Violet lay horizontally across the plush leather couch in Doctor Langdon's office. Five minutes had passed and he was still unsure how he wanted to begin the session.

"How are you feeling today, Violet?" he asked lamely, setting up a dictaphone and placing it gently on the desk that stood between them.
"Fine."
"How have you been coping since the death of one of your peers?"
Violet resisted the urge to snort a response. "It's fine. I didn't talk to him anyway."
"You attended his party though, didn't you?" Doctor Langdon's voice became slightly strained. "It must have been distressing to know you were there when it happened."
Violet sat up and regarded him with an icy look. "I told you – I didn't speak to Travis. Therefore, I couldn't care less if he's rotting six feet underground or if he's walking the streets like you or I." She lay back down and folded her arms behind her head, counting the breaks in the ceiling tiles.

Doctor Langdon jotted a few notes down on his pad and Violet found the scratching of pen on paper to be very irritating. "How are things with your mother?"
"She's still a raging alcoholic, if that's what you mean," Violet replied bluntly. She was tired of his mundane questions. She was tired of these sessions completely. She found that she couldn't trust him anymore, not since she knew how he treated his own son. An idea struck her and she decided that two could play mind games if that's what he wanted. "I suppose I'm lucky, though. She might be a drunken mess but she'd never hurt me."
Doctor Langdon's jaw tightened. "What about your father? You've never mentioned him."
"I don't know where he is," she said flatly. "But what I do know is that he wouldn't have laid a finger on me, either. It's funny that isn't it? Unconditional love." Violet felt satisfied at the visible perspiration that had appeared on the doctor's brow. She couldn't decipher if he was nervous or angry but it gave her a sick thrill to get him so worked up.
A smirk flashed across his face but disappeared as quickly as it came. "Would you ever hurt anyone, Violet?" He asked as though it were a simple routine question but Violet knew there was a wholly different question between the lines.
"Who knows," she deadpanned. "That's like asking a lion if it bites." She snapped her teeth and grinned, though her eyes were hard. She spied the clock behind Doctor Langdon's head and jumped up from her reclining position. "Well, nice chatting with you, doc." She turned to leave but the doctor called her back.
"Ah, one more thing, Violet," he walked behind her and spoke in her ear, his breath blowing her hair and making her uncomfortable. "I don't want you anywhere near Tate again." With that he stepped away and returned to his desk, not sparing her another glance.

Violet left his office and shut the door behind her, stepping into Tate's empty hallway. She longed to see him; she hadn't stopped thinking about him all week and she couldn't stand for him to be angry at her any longer. He was the first person to make her feel like despite all her fuck-ups and her flaws, he still saw hints of the Violet that she used to be. However, equally, she didn't want to corrupt him any more than she had done already. She hovered around for a while, lifting her foot to take a step towards the staircase, just to place it back on the ground, deciding that it was a terrible idea. Having repeated this cycle a few times, she turned to head towards the front door, defeated.

Tate was upstairs, straining his ears to hear her leave. He'd heard her come out of her session but she hadn't exited through the front door yet. What was she doing? An annoying majority of him wanted so desperately for her to climb the stairs and see him, but he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't. After more silence from downstairs and more debates with Inner-Tate, he finally jumped to his feet and skidded in his socks over the hardwood floor to the top of the stairs.

There she was, looking beautiful and awkward and batshit crazy, standing uncertainly in his hallway and heading for the front door. He knew his dad would still be around so he cleared his throat to grab her attention. She stopped and turned towards him; he said nothing but jerked his head, telling her to follow him upstairs. Tate turned and disappeared back to his bedroom. Violet swallowed the lump in her throat to take its place with the butterflies battering her ribcage. She went to the front door, opened it then closed it again, before ascending the stairs as silent as a whisper.

She crossed the landing, trailing her fingertips on the walls as she went. She noticed that there were no photographs of Tate on the walls; no baby pictures, no dorky class photos. She half smiled at the mental image of baby Tate she had created in her head – big, shiny eyes and that mop of blonde curls sticking up in all directions. She wished she had known him when he was younger; perhaps they could have helped each other. Perhaps they would be different people now.

She took the last few steps and slipped into his bedroom, turning her back to the room as she closed the door. She really just wanted a few more moments without looking at his face because she knew when she did, any resolve she had would dissolve like a mint in a can of soda. Slowly, she turned and her heart thudded as she saw him perched at the end of his bed, watching her with those dark, soulful eyes. They looked at each other for what felt like a decade, unspoken words passing between them. She had caused him so much trouble: being a witness to her murdering Travis, lying for her and taking beatings from his father for hanging out with her... She was no good for him and yet here she was, so selfishly forcing him to be in her presence just to satisfy the strange need for him that she felt inside.

"I'm sorry, Tate," her words came gushing out like inconvenient word vomit. "I'm so sorry for everything. I'm sorry for getting you involved with the Travis thing. I'm sorry for making you lie for me and I'm sorry that your dad hit you because you went to the party with me. I know that's why he did it... I know... And if I'd have known things would get this messed up, I'd have left you alone a long time ago. I want to leave you alone. I want to disappear and make it like you never met me." Tate fidgeted and stood up, suppressing the urge to cry. The thought of her leaving forever made him sick to his stomach. This girl was a psychopath but she had become an irrevocable part of his life. He began to walk towards her but stopped as she spoke again, softer this time. "But the truth is, Tate... I couldn't leave you alone even if I tried." She felt tears prick the back of her eyes and she was furious at herself for showing such emotion.

Tate, on the other hand, showed no hesitation as he closed the gap between them in four short strides, placing one hand either side of her face and pressing his lips to hers. It felt to him like he had waited a thousand years for this moment and it was everything he had imagined so many times. He felt her tension drift away beneath him and she kissed him back, grabbing his sweater in her tiny hands and tiptoeing to kiss him harder. Tate pulled back slowly and watched her eyelids flutter open, her dark orbs boring into his. "Don't leave me," he whispered, his breath making a few stray hairs tickle her face. He sounded so vulnerable; exactly like the baby picture Violet had created in her mind. Her heart constricted and she knew from this very second on, no matter what happened and what the universe threw at them, she could never leave this beautiful blonde boy behind even if she wanted to.

"Never," she replied, more honestly than she had ever spoken in her life.