Disclaimer: I sadly do not own American Horror Story nor any of its characters.
I wish I could write my American History paper as fast as I'm knocking out these stories lately. Anyway, here's another one, yet again following up from the latest episode. This one is based off Death Cab for Cutie's song, Soul Meets Body. I quite like to base stories off of songs or pictures because it really helps in the inspiration and development process. I'd consider this story more of a black comedy. And with a spice of romance added in. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.
I want to live where soul meets body
And let the sun wrap its arms around me and
Bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing
And feel, feel what it's like to be new again
I should feel sadness. I should feel anger. I should feel something.
But I don't feeling anything. I am numb. I am empty.
I am dead.
The words sound foreign to my tongue. It's a reality that is too obscure to believe.
Maybe this is what dead feels like. A lack of emotions, A lack of feeling.
A lack of everything.
I sit on my bed, tapping along to the beat of the music. Morrissey is currently on, a favorite of mine.
Do ghosts even listen to music?
It's a stupid question, I know. But I can't help but think about it. Ghost. Am I a ghost? I've never liked the word. It belongs to Halloween and scary stories. Am I a spirit? Or maybe I'm a free walking soul.
I'm Violet, I tell myself. I'm still Violet. I'm the same sarcastic, harsh, witty teenager I was when my heart was once alive.
But I don't feel the same. I'm not quite sure what it is but it feels different. It's a dark curtain that blinds my vision and I can't take it off. I mean, I wouldn't really be surprised if I did change. I assume dying does that to you. Dying. I can't even remember my death. I barely went out with a bang. It was more of a humming noise.
"I love this song," Tate says. He has suddenly appeared in my room, leaning against the footboard of my bed. I wonder if I can just vanish and appear like that too now. Some kind of ghostly superpower. The thought alone makes me chuckle.
"What's the matter?" he asks me, a wave of concern washing over his face. He cares for me so much. Almost to much. And sometimes I feel bad. I feel bad because I'm not sure if I feel the same way.
"Thinking. Just thinking," I say sullenly. It's true. I've been thinking non-stop. I barely remember what silence sounds like. Which is ironic being a spirit and all. Even in the afterlife, you're still plagued by bullshit thoughts. You win some, you lose some. At least we have superpowers.
"I know this must be hard for you," Tate says, taking my hand. He rubs soothing circle with his thumbs. "But I'm here for you. I always will be." A soft smile appears on his face. It's a rare expression that you only see occasionally. Soft isn't much of a word to describe Tate.
"Does it go away?" I ask. I curse at myself for it sounding so childish and girly. I'm a spirit for god's sake. What do I have to be afraid of? Dying? Ha. Ha. Ha.
"Does what go away?"
"This lack of feeling. This numbness."
He extends his finger and pokes me in the ribs, sending a short jabbing pain to my side. "Hey! What was that for, asshole?" I say, slapping his hand away.
"You said you couldn't feel anything." A smug looked appeared on his face.
"Guess what emotion I'm feeling now?" I ask, mustering up my most annoyed face possible. I break character when a smile appears on my face moments before I jump on him, poking him over and over again.
"Stop, stop, stop!" He laughs, trying to push me off. In any other situation, this would probably look sexual with me sitting atop him and all. Can ghosts have sex? It's a odd question and I definitely won't ask Tate about it no matter how much I want the answer. Do we still have to worry about things like STDs and pregnancy? If we do then god damn, what are the upsides of being a ghost? All the superpowers in the world, won't matter much if I can't get a good lay once in a while.
He flips me over, his body now straddling mine. "Pay back," he grins before jabbing and tickling any area he can find. Note to self: You're still ticklish in the afterlife. What a fucking joke.
"I….can't…breathe," I barely get out, laughing and squirming between each word.
"Technically you really don't have to breathe," Tate says with a stupid smirk. God, if there's one upside to living an eternity, it's that I can hit Tate for as long as I want. I send an aggressive punch to his shoulder, surprising him momentarily. Score for Violet.
I push him off of me and climb back atop on him, hitting his chest over and over again. Not enough to bruise (Can we even bruise in the afterlife?) but enough to get the point across. And god damn, I'll get my point across whether he like it or not.
"Okay! Okay! I'm sorry," he laughs, capturing my arms in his hands. "Lay off the punches. You're damaging my ego".
"I'm pretty sure you lost that the moment I moved into this house," I smirked. Another point for Violet. Three strikes and you're out.
A silence passes between us and for the first time it's actually silence. My head is clear of all those fucking morbid thoughts that seemed to never go away. It's quite nice. It's pretty damn sappy and cliché, but it's nice.
"You know, this is kind of hot," he grins, waggling his eyebrows under his messy blonde locks.
"Oh shut up," I say, giving him one more punch to the shoulder.
"Hey, you're the one who's suggestively sitting on me. You know, I'm pretty sure the dead are ten times hornier than the living are," he chuckles.
"Grow up!" I laugh, hitting him once more. Boys will be boys. Even dead ones.
"You'll see. You'll be the one just begging me for sex and maybe that day I just won't be in the mood," he says cockily, putting his arms behind his head.
"You? Not in the mood? Over my dead body. I have you in the palm of my hands."
"Well it's sitting in the crawl space just in case if you were wondering." That earned him another smack. "And not likely. How weak do you think I am? I'm offended," he chuckles.
"This sounds like a cliché but totally awesome bet if you ask me," he says with a wink.
"This is definitely not one of those "I bet I can control myself from any sexual advances and vice versa" situations. I've seen way too many damn romantic comedies with that plot line. Let's be a little original here."
"Fine. What are the rules?"
"No sabotaging or playing dirty," I say firmly. I could just imagine the shit Tate would try to get away with. I wouldn't last for a hour.
"Well shit, that's no fun. And playing dirty? I'm not sure if that term applies here," he laughs.
"Shut up!" I'm pretty sure his shoulder was bruised now. If the whole ghosts-can-get-bruises-thing- applied but that's another story.
"God, we're so fucking cliché," he says, shaking his head and laughing. It was the sad truth. I was dead and I was living in some kind of morbid romantic comedy. Kill me. Oh wait. Already did. Har har har.
"I'm gonna win you know. You don't stand a chance."
"Bullshit!" I scoff. "I have way more self control than you. And what do I even get out of this stupid bet?"
"Well isn't it obvious?"
"What?"
"Well either way, whomever wins or loses still gets laid so it's all good to me," he chuckles
"Shut up!"
Fuck. What did I even get myself into? I'm such an idiot. I'm such a fucking cliché. I'm such a fucking hopeless romantic. I'm so fucking horny.
A/N: Well this came out waaaaaay more cheesier and cliché than I thought but I kind of like it. This story will most definitely be multi-chaptered, I can promise you that. I don't think it'll be very long but who knows. I actually started writing this really depressing but I like Violet too much and she's so much more than that. So I randomly added in some "comedy" and here we are. Hopefully I'll get updates out pretty fast, I've been doing of ton of writing lately and god, does it feel nice. It really does a lot to my mood and overall well being. I definitely suggest anyone to write to really express any emotions. It's pretty therapeutic. Anyways, I'll end this author's note before it gets too long. Until next time.