A/N: Hello again all! Thank you to jandjsalmon, Sarah v, Silly Girl, and Delena-Fan-for-life for your reviews, they really do mean the world to me! Also thanks to the other who followed and favorited the last chapters! Here's a Tate chapter for you, enjoy!
Tate's alarm clock went off at 6 am but he was already awake. He had passed out from exhaustion around 1am but another nightmare had awakened him only a half hour later. It was the same old dream; you'd think he would be used to it by now. Striding down the hallways of the school, face painted up like a skeleton. Students dodged him right and left, his pace unbroken as they stared after him in either fear or disgust.
The dreams had begun a couple of years ago for no reason and without warning. Some were worse than others but over time he had found that, upon waking, the images and feelings of rage and terror did not go away. They lingered and became stronger. Prior to the dreams he had been a relatively normal guy, not outgoing and happy, but he had done track, been on honor roll, the works. But all that had soon changed.
He longed to just skip school and hide out at the beach that he had discovered awhile back, his haven from the world when everything became too much, but his absences had been noticed and he knew he had to drag himself to that cesspool if he ever wanted to graduate and escape.
Pulling on a black tee shirt from his closet and zipping up a plain, black hoodie, Tate was barely conscious of his actions. His head was pounding and screaming, every thought of blood and violence and the impending death of anyone he could get at school. He completed the outfit with ripped jeans over his boxers, swearing as he stumbled a bit over his own pant legs as he pulled them on.
It wouldn't be today, but soon. He would know when the time was right.
After snorting two lines of the white powder on his desk and pocketing a small brown vial of it for later, Tate thumped down the stairs, making his footsteps as loud as possible, and entered the kitchen. Larry was standing by the coffee pot, fixing himself some toast. He didn't turn around as Tate took a couple more steps towards him.
It would be so easy to kill you, you son of a bitch, Tate thought, envisioning picking up the knife from the wooden block next to him and plunging it into Larry's spinal column, right at the base of the neck. So easy.
He was drawn out of his fantasy when Larry turned around, unsurprised to see Tate standing behind him, face dark with hatred. He was wearing one of his usual ill-fitting suits and his hat was sitting on the table.
"Well good morning Tate," Larry said, false cheerfulness apparent in his voice. They hated each other, that was no secret, but Larry always pretended that nothing was amiss in his never-ending quest to please Constance.
Not that she noticed.
Tate strode through the kitchen, his eyes never leaving Larry's face. Larry tried to hold his gaze but, coward that he was, shuddered slightly and went back to his toast.
On his way to the door, Tate stooped and picked up his black Converse, sliding them on without unlacing them. Right before he left he saw Moira out of the corner of his eye, appearing as her elderly self this time, polishing silverware in the formal dining room. She glanced at him and swiftly looked away. He had that effect on people, dead or alive.
Ah another day in this shit-hole, Tate thought as he walked through the courtyard which was packed with students socializing before class, In a couple of days you are all going to hell.
He didn't have any friends at school, but he didn't have any enemies either. He spent most of his time outside of classes in the library, reading poetry and looking at books on nature. He had never had a girlfriend despite the advances of a couple of the braver girls, or the new students who didn't know him or his reputation. He knew he was attractive to them, he got checked out enough, but he had no time or energy for that. As far back as he could remember, anyone he had ever gotten to know disappointed him, or he scared them off, so he had just stopped trying. What was the point anyway? He wasn't loveable; he wasn't friend-material so he stuck to himself. Tate had gotten a reputation for being, while not outwardly rude or mean, very reserved. Some thought he was shy, others thought he was stuck up, but he really didn't give a shit what they thought.
When he had first started high school some of the older jocks had noticed him and attempted to push him around, to put him in his place.
He had put them in theirs.
They hadn't bothered him since.
Tate wove his way through throngs of students chattering their brainless chatter, gossiping about one another, spreading rumors or blabbing embarrassing secrets. They were all sick and pathetic and had no loyalty or pride.
A commotion from the other side of the courtyard caught everyone's attention and even Tate slowed, looking over to see the coke-whore Leah and her minions picking on someone that he couldn't see. Shrieking ensued and he lost interest. Leah had always been a mean girl and a bully and he hoped whoever she was picking on beat the shit out of her for once. Not likely, since Leah fought dirty. Tate had gone to school with her for years and they had the same coke dealer. She was a bitch and utterly uninteresting to him.
Tate continued on to class, while the drama continued behind him.
Soon it will all be over.
When Tate got home from school, 5 hours of which he couldn't even recall now, he was surprised to see his mother sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. She was smoking a cigarette and there was amber liquid in a crystal glass by her left hand. Addie was sitting a seat away from her, snacking on something.
"Oh Tate honey, you're home," Constance said, taking a drag and exhaling in a long, thin stream that floated to the ceiling.
"Hi, Tate!" Addie said with her mouth full, beaming at him.
Tate smiled back at her and turned to his mother, unsure of what mood his she was in. She was unpredictable and sometimes violent towards him and he didn't have the energy for a confrontation right now. Anything could put her into a rage and he had inherited her temper.
"We have some new neighbors across the street. Adelaide took the liberty of breaking and entering into their house this afternoon so I could be introduced."
Constance seemed to expect a reply so Tate merely said, "Yeah?" He kicked off his shoes by the door and went to the refrigerator, selected a soda at random, snapped the can open, and took a sip. It was orange soda, which, incidentally he hated and Addie loved so he went and set it down in front of her.
Addie made a garbled sound of glee and swept the can up, chugging happily.
"Now Addie, that's all the sugar for you today, you know how quickly that stuff sticks to your ass," Constance said casually, her vicious words thinly veiled by her tone and Tate saw Addie pause in her gulping, glare, and continue to drink. Constance continued, "Anyway, Tate, Mr. Harmon, the man of that house, is a psychologist and sees patients there. I called about an hour ago and set up an appointment with him, for you after school tomorrow."
Tate's anger flared at her words, at her audacity. She couldn't just send him to see some hack that runs his business out of his living room. None of the other doctors he had seen had done anything for him, they had all politely, but forcefully, informed Mrs. Langdon that they, "Simply could not treat Tate any longer." They were all fakes, attempting to apply DSM cookie cutter theories to him and always surprised when he reacted by coming up with the sickest things he could think of and weaving tales of perversions so grotesque that they ran screaming for the hills. It wasn't hard to scare off these LA bloodsuckers, they were used to the tedious, "Oh I'm too fat so I'm just going to barf my brains out forever and get really, super skinny," bitches or, "My wife is cheating on me I have a limp dick," assholes. Tate was a whole 'nother animal to them.
"Mother, I will not be attending that appointment. If that is okay with you of course," Tate said through gritted teeth, struggling to maintain his composure.
Constance pretended not to hear him. She sat up straighter and took a sip from her glass, the ice tinkling against the crystal. "Your appointment is at 3pm sharp," she said and walked out of the room. Tate knew he didn't have a choice. That she would know if he didn't go, and what would happen when she did. Tate sighed, gave Addie one last smile and thundered up to his bedroom, slamming the door loudly and engaging the two locks he had installed himself. He plugged his iPod into its dock and began blaring a particularly angry Nirvana song as loud as his ears could handle.
"I'll show Doctor Harmon just how troubled I am," Tate said to himself, smiling at his own sinister reflection in the mirror, "Then you'll be sorry for sending me to him, Mother."
A/N: What do you think? For clarification, I am having Tate be older than Addie in this story, it works better for my purposes. As always, I hope you liked it, let me know by sending me lots of lovely, reviews! They inspire me. A Violet chapter will be posted next. They're getting closer to meeting, yay!
