So here's chapter 2! And i'm writing chapter three as we speak! enjoy :)


Westfield High was the local comprehensive, full of every walk of life. The jocks, the cheerleaders, the math geeks. You name it, they were here. Everyone fitted in somewhere, even the misfits had their group.

Tate on the other hand, wasn't part of any clique. Tate was an outsider, a lone soldier. School was just a place he had to be, he had no time for friends, not even aqqaintences, these people where below him. He only communicated with those he needed to, like Beanie. Beanie was an alright kid, two years younger and completely of fhis head most of the time. Tate only spoke to him every now and then, usually crammed in a toilet cubicle, speaking in hushed tones as they exchanged money and little bags of magic pills and fairy dust. Beanie was his go to guy, and he had the best shit in town.

Head down, tate strode Down the corridor, hushed voices whispered around him, cruel words bounced between lockers as he went. He kept his dark eyes down, fiddling with his ring in annoyance, tracing the silver snake that coiled around his bony thumb. Every couple of steps, a younger student would lose their path and come bounding into his puffed out chest, stepping back to say sorry, but falling short of breath when they reached his eyes. Hardly anyone messed with Tate. not because he was intimidating or "hard", but because no one knew him, he was the boy everyone feared, few had witnessed the odd psychotic moment, yet many had heard. It was highschool, people talked. Words and names flew around every day "psycho, depressed, emo, freak, maniac" yet no one really knew, because no one really knew Tate. he'd get the odd teacher trying to talk, all that "damaged boy" bullshit. they'd sit him down in a room to talk about feelings. whilst he'd oblige, he'd be doodling bloody scenes involving that particular teacher in his notebook between sentences.

Tate liked one place in school, the library. It was quite and solemn. No one judged you between those four walls, and well, if they did, they did it silently. Tracing the dusty shelves, books in hand, Tate nodded his head to the beats pulsating through his walkman earphones, humming along every now and then when he knew he was alone. Nothing like a bit of Nirvana to calm his mood.

"you look how I feel" interrupted a drousy voice.

giving a glare, Tate reached for his earphones and yanked them out, ready to stalk away in a temper. but then he caught sight of the voices owner. Emily White. Tall, brunette and clad in a tight fitting cheerleaders uniform. Tate wasn't one to look, but he couldn't help but feel a little odd, staring at her curves encased in the thin, tight fabric of her dress. he was a teenage boy after all and he still found things attractive. But her looks could never outweigh her horrible personality.

"what do you want?" he snarled kicking the bookshelf beside him.

"ooh someone's touchy!" she cooed leaning farther into him.

"I hear this little angel" she said, poking a finger into his chest,

"is a right little coke head, am I right?"

"none of your god damn business" Tate barked, preparing to shove her into the nearest object.

"oh come on! look at you, you're a mess! does mummy not care enough to send you for help, poor little Langdon's all screwed up in the head,and no one cares" she teased, a malicious smirk creeping across her face.

"leave me alone" Tate quipped, shoving past and dissapering into the bookshelves.

"oh Tate, your sisters looking for you, you know, the freaky one?"

Tate ignored her voice, breathing in slowly to calm the anger he could feel building.

"whats wrong with her again?"

just as Tate, turned to meet her face again, another figure joined their conversation.

"woah, hey man calm down."

it was johnny smith, football captain.

"all she wants is a bit of gear"

"I don't have gear" Tate sighed.

as quick as a switch, the voices started. Emily and Johnnys whiny tones drifting into black, as snarling whispers crept into tate's mind, they were so loud, so deafening. they filled the room, blocking out everything else, his vision blurred and he staggered a bit.

"strangle her!" they cried "hold her pretty little neck till her face goes blue! crush her bones, slit her throat!"

"No!" Tate cried, pounding his head with his fists as Emily and johnny looked on, laughing at the state he was in.

"aw Emily look, he's having a nightmare, is ickle baby Langdon ok?"

"they're mocking you Tate. murder them, right here, right now. bash their heads in, cover them in their own blood"

students where gathering to watch now, slowly edging from

their seats in the library and circling Tate.

"Get out!" cried Tate, still smacking his head with his fists.

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

Emily backed away, laughing a little less as Tate started sobbing,

"we should- let's leave him johnny, i told you he goes apeshit easily!"

as the two jocks wandered off, the crowd began to subside. tears cascading down his face, he buried his head in his hands. sliding down the bookcase until he was in a sitting position on the floor. clawing his straggley blonde curls into his face he carried on whimpering. why won't the voices stop? why did they make him want to do such horrendous things?

The school bell rang and rang and rang. still Tate sat hunched in the corner glaring at students and mouthing insults at the "popular crowd". Did Tate mention he got bullied? no of course not, too proud and stubborn to admit a thing like that. but every day, every damn day, there'd be comments slung his way, vile ones about his sister, his mother, himself. And he'd block them out most of the tome, but occasionally the voices won, they'd barge in and take over. even though Tate was bullied, people still feared him, well, people with common sense did. wasnt it obvious what a psycho kid could do? didn't people watch the news? everyone else stayed away, but not the jocks. They were too dumb to know what he was capable of. He wouldn't stand up to them, not yet, he'd let the sadness consume him, take him over for now, the more he cared about what they said and how much he let it hurt him, the better, because in some sick way, he knew that would make them worse, they'd keep going and going, and that gave him the perfect excuse. when the day finally came, he'd have the excuse to hurt them more than anyone else, and that thought made his heart flutter and his stomache contort in excitement. What a strange boy he was.

"Tate? Tate sweetheart?" it was miss bueler, school councillor, offering a dainty hand. shuffling in his faded blue jeans, Tate uncrossed a sweater clad arm and reached for her hand. Her grip was soft, friendly, unusual.

Her face was framed with short auburn hair, the kind of colour that looked like dried blood if you scrunched up your eyes. Her eyes were blue, piercing and bright, accompanied by long black lashes that fluttered as he spoke. Tate's eyes drifted to her neck, his eyes scanning down her throat, her scrawny throat, bony and weak. all he would have to do is extend a hand, apply a little pressure and snap!


Next chapter might even be up today if revision doesn't keep me too busy. Still not sure whether to introduce violet into the story, what do you think?

Oh and if i accidently call say, a sweater, a jumper, or a tub a bath.. just try and ignore it. Being British has its down sides..