Tate isn't in the bed when I wake up. He has a habit of doing that – whisking away once he knows I'm asleep or absorbed in some book. Lately he's been sticking around, though. He holds me and touches me like all he wants is for me to feel good and safe. It's working. I do.

I've been playing sick to be with him. Well, I am sick – sick of pretending like my life is anything near the realm of normal. It's nice to escape in our games of Scrabble. Well, Scrabble really ends up being a kind of high-brow foreplay – an unspoken challenge of who's going to give in first, swipe the pieces off the board and declare surrender with a kiss. And that's when I feel like there will never be enough time in the day, when what he's doing to me is the only thing I will ever know or need or feel.

So I've been hiding out with Tate. And most of the time I think I wouldn't mind just joining him here in the strange life of this house, to escape inside it and shut out the rest of the world. Because the world out there, it scares me now. I feel a sense of dread at the thought of even walking out the front door. Usually nothing scares me. Lately, though, I feel different, disconnected.

Tate helps me come back to myself. When he presses against me I feel the solidness of our bodies. It's an assurance that I am really here. It sounds crazy, but crazy is the country I've been living in for a while now. I can only imagine trying to relate to someone at school.

'Hi, I'm Violet. I'm dating a super hot guy who happens to be a ghost, oh yeah and a former mass murderer. My mom is in the loony bin after hallucinating that some man in a rubber suit was trying to rape her. She's pregnant with twins and the last time she lost the baby at seven months, so who knows what could happen this time. My dad had an affair with some whore just a few years older than me and it almost broke up their marriage except, and this is the kicker, they thought that moving into a house that is the star attraction on the "Murder Tour" would be just the thing to bring our family back together again. Want to be friends?'

I don't think so.

I'd say considering all that's happened I'm owed a few days off from school. In fact I think it's worth a whole semester off, at least. Maybe I should go backpacking in Europe or something. Tour around Paris and meet some hot French guy and try to forget that my first love was a sad boy who was disturbed in life, and may still be disturbed in death. He's spent a long time in the darkness of this house. I know he's changed, but sometimes I see a shadow sweep across his face. And I wonder.

If I'm totally honest with myself I'd admit that I'm a little afraid of Tate. But the bigger truth is that my fear of him turns me on. He's kind and loving and attentive and sweet, but he is also brooding and angry and haunted. And I'm attracted to that dark part of him, too. I guess that means I'm twisted. But maybe it's okay. Maybe Tate and I can be twisted and sick and haunted together. We'll find a safe place to be strange. I think that's maybe all I ever really wanted, anyway. Maybe it's all that I need.

I asked my mom once how she knew she was in love. She said you go crazy and before you know it the whole world looks different and then you'll do anything for the other person.

So I stretch out in the sheets of the empty bed and I wonder if that's how I feel about Tate.

.

...

.

"What are you doing?" Tate appears in the doorway of the kitchen. His edgy tone surprises me because I'm just leaning against the counter dialing a number on my phone.

"I'm calling this girl from my class. I need to get the work I've been missing. She's like one of those straight A – "

"Not now, Vi. Don't call her now," He crosses the kitchen to me. "You can make up the work later. "

It's already ringing.

"It's just a quick – Hi, Lindsey?"

Hello?

"Yeah, Lindsey, it's Violet – from Chemistry class?"

Hello?

"Um..it's Violet from - "

Hello – is anyone there?

"What the hell?"

"What's wrong?"

"It's like my speaker's busted. She couldn't hear me. The same thing happened when I tried to call my mom yesterday."

Tate snatches the phone from my grasp.

"I hate these things. They're so annoying."

"These things?" I laugh. "Do you mean cell phones?"

"Yeah. "

"Give it back. I'll just text her." I reach for it as he sweeps it above his head, like we're playing keep-away.

"I thought we were going to spend the day together," he pouts.

"We are but I have to get caught up. I'm really behind on my work."

He slips my phone in the back pocket of his jeans.

"So, you have time. You can do it later."

"No, Tate. I promised my dad that I'd go back to school tomorrow."

"What?"

"Look, it's serious. An officer actually came to the house. He said we could end up in juvenile court."

"They're just trying to scare you, Violet! "

He takes hold of my arms when he says this. His eyes are wide, desperate. I complain to him a lot about school, but jeez, it's not a life or death situation.

"No, Tate. My dad's been through enough already and – "

"Are you kidding?" he yells, releasing his hold and turning from me. "Fuck him, Vi! Who cares?"

"Tate – "

"No!" He bangs his fist on the counter. When he sees me jump his tone softens. "He hurt you, Violet! Look," he takes my arm, turns my wrist up to the light. He rubs a light finger over the scars.

"How many of these are because of him?"

I pull my arm away, instinctively covering it with my sleeve.

"I can't screw up, Tate," I say quietly, afraid of fueling his anger. "I can't. Not with my mom in the hospital and everything that's happened."

He's quiet. I venture a look at his eyes. They're trained on me, but they're not angry. They're sad.

"Violet," he says softly. "Violet, listen to me." He takes my hands in his. "You've been through so much. It's not fair for them to make you feel this way. I won't let them."

He wraps his arms around me and rests his head against the top of mine. His sweater is soft against my cheek. I start to have that feeling again – like I'm losing it. It's like at any moment I might disintegrate, disappear. I'm glad Tate is holding me tight.

"Everything's going to be okay," he says. "Remember – I love you."

I relax against him at the sound of these words. But the moment is broken when I hear another voice.

"Oh, well I see Miss Violet is feeling better."

Shit. Moira.

I push away from Tate's embrace and I hate myself for acting so guilty.

"Tate, how nice of you to keep Violet company when she's not feeling well," she says sarcastically.

"Moira, you can't tell my dad Tate was here," I say, hating how pathetic I sound.

"It's okay, Violet." Tate says. His voice is even and dark. I look up at his face to see him staring at Moira with a half-lidded glare.

"Yes," Moira says, meeting Tate's gaze with her one good eye. "We have lots of secrets in this house." She throws a dishtowel over her shoulder. "And the secrets you decide to keep from your father are up to you. Only I'd try to be more careful if I were you. Cavorting with one of your father's patients in the kitchen is probably not the best idea."

I cringe at her referring to Tate as my dad's patient.

"And I'm quite sure your mother wouldn't approve," she adds.

My mother – locked away in some mental hospital because I lied. I lied to my parents so I could stay with Tate.

"Moira, I – "

"Go upstairs, Violet."

I look at Tate, surprised at his commanding tone and the way he's still looking at Moira, like he could rip the meat off her bones.

I look back at Moira who is taunting him with a sideways smile. Her ruined eye is shining.

"Oh. Okay," I mumble, but I don't think either one of them is listening to me.

I'm in my room and I don't remember going up the stairs. But I feel so tired and confused all of a sudden that I just want to lay down and rest. I want to wake up and feel normal again.

As I crawl under the covers I think it's a good idea to go back to school. It'll be so easy to just sit at a desk and listen to the teachers blather. I'd like the assurance of a bell telling me when to leave somewhere and when to arrive. And then there'd be the relief of being surrounded by other people like me. Well, not like me in any way that matters other than they have a pulse.

I realize as I drift off to sleep I'm ready to go back.

I'm ready to rejoin the living.