She falls asleep with a soft smile. He loves to watch her face when it's relaxed like this.

He thinks about the expressions she made when he was inside of her, the way her forehead crinkles when she comes. He remembers how her thighs quivered when he pressed his mouth against her. She came so hard on his tongue. Her juices flowed warm and sweet. He still has her taste on his lips.

His body is so relaxed that he almost feels like he could drift off with her. He watches Violet's eyelids twitch. He wonders if she's dreaming. He wonders if she still can.

It can be like this always. They don't need anyone or anything. This bed is their universe. Their bodies are food and fuel for each other. It's as simple as this strand of hair that's fallen across her cheek. It is as easy as her breath coming soft and steady and sweet.

But he's still sharing her with the world of the living. She still thinks in terms of hours, days, obligations, expectations. And she will until she knows the truth. He'll tell her. He will. He just has to prepare.

It's a risk. She has to make the choice to die. With him. For him. She understands the secret of the house. She knows about the others. She knows death here would not mean disappearing. It could work. It will have to.

"Well if it isn't Little Lord Fauntleroy."

Hayden leans on the door to the closet of Ben's office.

Tate ignores her. He's checking the shelf for samples.

"What are we looking for? Uppers? Downers? What anguish is poor little Tate suffering today?"

"Would you shut-up?"

"Hey, why are you so hostile?"

"You're Ben's whore."

Hayden laughs.

"Oh, I see. So, I offend your sense of morality?"

Tate picks up a bottle. There might be enough pills in there.

She sighs, pouting against the door frame. "We share this house, you know. It wouldn't kill you to be a little friendly."

"I'm already dead, thanks."

"So I fucked Ben. What is up your ass about him?"

"He hurt Violet."

"Ah, yes. Violet," she sighs dramatically. "How is your little nightingale? Are you finally letting her rest? Jesus, you've had her holed up in that room for days now."

"Why do you care what I do?"

"I don't, really. But I'm bored. And since you won't let me fuck you, I can at least fuck with you."

"Wonderful," he mumbles sarcastically. He puts the vile of pills in his pocket and checks the label on another.

"Seriously, Tate. There aren't many others here I can have an intelligent conversation with."

"Oh no? You can't deconstruct Keats with the dog walker?"

"I don't think Travis knows any three syllable words."

"Well, he was fucking Constance, so I'm sure he's a fucking moron."

"Oh yeah, so let's talk about Mommy. What happened there?"

"What?"

"You are an eternal seventeen-year-old in murder house. You don't need my degree in psychology to know that's got Mommy written all over it."

"Whatever."

"Speaking of mothers… nice performance the other night." She smiles darkly. "You scared the shit out of her."

"Whatever. It's done."

"Did it turn you on?"

"What?"

"Come on," she says, taking a step towards him. "Don't tell me you didn't get hard feeling her struggle underneath you."

"Shut up!"

She laughs, ignoring the warning in his black eyes.

"Oh, please. I know you like it rough. Does nightingale like it, too? Or is it all vanilla? 'Gosh, I love you, Violet' and 'Oh, gee, I love you too, Tate'. Did you tell her you raped her mom before you popped her cherry?"

Tate's hand flies to her throat, squeezing. She grips his arm, tries to loosen his hold. He lets her struggle, waits for her eyes to roll back. He slams her against the wall before letting go.

She coughs, and gulps at the air. "Fuck, Tate," she rasps. "I'm not going to tell her." She rubs her throat. It's already showing the bruise marks from his fingers. "I actually enjoy watching her follow you around like a little puppy."

"You're a cunt."

She laughs.

The doorbell chimes. Tate stuffs one more vile into his pocket and shifts himself to the hallway to see who it is. If it's about Violet he needs to know. Hayden shows up right beside him. The truant officer introduces himself to Ben.

"Shit."

"Uh, oh, somebody's in big trouble," Hayden teases.

"Shut up!"

If she hadn't been running her mouth he might've been able to stop the officer before he got to the door.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

They listen to the exchange.

"Two weeks!" Hayden gasps in mock horror. "Oh naughty, naughty nightingale."

He wants to pound her fucking head against the wall.

"Isn't there a dick around you could fill that mouth with?"

"Oh, you mean like your daddy's?"

Jesus Christ he is going to have to kill something.

"You know, he's a very dirty boy. He likes when I call him names – "

Tate wills himself to the basement. If she fucking follows him he'll feed her to Thaddeus.

He paces restlessly. He just needs to think. Ben said he'd get an exterminator for the flies. Jesus, the flies. From her body. Violet's body. Oh no here come the voices. They dart and dodge inside his brain. If he could just think. But they're growing louder, insistent, hungry.

He'll follow them for just a little while.

As for Violet… He hopes she's still sleeping. He hopes she still dreams.