Sorry this took so long to update. Enjoy!
Tate pushes me inside the door, and then makes sure to lock it behind me. It takes a second, but I get used to the light, and begin to stare around. There are two floors to the house- the bottom containing a large kitchen and living room, but I can't see upstairs. Tate seems to smile and breathe in the ocean air, and it's the first time I've seen him looking peaceful. I can't tell if its a good thing or a bad.
"So you're just going to keep me here until we grow old and die?" I ask, running my hands over a granite countertop.
"Don't act so unhappy. I'm sure you'll be fine," he answers. I freeze in my tracks and turn around to make eye contact. A bit of anger begins to turn my cheeks into a bright, fiery red.
"Fine? You just took me here against my will! I mean, shit, you just killed people in the school! You expect me to be jumping with joy? Sorry I didn't bring confetti!" I shout, with my voice rising with every line. I can't help my short temper, it's always been there, but his comments are only making it worse. But instead of backing away from my booming voice, he only scoots up closer towards me. Closer, until we are only inches apart.
"But you're not afraid of me. I bet a part of you wants to know about me. And what better way to do it then to be stuck here?"
"I don't want to be stuck anywhere with you."
"Liar."
He finally turns away from me, and takes careful steps towards the stove. I don't know where to go, because this house has dangers around every corner, so I keep my spot next to the kitchen counter. My hands turn ice cold as they touch the top, over and over again in a nervous tapping. Tate begins to pull things out from the pantry, but I can't exactly tell what they are. He notices me looking for just a second, and a bit of a loopy grin forms on his face.
"It's almost seven, I figured you were hungry. Good thing I filled up this place with stuff," he says. In his hands are a couple cans of chicken soup. Each one looks a bit old and I'm honestly rather disgusted.
"I don't want your food," I state, and cross my arms over my chest. It's shocking how cruel the words sound when they escape my lips. Tate sets down the cans as if they were fragile, and eventually gazes at me again.
"There's a reason I saved you. Because you are strong. I can see it. It practically screams to everyone around you, and I wouldn't have killed those people in the library if I knew you were in there. This food is for you so that you don't rot inside this house. Trust me, I don't want to keep you weak. I wish I didn't have to keep you here, but I do because I'm a criminal, and if I let you escape, you'll be some sort of fucking police celebrity. Okay? This is probably worse for me than it is for you!"
Without another word, I grab the bowl of soup from his hand, and steadily begin to cook it on the stove.
After eating a much needed dinner, Tate and I sit facing each other on the kitchen floor. He sets up the board as I'm sure he has many times before, but I watch with my eyes lighting up.
Scrabble.
"Do you know how to play?" He asks, and I laugh out loud.
"Obviously."
The tiles come pouring out in large group, and I select my few. This game is practically my one connection back to reality, and I'm not going to let it go down the drain. This whole idea of staying here might be horrible, but I am determined to find some redeeming qualities. Tate eyes his tiles like they are trophies, while I take mine more strategically.
"So why'd you move to California anyways? I remember hearing about you. New girl," He questions, while beginning to pick up a few letters. With nimble fingers, each is placed on the board.
GHOST
"My dad had an affair. My mom literally caught him in the act. They thought moving here would make everything better, but it's honestly just screwed us all up. I'm pretty positive he's still cheating," I state, before placing down my tiles.
( H )
A
N
D
L
E
"That's terrible," he mumbles, "-If you love someone, you should never hurt them."
"Right? And the worst part was that my mom was having this brutal miscarriage. I mean, have you ever seen a baby coffin?"
Tate looks hurt, actually hurt, but puts his letters on the board.
TAINT (E) D
"My dad left when I was six. Mom married some old asshole named Larry, but I won't be seeing him much anymore."
"What happened to him?"
"Something."
"Oh."
My turn.
N
I
G
H
( T )
M
A
R
E
"Was it because of, um, your family? That made you angry enough to come to school today?"
"Not totally my family. My sister, Addie, she has Down Syndrome, is my best friend. It was mainly because of my mom and all the popular bitches."
"One of them was harassing me about smoking, Leah, I think."
"She's dead."
"Oh."
His turn.
( M ) OONLIGHT
"-Speaking of which, it's almost midnight. Get some sleep." Tate mumbles, clearing away the board before I could get the score. I hesitantly stand up, because even though he is quite good at scrabble, he still poses a danger to me. But he walks slowly up the stairs, with me following a few paces behind him, into the only bedroom in the house.
"I'll sleep on the floor." He comments, and tries awkwardly to fix the covers on the bed. I assure him that he's fine, but there's something in his face that shows he wants to guarantee that I'm alright.
"-Really, I'm fine. I'm not scared of you."
"Then is there a chance we could be friends?"
"Maybe."
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