck her next to me, and in a classic new-girl-doesn't-know-to-hate-the-weird-kid scenario, she was kind. Kit scooped her up before anyone else had a chance to get to know her. He tended to do that, with his charm and James Dean hair.
I finally think to wave back, in time to bump into someone, then flee from their offended grumblings, to start the walk home, alone.
…
Something's wrong when I walk in the door. The Murder House, as the newspapers so kindly call my loving abode, is quiet. My mother is not drunk, and my sister isn't watching some cartoon too loudly.
"Tate?" I find Constance, dressed to the nines, in the sitting room.
"Mom?"
She rises up and fusses with her hands, touching my hair and cheeks and settling on my shoulders. "Tate, honey, there's been a tragedy."
I think of my simple sister, my harmless brother.
"Beau has passed on." Her voice wavers with practiced emotion.
I shrug out from under her hands. It occurs to me that I should be angry she let him die trapped in that attic, but really, I can't be. He was my brother.
I can't decide what to do. I could cry, and sink into the welcome embrace of my mother. I could scream and hurl crystal glasses, bottoms murky with leftover whiskey, at the disturbing paintings covering the walls. Or I could run, what I do best. My legs feel heavy.
"Where's Addie?"
"She's in her room, resting. It's been a trying day for her."
"How did it happen?" I'm surprised words are coming out of my mouth in coherent patterns. Constance seems flustered. She probably assumed I would be halfway through destroying the house by now.
"He just never woke up, darling." A trembling hand floats to her chest. Always acting.
"I'm gonna go talk to Addie."
"Don't upset her, Tate," she warns as I climb the stairs. Addie's door is open a crack, and I nudge it open with the toe of my boot.
"Addie?"
"Tate!" Despite the day, she's happy to see me. She's always happy to see the people she cares about.
"Hey, Addie. Scoot over." She makes space for me on her bed, and we lie prone next to each other, studying the ceiling.
"I'll miss Beau. Will you miss Beau?" she asks calmly.
"Of course. But don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."
"Where would you go, silly?" I smile at her, then turn back to the ceiling.
"It's just you and me now, Adelaide."
…
Two things come to my attention at Beau's funeral. Well, three. One; the world has no clue how to deal with people like Beau, so severely deformed it can be frightening. Two; Larry, my mother's current squeeze, killed Beau. And three; something about me had stuck in Violet's mind.
The service was generic, with of course no mention of Beau's actual life. I felt eyes on me the whole time, and when I looked around, I found Violet a few rows back. She looked hopelessly bored, but smiled when I caught her eye.
She snuck up behind me during the awkward 0h-I'm-so-sorry-let-me-shake-your-hand-for-too-long greetings with people I didn't remember ever having met. Glad for the excuse to go anywhere else, I let her lead me to a loveseat against a far wall.
"What are you doing here, Violet?" I asked nervously.
"I heard about your brother at school and just thought you could use a friend. I've been to my share of funerals, and I know they're not fun." I wanted to know everything about her in that moment, chisel through the new-kid armor and find the ghosts she was hiding, but knew it wasn't the right time. I looked at my hands instead. "Can I ask you a question, Tate?"
"Sure?"
"Why aren't there any pictures of Beau?"
I smiled. "That is just another of my mother's attempts to convince herself and the world that Beau was another perfect child."
"He wasn't perfect?"
"He was severely deformed and mentally disabled. The cocksucker kept him chained in the attic, like some kind of animal."
"That's disgusting."
"He was happy though. He had no clue what he was missing, and was easily amused. He would smile and laugh if you just rolled his ball with him. He looked scary, but he was harmless. My siblings are the most caring people I know. I have no clue how they came from my mother."
"She looks like a piece of work." We watch Constance make swipes at false tears as she stands in front of the closed casket. "Who's the nervous guy next to her?"
"Larry. Her latest boyfriend. He left his wife for Constance, and she lit her house on fire, with her daughters in it."
"Jesus."
"Yeah, he's truly one of a kind."
"Why's he look so nervous?" I thought of the hushed moment I'd witnessed between Larry and Constance this morning. She had held his cheeks in a way very uncharacteristic of their relationship and said, "you did a good job." Realization sparked in my mind, and Violet could tell.
"Well, Violet, he looks nervous because he killed my brother."
"No fucking way." She said it like it was nothing, like she could wrap her head around my entire fucked up family. "You want to get out of here, eat some shit food, make fun of shit people?"
That was the kindest offer anyone had given me in possibly my entire high school career.
"If people at school find out you're being nice to me, they'll shun you too."
"Why the fuck should I care what those people think of me?"
"Well, what about Kit?"
"What about him?"
"Doesn't he care you're hanging out with the weirdest kid in school?"
"I broke up with him. He met me at a weak moment in my life. The charm started to annoy me after a while. Niceness only gets you so far with me. Come on, I'm starving and I've got to get these tights off." She stands and faces the door, ready to go. I smile at the back of her head.
"Let me just go tell my mom." I say and make my way to the casket, giving Addie a quick kiss on the cheek in passing. "Mom, I'm leaving, I'll be home later."
"Tate, honey, where are you going exactly?" Her voice is strained.
I just wave over my shoulder and push through the door as it swings shut behind Violet.
…
Violet stops in an alley after the funeral home and strips off her black tights, giving me a probably intentional peek at her blue cotton underwear with cute lace trim. She stuffs them in her giant shoulder bag and gives me a look that says "yeah you probably just saw my underwear, what's it to ya," and we continue on.
…
We eat drippy burgers with too many toppings and fries covered in cheese at a tiny one-counter diner, dressed-to-impress in our funeral black, Violet's bare legs swinging freely off her stool.
"What are we gonna do about Mr. Nervous-Guy?"
The 'we' bounces around my head like a hyper child.
"What do you think we should do?"
Violet drops a fry into her mouth. "He deserves to burn in hell. But in the meantime, I was thinking we go full 'Matilda' on him."
"Matilda?"
"Yeah, like, glue in his hat, peroxide in his shampoo, destroy his phony used-car business one bumper at a time."
"Am I Matilda in this scenario?"
She grins as she realizes I know what she's referencing. "Don't you have telekinesis?" We're quiet for a moment, studying our food. "What are you really going to do?"
"I have a few ideas."
"Mysterious. I like it."
…
I offer to walk Violet home, and she accepts. She even holds my hand.
"I live down the street from you, actually."
"How do you know where I live?"
"It's hot gossip, Tate. 'Weird Kid Lives In Murder House.' How could I not know?" Then she kisses me on the cheek and starts off towards the gate to a plain white house.
"Thanks for distracting me from the shit that is my life, Violet," I call after her.
"I'll see you around, Matilda."
…
I wake up around midnight, and know that it's time to let Larry know he won't be getting away with killing my brother.
I descend the basement steps. The house thrums around me. It fills my veins with malice.
"Lorraine?"
…
Larry comes to breakfast the next day with a bandage on his right hand.
"What happened there, Lawrence?" I ask, fake sincerity practically dripping.
"I must have been sleepwalking last night. I burnt myself on the stove."
"Weird. And how is your ex-wife?"
He chokes on his orange juice, caught in the act. "Excuse me?"
"What does it feel like to have the blood of this many children on your hands?" Larry stares at me with wide eyes. "Have a super day at work," I say, and slam the kitchen door on my way out.
…
"Did you hear?"
Violet slams her books down on our shared desks in English class and looks at me with gossip shining in her eyes. This is probably the first time anyone at this school has looked excited to tell me something.
"I didn't hear anything?"
"Kit got Grace pregnant."
"You just broke up with him though?"
"Yeah, so what. They look happy. And it's still exciting. How are you?" Violet looks over at me, joking tone gone, but not with an ounce of pity. She knows how pity feels to a grieving person.
"Okay," I reply honestly. She nods, satisfied, and class starts.
…
It happens at the end of the day, the straw that broke the camel's back, the taunt that makes the weird kid snap. I'm closing my locker and Kyle, some big shot football player who's name no one will remember in 20 years, shows up next to me. I expect to hear some sarcastic bullshit from him.
"Langdon, man, sorry to hear about your bro."
"Thanks?" He claps me on the back, and I turn away. He calls after me.
"Hey, at least the monster's out of the attic now!"
That word hits me in the back of the head. iMonster./i Just two long strides and I'm back in front of him, right in his face.
"My brother was not a monster." He looks about to shit himself.
"Sorry, Tate, I was just joking—"
I shove him back into the lockers.
"My brother's dead and you don't get to ijoke/i about him, you piece of shit!" I'm about to punch him right in his asshole nose but something stops me. I back away and think of the fantasies that come with living in the Murder House. I imagine holding a shotgun up and blowing this kid's fucking head off. I could keep going too. I could shoot everyone around me. They'd finally thank me.
"Not yet," I say out loud, to no one in particular. Kyle is still huddled against a locker watching me cautiously. I turn and walk away calmly.
…
Lorraine finds me in the basement later.
"I need someone to feel my pain."
"I know." She hovers over my shoulder, the heat makes sweat prick on the back of my neck. "Soon."
I think about Larry's burned hand. It's not enough.
…
The night passes slowly. I can't sleep. I'm planning, finally putting things into action. I jerk off thinking about Violet, vowing to save her for last, to always keep her with me. She deserves the best.
When the sun comes up, I'm ready. I've let go of everything. It's time, the clock is ticking, there is so much to be done. The guns are under my bed, the ammo is in my desk next to the tiny bag of coke I'll snort into my body. The can of gasoline is in the garage, full to the brim. There's a small matchbook in my coat pocket.
I do one line of the coke, leaving three other neat stripes and put on my coat, then there's a knock on my window.
Violet.
I panic and let her in. She doesn't say anything, just flops on my bed.
"I don't want to go to school today. Nice coat, are we going to rob a bank?"
I shake my head. I can't think of something to say that wouldn't immediately give away my plan. I don't trust myself to speak.
"Are you high?"
I nod.
"Excuse you, share."
I gesture to my desk. She sucks up a line cleanly and puts her head back. The most obscene moan comes out of her mouth, but that may have been the coke wreaking havoc inside my brain.
"Excellent idea, Tate." She looks over at me drowsily. "But I have a better one."
The next few minutes are a blur. She pushes my heavy coat off my shoulders and then there's a pile of clothes in the corner, and she's just got on these cute little blue panties and a grimy white tank top. My shirt joins her dress, black on black, and Violet's kissing me hungrily. I take back everything I had decided about Violet, our classmates, Larry. She's enough. She's more than enough. I can't do anything that would take her away from me. For the first time in my life, I know I'm going to do the selfish thing and keep Violet forever. I know she's my only hope.
I hold her hair back as she sucks more clean, white powder up her nose, and she skims her fingertips over my exposed back as I clear the final line.
She topples me over onto my bed and climbs on top of me, resting comfortably on my stomach. She kisses me and her hair makes a peaceful wall around our faces and tickles my ears.
I don't know if it's the adrenaline from kissing a cute girl or the coke, but I take over and flip her onto her back, then lean on one elbow over Violet. She takes my hand and slides it right into her underwear, past soft, bare skin. I slip two fingers into her and curl them. Violet nuzzles her face into my shoulder, letting her knees fall to the sides of the bed. Her panties stretch over my wrist.
"Is this what you want, Violet?" I say, but it sounds a million miles away, because Violet's making tiny moans and peeps that I feel down to my toes. She's pressing the heel of my hand against her clit and everything is unbearably hot and my mouth falls to her hair and she smells so good. "Did Kit get to touch you like this?"
"He was shit," she breathes and her thin hips rise up to meet my hand as I pull back slightly. I know I've made the right choice. Everyone else is meaningless. This, on a bed with a girl, is better.
She cums with a sweet exhale of air, and folds into my chest.
"This was an excellent idea, Tate," she says again. The moment/coke/orgasm must have done something to her, because she turns sappy. "Please say you'll never leave me." I rest my hand on her upper back, under her tank top.
"I need you too much to let you go again."
"Again?" The word is sleepy and spoken into my skin.
"Don't worry about it." I plant one last kiss on the top of her head, and we both doze off, thoughts of school, guns, gasoline, pushed aside.