A/N: Why hello, everyone! I am so flattered by the wonderful response I've gotten to this story. I will try to update as much as I can, but I got honors, presentations, and interviews all over April, so just be aware that my schedule is going to be busy.
And of course, I do not own "Where Did You Sleep Last Night" by Nirvana or have any claim over the lyrics.
Oh, How It Burns
He hopes there is. Because if there isn't, he won't know what to do with himself.
What could he do anyway?
She is playing with Beau in the attic, rolling his little red ball back and forth, back and forth. The monotony of the game soothes her. What wouldn't she give to have that stability and childlike bliss that Beau has? She wishes her world only consisted of that little red ball, that her only concern was that it would be rolled back to her. What an immense comfort would it be to definitively, absolutely know that her ball, her whole world, would always be returned to her.
She wishes she could shrink down her world so that there could be no room for him in it, ceaselessly yearning for a world only big enough for her and that little red ball.
"Want to play Scrabble with me?"
"I've got nothing better to do."
He excitedly bounces up to her room while she halfheartedly trudges behind. He is already setting up the board by the time she opens the door. She silently laughs at his enthusiasm, but she guesses it is probably because he is just so happy she is tolerating his presence for once.
"Alright, pick your letters."
She dumps out all the tiles she needs only to find she is stuck with a shitty mix of way too many consonants.
"Jesus, can I buy a vowel?"
"Bad luck, huh?"
"You could say that."
They start playing with Tate putting down UNIFY first.
Violet starts coughing at the word because its connotations are so strong in the air that she might as well inhaled and choked on them.
"You alright?"
"I'm fine."
She puts down LYING through the I. How symbolic. The lies slice the unification right down the middle into two bloody halves.
He sucks in a sharp breath, but it's like she forgot how to breathe. Not that it matters for either of them because the dead don't need air.
"Violet…"
"What?"
He looks like he wants to say something – he always wants to say something because he has so many things he wants and needs to tell her – but he stops himself instead.
"Never mind."
"Okay."
They go back to playing in silence. She wonders if Scrabble is a manifestation of their battle strategies. What will be the next move? How will she counter it? How many bruises and gashes can they take before they go down? How many words dripping with meaning, sighs, tears, and razor blades can they form on the board, stare at, and try not to think about until they snap?
He places LUST through her L. Her heart stops. Did the lies overcome the lust? Will they ever?
Finally some vowels.
TRUST off of the T.
"Your move, Tate."
TAINT off of the other T. She swears she can still see that word on her chalkboard.
CLEAVE through the A. A word that cuts and clings at the same time. Just like they do to each other.
She gets up suddenly, upsetting the board. Tate looks at her, puzzled at her sudden movement since she had been so still until now.
"Violet? Are you alright?" He knows she's not and she knows he knows why.
"Isn't that a loaded question?"
"It is. It just feels like the right one to ask you right now."
"Do you even want to know or are you just being courteous?"
"I'm always here for you."
"I know."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
What do I say, Tate? The words on the board say it all for me. Our relationship is nothing but a mess of lies, lust, and tainted memories. Don't pretend that you don't know that, too.
"Not particularly."
"Whatever you want."
"Even though it's not what you want."
He looks at her so hard she thought he could pressurize her into diamond.
"No, it's not what I want."
"I don't care what you want."
"I know."
The silence is slowly crystallizing her, molding her pain into shards that pierce her insides and make her bleed her feelings into a pathetic puddle at his feet.
"Did I win the game?"
"I don't know."
"I guess it doesn't matter."
Oh, but it does matter. It matters so, so much.
She is thinking about his hands and where they have been. She wonders about where she would like his mouth to trace warm circles on her skin.
"Just let me, Violet."
She can hear the restraint in his voice. So palpable is the tension in the room that she is amazed they are not both crushed by it.
"I can't, Tate."
"Just let me touch you."
"No."
"Please, Violet."
"It is so sweet to hear you beg." He whimpers at her callous comment.
"Please, Violet, I'll do anything you want."
"Anything?"
"Yes. Anything."
"Go away."
She goes to get a glass of water from the kitchen. Moira is cooking something on the stove. The smell is seeping throughout the kitchen.
"Miss Violet, do you need anything?"
"No, Moira, I'm good. Thanks."
"Alright, Miss Violet, just watch the glass on your way out."
"What glass?"
And then she sees the jagged edges glinting off the floor by the entrance to the backyard. A million glimmering pieces reflecting the light and her image all over the walls.
"Moira, what happened?"
"I'm not sure."
"Don't lie to me. I'm a big girl, I can handle it."
"Tate did it."
"Of course, why am I not surprised?"
"He did it because of you."
"It's not my fault he breaks shit when he is angry. Though I am sorry he makes more work for you."
"You may want to go a bit easier on him."
"Why should I? He doesn't deserve it."
"He loves you."
She looks at Moira with immense hopelessness in her eyes. Moira averts her gaze and Violet steps gingerly through the maze made by the insane genius that is Tate's anger.
"I know. That only makes it worse."
She is lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling and softly singing the lyrics of all her favorite songs. Maybe if she fills her head with other people's problems, she'll finally be distracted from her own.
His voice joins hers, weaving a sweet, sad melody.
"My girl, my girl, where will you go?"
"I'm going where the cold wind blows."
"In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don't ever shine."
"I would shiver the whole night through."
She is busy reading again. As she lies on her stomach with her head propped up by her hands, she feels a shadow fall on her back. And she already knows it's him.
"Whatcha reading?"
"Just some poetry."
"Can I see?"
She hands it to him. He reads a page or two, frowning at the words before handing it back to her.
"I don't recognize who this is."
"That's because it's me."
"You wrote this?"
"Yeah, I did."
"When?"
"In Boston when shit had royally hit the fan."
"Do you still write in it?"
"Sometimes."
"What do you write about?"
"I'm sure you can guess, Tate. Not exactly like my life – or death – has been fluffy kittens and sparkly rainbows since I came to LA."
He remains silent. Sometimes she thinks their silences say so much more than their words.
"And in answer to your questions, yes, I write about you. No, you wouldn't like it. No, you can't read it."
"I wasn't going to ask."
"Please, it was written all over your face."
She snaps the book shut and picks up her towel to go inside. He watches her as she goes back into the house, wishing desperately that he could take that book, crawl back into her mind, and find a way to make her love him again.
She hears him singing Nirvana.
"My girl, my girl, don't lie to me, tell me where did you sleep last night?"
"I slept alone in my bed, Tate." He doesn't startle like she thought he would, but she figures that he has an uncanny ability to know her whereabouts at all times.
"Because you forced me to sleep alone. You forced me to be alone."
"I know, my poor, sweet girl. I know."
"Go away."
She starts crying uncontrollably.
Is she still his girl? Does she want to be? Did she ever stop?
She curls into a ball on the floor, her Ipod still whispering Cobain into her ears.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are always appreciated!