IV. A Departure
I know I never used to feel like this.
I used to never think of death or hear voices.
I used to feel like everything was perfectly in order, a normal life,
but I guess then came a departure.
Violet looked so peaceful when she was sleeping. She doesn't need to sleep anymore of course, but she still did, and I liked that.
She's awake now, changing her clothes and getting ready for the day. She went out and to the bathroom to change. She's modest. She hasn't said a word to me yet, but she smiled at me when she first woke up. It was a bit weak, but that's okay. She isn't truly happy, not yet. But she will be.
Last night was perfect.
Making Violet happy is one of the only things I care about anymore. Things have been fading, for a long time, becoming gray, and more distant. Except her. She's my star. And she's burning brighter than ever.
I knew what she was doing last night when I interrupted her. Or, rather, why she was. She was thinking of me. I know she was.
But I didn't mention that part, because I knew it would embarrass her, make her shy away from me, again. I couldn't have that. Not now. Not anymore.
It's working, I think. All the care that I'm taking. She didn't send me away this time. Not when we were done, not even after I admitted what happened to all those people. Maybe she didn't get the whole truth, but that's okay, because I'm not really sure myself. Some of it I do remember, anger, violence, blood, always so much blood. But sometimes I'm not even really aware. I just wake up and I'm surrounded by blood, by body parts.
Those are the times that make me worry. Even if just a little bit.
It's an addiction, like Vi and her cutting. I need it. There's just so much. So much shit in my head. It's poisonous, and I need to cleanse it.
Violet is the only other thing that helps with that. I feel clearer around her. I don't have to think about anything else, just her. She's everything.
I wonder if she'll try to make me stop.
I'm not sure that I can.
Not yet.
She's back, and I quickly sit up to greet her. "Hey, Vi."
Beautiful, as always. She's wearing a black sundress with straps, forgoing a jacket today. The exposed skin, unusual for her, is incredibly tempting and I feel myself go hard instantly. She places her used clothes in the laundry bin and pauses before turning around slowly. And, sensing trouble, an uncomfortable pressure builds in my chest.
"I ran into Moira in the hall."
I swallow the lump in my throat. "Yeah? What'd she want?" I move to the end of the bed. I try for casual, uninterested, but anxiety blooms inside me. Moira doesn't like me.
"She said your mom's been asking for you, and you've been dodging her." I close my eyes for a moment, relieved. "I don't want to talk to her."
I hear an angry sigh and my eyes fly open. Violet looks upset. She purses her lips tightly for a second before speaking. "Don't you think you owe her that, at least?"
"What do you mean, Violet?"
"I mean she's taking care of your son, Tate. Have you been to see him, even once?" Where is this coming from?
I get up from the bed, walking over to Violet. She won't look at me. I feel a sharp pain in my chest, as if I've been stabbed. No, not already. I grab her chin as gently as I can given my emotional state, and she winces. "No, no, no, Vi, come on, look at me, don't do this again."
Her brown, doe-eyes are wide, and wet. And cold.
"He's my brother, do you realize that?" Her voice is distant. Slipping away.
Something shifts inside me, and the fear in me burns into anger. "What did she say to you?" I ask, trying very hard not to lose it completely. Violet doesn't answer, just blinks. There's a pain at my temples, my hand on her chin tightens, and I hear her inhale sharply. "What did Moira say, Violet?"
Her head jerks away and she crosses her arms, rubbing them, as if she's cold. "Nothing I didn't already know." Her perfect face twitches. I wish she would just cry. Anything would be better than this coldness. I want Moira to suffer for this. I reach out to touch her but change my mind, and my arm falls awkwardly back to my side.
"I'll go visit him, if that's what you want." My voice is strained with desperation.
She shakes her pretty head and wipes at her eyes. "Moira's seen him. Says he came here once, looking for you. She says that he's like you. Only worse." She smiles bitterly. "And you know what sucks? That just makes me terrified. I didn't think there could be something worse than you."
Her words hurt, because I know she's telling the truth. In many ways, she hates me. More than anything. But there is at least one way she doesn't, one way she loves instead of hating. As long as I have that, I have her.
I don't know much about Michael, all I know is from my mother. She's told me that he's cruel, and smart. That he smiles too much, like he knows the secret, and that he doesn't look like a child anymore, that he looks older than me. How old was he anyway? 11? 12? Clearly, he's not normal. He's unnatural, a paranormal phenomenon. I don't even know what he is. Human? Ghost? Half-breed? Monster? Demon?
I should have been to see him, Violet's right.
But that'll have to wait.
I look at the stunning wisp of a girl in front of me and feel the knife in my chest twist at the way she's staring wistfully out the window, like she wishes she could leave, leave this house, and leave me.
My fingers clench and unclench unconsciously. Every step forward we take two fucking steps back. She feels ashamed of herself, so of course my guilty little Violet will take any excuse to be angry with me. And why shouldn't she? You're a monster. I can't keep letting this happen. Or I'll end up doing something I regret.
"Are you alright, Vi?" She's touching her arm, methodically. She wants to cut.
She looks up suddenly, as if she forgot I was there. She sighs, "No." I move forward and hesitantly take her in my arms. She relaxes in my arms and my heart soars. She starts talking so quietly that I have to strain to hear her. "I used to think I was strong, you know?" You are. "What a load of crap that is. The fact that I'm in your arms right now and not trying to find a way to rid the world of you or at least hurt you is proof of my utter fucked up weakness."
I hold her at arm's length. "Violet, you can't think like that." I squeeze her shoulders. "—This isn't weakness, its love. You love me, Violet, despite all the shit I've put you through, and all the horrible things I've done. You may be scared, but you don't stop. That's love, that's strength." I lean in and kiss her on the forehead. "You're fearless, Vi, in every way that matters."
I crush her body to mine; sure I must be hurting her. "…I don't know what I would do without you." I pull away slightly to place a soft kiss on her lips, a pleasurable tingling spreading where they touch hers. As I move to kiss her again she unexpectedly shoves me away.
"No, Tate. Not anymore." Her voice is wavering. I can feel my heart beating violently in my chest. "You can't mean that."
Her eyes narrow and she crosses her arms. "No, but I want to. And that won't happen if I keep letting myself be comfortable with you."
My head is screaming at me to do something, anything, to stop this train wreck from happening. But as soon as I decide what to do, she's gone, phased to some other part of the house.
It feels like I'm falling apart. I want to scream.
There's something about all that blood man, I drown in it.
I didn't think I would ever be doing this again.
I watch as the knife makes a thin red line appear on my arm; see it bloom like a flower into tiny creeks. I see it happen again, a thinker line this time, that bursts with wide torrents of pretty red liquid. It all falls into a bowl underneath. I'm not sure why, but I wanted to see it all, measure something abstract. Can it stop? Can there ever be no pain left?
I know I'm not thinking straight. And that's good. I don't know where I'd end up if I were going straight.
Violet's face keeps coming to mind, her voice, and her smell. I have to drown those in blood… Violet's blood tasted heavenly. I wonder—I cautiously flick my tongue out to lick at the diagonal river of red on my arm. I grimace. It tastes like copper. Everything about Violet is different. Pure, delicious.
A wonderful, easy, rhythm forms; cut the valley, watch the river flow, think of her.
It's easy, and simple. But it's not enough. And sometime, hours, or maybe days after it started, the pleasing numbness I'd built up fades.
I throw the knife at the wall in fury and it lodges itself deep in the wood of the house. The bowl has overflowed, and now there's blood all over the table, some dripping down onto the floor. The sight is mesmerizing.
I hear a small gasp behind me.
I turn around slowly and in my still-heavily bled out state it takes me a moment to realize who it is. "Violet." I say her name like I'm praying to a deity.
"T-Tate, what did you do?" My mind is clearing slowly as my body heals itself. "Purging evil spirits." I mumble, not quite sure what I mean even as I say it. I glance at the knife stuck to the wall and her eyes follow. I look back at her and her hand is on her mouth. She's so damned cute.
Violet comes over and grabs my shoulder, urging me up. She drags me over to the plush chair on the other side of the room and tells me to wait there. I watch her as she phases out, coming back a minute later. She's holding cleaning supplies. She gets to work cleaning up the mess I made, wiping up all the spilled blood, and dumping out the bowl when she phases out again, probably in a sink. When she's done, she reaches up, yanks the kitchen knife out of the wall, examines the hole, and sighs. "No fixing that." She murmurs, and it strikes me as funny so I start laughing. I'm laughing so hard that tears start falling out of my eyes.
"Tate!" Her voice snaps me back to reality. She's been shaking me. Her face looks worried. I think about what she said earlier and the warmth in my heart from seeing her face dies. "Are you alright?" She brushes the hair out of my eyes. Worried. About me.
"…Violet." I can't think of any other words. My mind is stuck. Do I apologize? Leave her alone again?
"—I'm sorry." She interrupts. I don't breathe. "I know this was because of me. I just—don't want—what happened to you happen to me. I don't want to hurt people, and I'm scared because I've been having these—these thoughts, and they just won't go away."
There's tears in her eyes and everything seems clear again. She didn't mean it, she's just afraid I'll change her. I reach out my arm and pull her down to straddle my lap. She doesn't get it, does she?
I kiss her hair, shushing her and petting her head until her breathing is steady again, "Vi, you are light, you don't have to worry about that okay?" She doesn't seem convinced. I shift, thinking of the right words. "Think of it this way; lights are seen brightest on the edge of darkness—I know you feel like you might be changing, and maybe you are, but in the end you'll always have the light inside you, no matter what. No one can take that away." Not even me. Not even if sometimes, at my lowest, I wish I could.
She shakes her head, "You don't' really know what you're talking about." She leans down to kiss me hard on the mouth, taking me by surprise. "But I really hope you're right." Her mouth moves against mine and her lips taste salty from her tears. I don't really know what's going on, and I'm worried that she's just going to run away again so I push her gently. "Violet, is this what you want?" She nods earnestly and breathes, "I don't want to think of anything for a bit, Michael, my light, anything, please, Tate."
How could I refuse?
I crush my lips back to hers, and she grasps my hair, pulling it tight. I realize quickly that she's fighting me for dominance and an animal excitement fills me as I fight back forcefully. Her tongue is in my mouth and I bite it and she squeaks in pain. I pull her hair hard and ravage her mouth, growling low in my throat.
She manages to pull back, and bites my lower lip, causing it to bleed. She increases the pain, biting into the wound, aggravating it, making it deeper. I groan. She grinds her hips into me and I squirm.
I push against her, managing to push us to the floor and now I'm on top, I have the advantage. I lean in and bite her neck, hard. Suddenly the idea of marking her, even if for a short time is tantalizing. She's trying to move but I pin her, and make bites everywhere I can. I'm satisfied when I pull back and see her skin covered in small bloody welts. I lick them, tasting the blood that wells up before the marks disappear altogether. She's so sweet, like sunshine.
I yank her dress up her legs, exposing her sweet, white panties. I feel my heart beat irregularly. Grasping her hips, I kiss her roughly on the mouth again and she moans. Her hand grabs my shirt, pulling it over my head. I finish the action and toss it to the floor. I want to make her scream.
The thought becomes an obsession, and before I realize it, I've already undone my pants and am holding my dick at her entrance. I don't give her chance to think about it, to do anything about it, I quickly tug her panties to the side and drive into her, as deep as I can go. My Violet.
She does scream, in shock, and it's beautiful, but it's not enough. I shove her dress down so that I can reach her breasts. As I'm thrusting in and out, I lean down and take one of her nipples in my mouth. I bite hard, tearing the sensitive skin there and she shouts for me to stop. I let go of it obediently and move to the other one. She screams at the sudden pain, and that one is all the more beautiful. I feel a pressure building at the base of my cock and I know I'm already close.
In my haze of ecstasy, my hands find their way to her throat, and I squeeze, hearing her choke, her fingers reaching up toward her throat. I pump faster and squeeze tighter automatically. I'm mindless, and somewhere inside I know I should let go, at least relax my grip, but I don't. White lights explode beside my eyes and I finish, my fingers are trembling they're holding on so tightly to her throat. To my utmost surprise, I feel Violet's walls convulsing around me, prolonging my high. I let out a feral roar and Violet repeatedly gasps underneath my hands.
I fall against her chest, my hands falling limply to my sides and I try to find my way back to steady ground. I look up at her face and she seems stunned at what just happened.
That was messy. Bloody, and violent. She wouldn't have acted like this two years ago, like in the attic. There was always a limit, and I could sense when I was about to hit it.
But this time there was no barrier.
No limits.
She wanted the violence, needed it.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she is really changing.
Or maybe this is who she's been all along.
AN: This one's slightly longer cause I haven't updated in a while. Tell me what you think! Too much smut? (Can there ever be too much?) Eh? Hmm?
