AN:Hi everyone! Thanks all to those who left reviews; I really, really appreciate them. Also, thank you to Justbychance who has been my inspiration throughout this story, so go check her stories out. I've been in a bit of a nostalgia lately with my writing and all. Recently, I attended Bethel's College's "young author's" conference and it really helped me with my writing efficiency. The only thing is, I truly wish to grasp my readers and entrance them into the story, sort of like how I used too. But there are no tips or tricks when it comes to popularity. Not many people read this story anymore and I'm wondering if I should even continue it. The reason I started writing was to share my words with the world. I'm not sure, but summer is coming up and if I do continue it, the time I post it will be much more consistent. Anyways, please leave reviews, and enjoy!
Chapter 5
My heart was maniacally climbing on the insides of my ribs, craving to burst out. My eyes were frigid, making sharp jolts and jerks to the area around myself. My breaths were constipated, as If there was an air-tight plastic bag over my head, and I was already fogging up the transparency. The vicious knocking from the door continued.
"I WANT MY MONEY!" The raspy voice cried. The deafening pounding on the door matched my fearsome heartbeats. Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding ding ding ding dong. The doorbell chimed impatiently. Suddenly, the knocking and the doorbell stopped. I held my breath, trying to perceive any hint that the psychotic man was still there. There was breathing sound, but it wasn't me. It was behind me, someone was fucking breathing behind me. I turned around to find nothing. I was alone, deserted from the horror that just took place. Letting out a sigh of relief I opened the door to my room in confusion. Who was that man, and why did Ben owe him money? Why was Ben so insistent that I shouldn't call the cops, that I should lock the doors and all that shit? I locked the door behind me angrily, slamming it onto the wall like that thin ass coat of shelter could save my life. What the hell was going on? Maybe it is the house, maybe it is making us all crazy. Or maybe that's just me. I feel like I'm losing it, like anxiety is just boiling inside of me. I feel as if I have to faint, or puke, or both. Yet, unfortunately, I never do. All I do is stand in my own destruction of distress, burying my face in my hands like a coward. For fucks sake. My breaths began to return back to normal and I heaved a giant exhale, desperate to run away. Suddenly a familiar tap on my window echoed in my ears and I checked to see what the hell was happening now. Peering through my blinds, Tate grinned eagerly up at me, like an energetic puppy. I opened the window as he gestured to 'come down'. Down to the basement. Tate. Finally, someone who can ease this chaos. I was actually excited for our date, although we've had several ones before, I think? Well, not quite official dates, but we would hang out all the time after the invasion of those three assholes who broke in. In the mornings, he would visit me before school, and we would smoke and talk and laugh and talk some more. He would piss me off and scare me for fun and I would tease him and joke about the world until we erupted into a cloud of tobacco and ludicrous laughter. After school, he would tap on my window and we would explore the dark secrets and pasts of the house and its ex-owners. Some days we would venture into the backyard, playing 'make-believe' like fucking kindergarteners, but only when we were high. Sometimes we would just talk about school, who we are, and who we want to be. I remember one day we sat in my room at midnight, smoking, talking, laughing, and falling in love all while The Ramones played in the background aggressively.
"You know what Harmon? You're okay." He told me one day.
"You too, Langdon." I agreed sarcastically. He smirked and I rolled my eyes, lighting his cigarette and mine.
"What's your goal in life?" I asked him.
"There's not really an answer for that." He chuckled.
"I mean, what do you want to be? What do you want to do before you die?" I restated.
"Well, let's see. I want to leave this goddamn place, fly like a bird, summon Kurt Cobain back from the dead, and get fat and die in a little stumpy tree house with you." He claimed. I scoffed with amusement and plopped on my bed.
"Oh shit, die? with me?" I asked, raising my eyebrows, chortling.
"Yeah…" He nodded, chuckling gently.
"And, why a tree house? I mean, I'd much rather live in a condo. We don't want to become uncivilized assholes… Oh wait, it's too late for that." I joked. He inhaled the smoke from his cigarette and exhaled, laughing his amazing laugh.
"Fine, fine, let's compromise; how about let's say… a tree house inside a condo. It'll be so fucking a cool, the tree house will have like a deck that will show the whole view of L.A. and then like a-" He droned on about the tree-house-condos' impossible features. It was obvious we were both stoned as fuck.
"You've got yourself a deal, kid." I assured in a New York business-man's accent, exhaling from my cig. Tate lied himself next to me on the bed, putting out his half burnt cig. I positioned my legs over his thighs as I turned to him, exhaling the diluted smoke from the cig. He placed his hands not across my neck, or my waist, but my shoulders, which I thought was very cute and awkward.
"Vi?" He questioned in a high voice.
"Tate?" I said.
"Why do you think I exist?" He asked.
"Because you're fucking great. And you're the only decent person in this hellhole." I replied. He smiled.
"I think I exist so that I could meet you." He admitted, still grinning that goofy grin.
"Maybe I exist so that I could meet you." I chimed in, putting out my cig.
"That would make a lot more sense." He agreed.
"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?" I asked.
"Without you, I'm nothing." Tate said, looking up at the blank ceiling. That was one of the best days of my life. And my favorite times of all, when everything was wrong in our lives, when everything felt like everything was nothing, and running away from everything was our only option, we had each other to talk to, to comfort. I would tell him about Ben and he would tell me about his mother. He told me once that I had a gift in reducing sanity, that being close to me was one hundred times better than any session with Ben. I told him he was full of shit. But somewhere deep inside, I felt the exact same way with him. Tate. The only person I wanted to see right now, I thought as I opened the door to the basement and walked down the groggy steps once more.
"Tate?" I called, expecting him to jump-scare me again or some shit. I never knew why he was so fond of scaring others; it was like a striving goal for him.
"Hey." He greeted, smiling, coming out of the dank corner of the basement. I sighed. How unexpected of him. Thank god he was here. Thank the fucking lord. Instantly I felt better, seeing him. Every detail, flaw, and perfection of him. The tiny freckle on his nose, his curvy deep dimples, His supple chocolate brown eyes and intense presence. Tate reeked of flaws, yet was drenched in perfection. I was so fucking glad to see him. So fucking glad. I instantly hugged him, tight, feeling security as his arms wrapped around mine.
"It's been insane here. First the cops were outside, then some freak started banging on the door, screaming about money." I explained, my voice etched with whining complain, yet thankful relief. Tate broke off of the hug and soothingly gazed into my eyes, his hands consolably on my shoulders.
"Hey, hey. Shit like that does tend to go down on Halloween. It's probably just asshole kids. It's fine now. I'm here." Tate assured. The way he looked, the effortless comfort of the way he talked, the way that he looked like he cared about me, was more than enough to put a smile on my face. Tate stepped back and held out a fresh bud rose, tainted with black paint.
"I painted it black. I know how you don't like normal things." He explained considerately with a tiny bit of shyness as he handed me the rose. I gazed at the gift. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. I didn't know what the fuck to say. Something like this was almost like a metaphor for me. It was something I would never forget. A fresh, supple, budding rose, cursed with its labeled gracefulness, its unfortunate grandiose. Each petal was like a tragedy, waiting to fall and cripple and die. A starlet, almost. But once the rose is dipped in black, the impression is immediately morphed. Something so breakable, so dear, can be overpowered by darkness, by impurity. Yet the form of the budded rose still had seemed to seep through the darkness to be held in this uneasy, yet grand position.
"You're the fist boy to ever give me a flower." I admitted, finally finding my words. He chuckled with satisfaction.
"Thank you, I love it." I said.
"You ready to go on our date?" He asked keenly.
"Yeah." I replied, elated for once today.
"Come on, let's go." Tate said.
~The beach~
Sand hugged my toes as Tate and I arrived at our "mystery date location".
"Can I open my eyes now?" I questioned.
"Not yet, stop being so fucking impatient Vi." Tate teased, his hands still concealing my eyes.
"Well I'm pretty sure I know where we're going." I claimed. He laughed his amazing laugh and led me down some sort of hill, the sandy surface of the ground still layered on top of my feet like a grainy blanket.
"Okay…You can open them now." He ordered. I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was the fire in the centre of the beach, swaying and jumping in the humid California night. The beach was mysterious and alive in the dark. You could hardly see the calming waves, and you couldn't tell where the ocean shore started and where it ended, but you could still hear the crashing of the waves. The sensation of the beach was exhilarating, yet relaxing and calm.
"Come on, let's go." He beckoned into the pitch black air of the night as the waves crashed into the shore once more. A mere single millisecond caught me by a heart-racing surprise as he literally swooped me off of my feet, carrying me bridal style. He ran down the hill with me in his arms, it felt as if I was on my own personal rollercoaster, jeering and dropping down the shore. As we got to the bonfire, He set me down and eagerly started kissing me. His body swiftly planted itself on top of mine, and the steamy fumes of the fire only accentuated the moment. As the prancing flames ensnared into the dreary Halloween night, our tongues clashed together, entrancing one another with a daze of captivation so lustful and melting, it made me love him even more. His hands slowly wrapped around my waist as he kissed my neck passionately. The kisses weren't fierce and aggressive, but soft and zealous, conducting mass shivers of pleasure in my stomach.
"Why are you so energetic today?" I asked him, giggling with esteem.
"Because right now, I'm free, with you. I'm flying like a bird, higher than the wind can take me, and I don't think I ever want to come back down." Tate explained, smiling and chuckling in between kisses. I grinned back, staring into his beautiful, enticing eyes once more, watching his pupils sift from the fire that was sectioned upon us.
"Then what the fuck are you waiting for? Go and fly." I said. He grinned and got up, holding my hands. My cell phone annoyingly decided to ring at this very second which put a look of slight bewilderment to Tate's face.
"Hold on, I've got to take this, go ahead, I'll catch up." I ordered. He nodded and started leaping towards the life guard pole, swinging and hanging from it, and running and jumping wildly. I've never seen him so alive. It felt like he really was a bird. A free bird that had been caged for so long. I answered the call.
"Violet, where are you?" Mom's voiced questioned scornfully with concern.
"I'm just hanging with friends." I answered casually, looking over at Tate enjoying himself.
"We told you not to leave." Mom scolded.
"I'm sorry I should have called earlier. Is this the part where you make me come home?" I questioned reluctantly. Mom sighed through the phone.
"Are you safe?" She questioned.
"I swear." I replied.
"Are you having fun?" She asked. I called hear her tone become much more carefree and slightly joyful.
"Yeah." I answered.
"What happened with the guy who was banging on the door?" Mom wondered, her voice sounded worried and suspicious.
"It was just some kids. I think they were playing a prank. They went away." I could hear Tate's feet shuffle towards me in the sand. He looked so content, so excited, it made my heart skip a beat.
"I want you home in an hour." Mom ordered. Tate's face buried into my neck, kissing it, and snuggling into my hair enthusiastically.
"Okay. All right, bye." I said as I ended the call.
"Who was that?" Tate questioned.
"My mom." I replied.
"Aww.." He moaned, kissing my lips as I rested my head on the sandy ground. My hands wrapped passionately around his neck. I could feel his joyful panting as we made out which caused me to allow the kiss fall deeper until we were both sweating from the heavy make out session that took place.
"Come on, let's go by the fire." I said. He took my hand and we sat by the bonfire, letting the calming heat coat amongst us. We kissed again, on top of each other, the Converse on our feet rubbing against one another as he kissed me. It felt as if his lips perfectly contacted with mine, like a puzzle piece. The waves crashed once more as his tongue entered my mouth, and we fell into a swill of unfazed ecstasy. I felt like this was the perfect moment, on the beach, with him. I didn't want any other time to love him, than right now. I wanted to be with him, to lie with him as something not just pure. I was lustful, and I wanted him. I wanted Tate, I fucking wanted him to be mine. I wanted him to make me his. I didn't care about the mistakes, or the trouble, or the consequences. I just cared about Tate, and I wanted to be with him. My hand slowly grazed towards his thigh as I tried to speak through his passionate kiss.
"I want to." I said softly.
"Oh, no," Tate whispered into my ear. I put my slutty hand away and he broke off the kiss as I stared at his emotionless face. Rejected, this is what it felt to be rejected. Of course, I've faced rejection all my life. People would reject me all the time. But that was never really rejection to me. I didn't give a fuck about them. But I loved Tate. To be rejected by the one you loved the most, that was the real feeling. Not just a little playground defile. This was the ultimate tarnish. Fucking stupid, that's what you are. I said to myself as I gulped a big supply of regret. How can you be such a whore Violet, such a goddamn horny hypocrite. He probably thinks I'm a freak. A desperate cry for attention. He probably thinks I'm just like all the other girls. Please let this be a dream. Why can't I just evaporate into nothing? Why can't I move right now? Why can't I run away?
"Sorry. I thought…" I started apologizing, ashamed of myself.
"I just… Violet, I swear, I want to be with you so badly. And that's never happened to me. With a girl." Tate explained. Thanks for taking pity on me and giving me this shit show Tate. What was going on with me? I've never felt this way before either, and it was truthfully starting to get confusing. He wanted to be with me, but yet not with me? And, 'never before with a girl?'
"Are you gay?" I thought out loud.
"No. I just…" Tate replied. He got up from his position on top of me and sat next to me, watching the fierce waves plummet into the shoreline, only to be taken aback once more.
"Maybe it's those meds your dad gave me. They do that, you know." Tate suggested, a perplexed look plastered onto his face. Maybe it was, maybe it was just a raw excuse. I would never know. What I do know was that I fucked up somehow, and Tate was making up for it. I couldn't stand the bullshit any longer. There was a decayed feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was just a waste of Tate's time. I sat up next to him, ready to leave.
"I'm gonna go." I stated, getting up.
"No, no. No, Vi. I'm not ready to go. Not yet." Tate begged. He looked so considerate, so sincere, I decided to stay. Maybe he does really like me, even if I'm fucked up or not. As I sat down next to him, He wrapped his arms around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder. The waves collapsed along the shore once more, sending flickers of water drops onto the footprint-stained sand. Tate's arms draped over my shoulder, holding me tight, like he was protecting me from all the bullshit and unnecessary pain.
"I used to come here… when the world closed in and got so small I couldn't breathe. I'd look out at the ocean and I'd think… 'Yo, douchebag, high school counts for jack shit.' Kurt Cobain, Quentin Tarantino, Brando, De Niro, Pacino. All high school dropouts. I… hated high school. So I'd come here and I'd look out at this vast, limitless expanse. Then it's like, that's your life, man. You can do anything, you can be anything. Screw high school. That's… It's just a blip in your timeline. Don't get stuck there." He explained, looking at the grand view, the miracle that the ocean brought him. And I looked at it too and found something I never thought I would. I didn't know what it was, but I found it. And it was somehow lodged in Tate's words. Something that sparked a certain fume that made me believe, for once, there was hope. Tate was smarter than all living beings combined. He, truly was a real rumination of the hopeless giving hope. And that lit a spark somehow, somewhere, that made me believe that actual hope existed. For that short period of time, at least. I gazed at him, already gazing back and rested my head on his shoulder once more. How fucking fortunate I was, to have someone like him, exist. How very fortunate indeed. Suddenly, a twig behind us snapped deliberately. Someone else was here. I looked back to see who it was. A group of people were making their way onto the sandy beach's surface.
"There's someone here." I alerted Tate who didn't seem to take the notification seriously. He looked back with me as the group of people made their way towards us. There were five of them. A cheerleader, a jock, a nerd, a rebel, and a goth. Damn high school assholes. They were all embellished with some Halloween shit makeup, making it look like they were just killed or some shit. They all looked snooty and cruel as their persistent faces sneered closer to ours. Screw them, they were waste of our time.
"Nice costumes, what are you, the Dead Breakfast Club?" I mocked with a scoff as they formed their cliché 'taunt circle' around us.
"You know, there's a whole lot of beach, guys." Tate politely informed.
"Good job, Tate. You finally came out of hiding. We've been waiting for years for you to show your face. But you like Mommy's little safe house, don't you?" The vulgar jock sarcastically congratulated. He had a bullet wound in his head, blood was still slowly dripped down from in between his eyebrows. Holy fucking shit, they know Tate? I thought, bewildered. Once again, I guess he was quite popular. Moira knew him, Adelaide knew him, and now I guess these jackasses do too. I couldn't familiarize the group's faces, whether if they were from my school or not. They looked about my age, but I honestly could not reminisce. All I knew was they were the exact same as any other high schooler; assholes. These were probably Tate's tormenters.
"I don't know you." Tate protested. Possibly unknown tormenters I presume then. Perhaps they were the kids who would whisper about you, talk about you, verbally harass you, but you would never know.
"You know, I'm actually surprised you have the balls to show your face around here." The cheerleader ridiculed. She was very beautiful, and had the face of a possible prom queen. Ladies and gentlemen, I would call this girl, another high school bitch. Just like Leah, before the incident anyways. The cheerleader had a gory bullet wound on her chest; you could almost see her organs. The sign on her cheerleading uniform was hardly visible to read from all the blood, but I knew the logo right away. She was from Westfield High.
"Yeah. Maybe you should have worn a mask." The goth girl taunted with a smug face, right in Tate's face. Her dark makeup and black lips sputtered as she curled her expression into a crude, sinister smirk. The goth wore all dark, and her alabaster skin was an even shade of pastel apricot. Her 'injury' was the most horrendous of them all. It looked as if the side of her head was shot off. You could see her fucking brain, exposed to the California night. Blood strained around her brain, soaking parts of her hairline, and dripping down the side of her cheeks atrociously.
"I'm not really into Halloween." Tate explained.
"But this year's different, right? You have a date. How cute is that?" The goth jeered.
"Leave her alone." Tate ordered firmly, standing up as if he was protecting me or some shit. The goth girl stood up as well, facing Tate with intimidation.
"We don't want her. We want you." The jock sneered.
"How about we drown him?" The goth suggested. What the fucking hell was this parade of murder? Where they actually serious, that they would go so far that they would kill Tate? If anyone on that beach were a psychopath, it was them.
"No, we should shoot him, right between the eyes." The jock chimed in, touching his bullet wounds. Tate looked intensely scared out of his fucking mind. I decided to put an end to this nonsense. All of this was bullshit, 'scary' threats just to spite us, to make us leave or whatever. Honestly, who the hell would believe these dickhead's crap? Just another fucking mischief act to paste the outcasts back on the wallflower wall.
"Ha, ha, Halloween pranks." I said sarcastically, standing up next to Tate. It was my turn to protect him.
"Somebody please waste this bitch." The goth complained.
"Yeah, why does he get a girlfriend? I don't have a girlfriend." The rebel whined. His hair was wavy and shoulder-length and he wore a black leather jacket with red flannel underneath. The side of his jaw was shot up appallingly, which trailed to a mass quantity of blood splatters on his face.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" The rebel asked the nerd. The nerd simply shook his head. In fact, he was silent all this time. He had messy ruffled brown hair and gigantic dorky glasses. Blood gushed out of his mouth, leaving horrific pools and stains of deep red on his face.
"Kyle, you?" the rebel questioned to 'Kyle', or in this case, 'the jock'.
"No, I haven't had sex in a long time." Kyle replied, tilting his head to the side mischievously.
"Come on, let's go. This beach sucks. Someone should pick up the trash." Tate beckoned. He grabbed my hand, and abandoned the beach he once loved so dearly.
~The house~
Those kids went to Westfield High. It was written on the cheerleader's uniform and the jock's jersey. But who were they really? And why the fuck did they want to kill Tate? What did he do to him? There were so many questions, and so little answers. They were deeply engrossed in Tate, like they hated him in a personal way. Tate was going to tell me what the fuck was occurring, whether he wanted to or not. I closed the bedroom door and turned to Tate.
"Are you seriously going to act like nothing happened at the beach? They totally knew you Tate." I interrogated.
"But I don't know them." Tate explained in a confused tone.
"Then why do they hate you?" I protested crossly. Tate averted his eyes down at the ground. He paced around the room.
"They-They're just high school assholes. I mean, the world's full of them. It's popular kids who get off on being mean and cruel. I thought you understood that." He said with a gloomy expression, yet squirmy and full of stutter, as if he was trying to find words to say.
"Tate, I can tell you're totally freaked out." I assumed, looking intently into his uneasy eyes, a heap of worry concealed beneath them. Suddenly, Hallie started barking vigorously, meaning someone was at the door. I checked out my window to find five, high school stereotypes walking up to the front porch.
"It's them. They followed us here? This is bullshit." I expressed, angry and livid that they had invaded our solitude. I balled my hands into a fist. What the fuck did they want so badly that they had to fucking follow us and come to my house? What was wrong with them? I seized the first potential weapon I could find, which was a scissor, and stormed out the house. I opened the door to find the jock leaning on Ben's car while the cheerleader sat on it, twirling her hair. The nerd was leaning on the corner of the porch while the goth sat lazily on the ground, leaning on the brick wall. Last but not least, the rebel stood beside the goth, sitting on the brick wall of the porch where me and Tate used to sit; smoking and talking.
"Oh, great, he sends his little girlfriend out." The jock exclaimed with an arrogant look plastered onto his face.
"With a pair of scissors. You gonna make us some paper dolls?" The goth girl mocked. Fucking bitch.
"This is private property. I have every right to call the cops." I threatened, clutching the pair of scissors toward the goth.
"Go ahead, call them. You'll probably need them." The cheerleader insisted spitefully with a smile.
"Screw that. She deserves whatever happens to her." The jock chimed in, his eyes squinting in hatred. I was pointing the scissors toward him now. Whatever happens to me? Not a damn thing will fucking happen because their asses will be beat before the cops even arrive. They're just screwing with me, I know it.
"Yeah, she's like those lonely, fat chicks that marry guys on Death Row. You're deeply, deeply disturbed." The goth agreed. That was fucking it. I've had enough.
"You guys need to take your disgusting made-up faces and go home. Now." I ordered sternly, turning to each and every one of those bastards.
"Made-up?" the jock rhetorically asked, getting up and walking toward me along with the cheerleader.
"Home? Where is that? I'm an only child. After what happened, my parents split up, sold the house, moved away. No forwarding address. So I don't have a home." The cheerleader explained scornfully, looking as if she was about to cry red, angry tears. Maybe these kids had their problems too, but doesn't everybody? Doesn't everybody weep once, or fall asleep feeling like their stranded in their nightmares for once in their lives?
"Parents suck, but I can't fix it for you." I disdained, barricading the desire for them to exit my property in an obvious fashion.
"Can you fix this? Can you give me my scholarship to Georgia Tech? I'm supposed to be starting quarterback freshman year." The jock issued, pointing to the bullet wound on his forehead. What the hell? Was this guy actually shot, actually dead? Or was this all some mischief, all some Halloween fucking pranks? I don't even know what is real and what isn't anymore.
"She doesn't care. She's in love, and she'll do anything for him, including giving him her virginity. Tonight was the night, wasn't it?" The cheerleader explained to the jock. I thought it was the night. I thought. But I was wrong, Tate isn't those type of people, he wasn't with me for the sex, he was with me because he liked me, and I respect him for that.
"None of your business." I said as the cheerleader smirked.
"Stupid slut. She's worst than he is. She thinks it's okay what he did to us." The jock scoffed sinisterly, circling around the porch in an intimidating matter. Worst than 'he is'? Were there things that Tate hasn't opened up to me? Sinful events that I wasn't supposed to find out?
"What did he do to you?" I shouted, backing away from the assholes as they continued slithering towards me like ravenous snakes.
"She doesn't know." The cheerleader claimed. Damn right I didn't know. Was I supposed to know? And what the hell was I supposed to know? This was a tidal wave of secrets and madness, although I was the only body of water that wasn't joining the wave. I remained a clueless little bitch, allowing myself to withhold while everyone treated me like dirt without even knowing if I was dirt or not. Most of all, the person who I was defending was not fucking here with me right now, or giving me specific answers, reasons, and alibis. I had supposed if you liked someone, you trusted them, but Tate just acted dumbfounded although it was quite fucking obvious he knew something. Tate was hiding something, I'm sure of it, but I wasn't quite sure why he was hiding it. What could've been so treacherous for him to force onto these suspicious shitheads?
"About what?" I asked the cheerleader. The nerd was starting to attempt to talk but it resulted in some form of garbled speech. As he opened his mouth, a ghastly amount of blood dashed down his lips, lathering up half his face. The nerd held his hand to his mouth to clot the blood from pouring, and looked down at the ground disappointingly. The cheerleader patted the nerd's shoulder sympathetically.
"It's okay." The cheerleader consoled.
"How have you not heard of Westfield High?" The jock questioned to me, his tone less aggressive and crude.
"We just moved here." I replied.
"Pick up a yearbook, bitch." The goth clucked.
"Or read a newspaper." The cheerleader demanded.
"We're kind of famous." The rebel chimed in. Are you fucking kidding me? Newspapers? Yearbooks? Who do these fucking fools think I am, some kind of wannabe jack-off? I scoffed and gave a cheap smile.
"So you're popular, and you're pissed off. I don't know who you are." I nagged at each and every one of them.
"Let's put her down, out of her misery." the goth suggested, staring at me as if I was some sort of rodent. Her eyes were faint and lifeless, as If she didn't know what the hell she was even staring at because of her dull, matte, soulless expression.
"Leave her alone!" Tate's voice shouted behind us. A wield of respite and relief instantly calmed me down as Tate approached the group. I had never seen this side of him before, except the basement incident with Leah. His eyes were a timbre of cloudy black, and his skin was paler than a bleached parasite. His eyes were angry and maniacal, as if he had collided with the devil himself. His approach and expression was intimidating, heavy with rapid negative energy, and a bulging rage showered him.
Finally, the Prodigal Son returns." The jock exclaimed.
"Come on down, man. We've got some questions." The rebel ordered.
"Go inside, I can handle this." Tate commanded. He can handle this? Like he fucking handled the three home invaders, or how he handled Leah? There is no way in hell I'm going to let him get away from all this bullshit this time. No more secrets. No more mysteries. No more lies. I remembered the threats they gave Tate, and it was risky enough to be even standing near them. They were dangerous, and I wasn't going to let the one good thing in my goddamn life leave my side to go fucking around fighting high school travesties.
"I seriously doubt that." The cheerleader hissed. No shit, Sherlock.
"Go inside!" Tate bellowed.
"No, they want to hurt you." I protested, easing Tate's violent snarl by clinging onto his arm protectively.
"Karma's a bitch, Tate." The goth scowled, hands on her hips as if she had heard the same thing said to herself long ago.
"You want to talk to me? Let's see how fast you can run." Tate growled, bolting into the October dusk of the night. My heart clashed. My knees grew weak and fingers started shivering. I felt a bizarre delusion of dopiness in my mind, stirring and sagging coldly. Worry. Concern. Fear. Sorrow. Anxiety. Fret. All understatements of the feeling lodged inside my stomach. I felt as if I was about to faint. Please, please, for fucks sake, please let Tate be okay, please let Tate be okay. I pleaded in my head, stinging tears blurred and coated my eyes, sheering them glossy pink. If anything happens to him, I'll be damned for life and I know it. This whole bullshit dilemma was weighing me down, crushing my very existence. What could be done to assist Tate from getting hurt, or worse? I immediately flipped open my cell phone and dialed 911. The deadpan ringing in my ears stopped as the operator answered the call.
"911, what is your emergency?" The operator questioned firmly.
"Hello, Hey, my boyfriend's in trouble. There's a bunch of kids chasing him. I think they're gonna kill him." I stated into the phone, my voice rapid and reflected with airy panting from the mild breakdown I was experiencing. Suddenly, two bony hands lunged at me, pushing me almost to the ground, causing me to unfortunately end the call out of shock.
"Come with me to my house now." A female voice ordered sternly. I turned around to see who the fuck this lady was and what she wanted. It was Constance, of course. That bitch. She looked tired, her wrinkles were more visible to the eye, and her eye bags were darker than the Halloween night itself, puffy and swollen fuchsia. She wore her metallic silky pastel pink robe, as if she had just gotten out of bed. Constance's hair was also not up like how it usually was, all "Virginian 60s housewife" if you will. It was messy, and down. Her curls were not secure and flawless, but springy and loose, like someone glued cheap Barbie doll hair to her head.
"Leave me alone, you crazy bitch!" I shouted, already aware that the women I was facing attempted to poison me with cupcakes. Constance clutched the collar of my shirt, violently tugging it up as if a cliché school bully would do to a kid who was not willing to give up their lunch money.
"Addy is dead because of you!" Constance accused furiously through gritted teeth. Dead? How can she be dead? What did I ever do that caused this? I felt bad for Addy, we were sort of friends, or acquaintances. She was somewhat humorous, and full of life, like a child on a playground, having the time of their lives, yet knowing about the cruel society around them, accepting the stares and the laughs and all the insults. The fact that she wanted to be a pretty girl, made my heart sting. We had things in common, and I knew exactly how she felt. I can't imagine having Down syndrome, waking up every day to know that there is nothing wrong with you at all, yet people think that there is. For me, it was different. I woke up every day knowing that there something was most definitely wrong about me, and having people see it too. I felt bad for her; being judged, having Constance as a mother, and wanting to be a pretty girl. Yet, to some extent, I admired her too. She had survived the tortures of life, especially for a down syndrome woman for 30-some years(At least mom tells me she's 33). What a curious night to die, on Halloween, but then again, Adelaide was always very curious. But why would Constance blame me for her departure? Constance dragged me into her puny vintage house, and slammed me onto her splintered wooden chair at the kitchen table. For an old woman, she was utterly tough. Her kitchen was sloppy, and inconvenient. Utensils and un-kitchen-like items and knick knacks were scrawled and splattered all over the place. Cheap wallpaper of yellow vintage tangerines plastered on the wall and rusty white countertops only made it look more like a typical southern home in the 60s. What instantly caught my attention was a mask on the counter, the face looking like a porcelain doll with black bangs and perfect facial features.
"She got hit, by a car. No one seems to understand how or why. It was a hit and run, no sign of her murderer. Some unholy adorned teenagers apparently witnessed the death, claiming that Addy merely was over-excited and ran to the next house for candy without looking both ways. The state officials believe them, but I wouldn't put my faith on those medieval sluts. Jesus H Christ, I don't know what to believe anymore!" Constance explained, smiling at the end of her explanation painfully. Her voice was hoarse and raspy, full of vacancy and instability. She planted two cups of tea on the kitchen table and sat down as well. I kept staring at the mask on the kitchen counter, and I felt it staring at me. She noticed and pointed at the creepy-ass thing.
"Oh that, yes, that was Adelaide's pretty girl mask." Constance sighed. She turned back to me slowly, and stared. She just simply stared. That was enough to get me to leave the goddamn house. Her eyes almost squinted while staring into mine, like she was scouring for the lost. The circumstance was outright awkward and unreservedly odd as fuck. Finally, she closed her eyes, tension rising. It felt like an hour she closed her eyes, if I didn't know the situation, I would have thought she was sleeping. A peculiar woman she was, although it's not like I didn't know that already. It was like she was waiting for her heart to stop writhing from loss and sorrow.
"She wanted to be a pretty girl." Constance stated in a high pitched manner, finally opening her eyes. I looked down at the ground, remembering Adelaide pestering me to make her into a pretty girl just a few hours ago.
"Of course, she didn't look so pretty… lying on that table under those harsh, energy efficient lights." Constance said, her voice trembling. I knew what she was talking about. They sent Adelaide to a morgue. I couldn't imagine Addy in a morgue. Once again, she was so full of life. It was basically deeming to the brim of her crooked smile every time she expressed one. Never thought it would come to be like this.
"One of the many comforts of having children is knowing one's youth has not fled, but merely been passed down to a new generation. They say when a parent dies, a child feels his own mortality. But when a child dies, It's immortality that a parent loses." Constance trembled, glossy coats of tears covering her eyes as redness returned to the trough of her eye bags. She seemed so shaken, so anguished and heartbroken by the death of her child. As foolish and crazy as she was, she really did love Adelaide.
"Constance, I'm so sorry." I consoled as best as I could. She smiled and looked down at the ground, sipping her tea.
"Well, you did encourage her, that's true. But you were just trying to be kind, weren't you? I was the one who sent her out into the world tonight. And it did what it will do." Constance justified, stammering at points, as if she were going to crawl into a ball and cry.
"Go ahead, drink your tea honey." Constance offered, signaled to the cup in front of me. Tea never really interested me. They were just flavored leaves and hot water. My eyes explored the kitchen, finding something to have instead of tea. A very fancy cigarette pack lay next to Constance. I was genuinely craving tobacco at that moment, and couldn't help it to ask.
"Can I have one of those?" I questioned, pointing to the cig pack.
"Oh, a cigarette? Certainly." Constance allowed as I took a cig from the gold snake skin pack.
"Just don't let your mama know that I am encouraging your vices." Constance added as she lighted me up. I inhaled the smoke, and quickly exhaled, not trying to enjoy such luxury of the smoke waltzing around in my lungs satisfyingly whilst the woman who sat across from me experienced pain and grief.
"You know, Adelaide was a willful child. I suppose if she inherited anything from me, it was that. In truth, I think my little monster was more like me than any of my other children." Constance claimed proudly, confidence replenishing in her voice.
"I didn't know you had other children." I blurted subliminally. Now I would probably have to look through baby pictures of her other children and listen to tedious stories of how they lost their first tooth and shit like that. I assumed this because of the unfaithful past experiences with other relatives Constance's age. Constance brushed her fingers through her hair and looked intently into space.
"Tate is my son." Constance admitted. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Was Tate my neighbor? Why haven't I seen him with Constance or Addy? And does this mean the bitch of a mother Tate keeps bringing up is Constance? I mind scrambled like a million secluded pieces of an untouched puzzle. I was right, I really didn't know Tate. At all. I didn't know about what he'd done to those "popular" group of kids, I didn't know Constance was his mom, which both were crucial notes he could have told me. I thought he trusted me. There I was, each day after school, pouring out my emotions and feelings toward him like I was bombing his very existence with a cannonball, while he hinted some gimmicks and explained some summaries of his secrets. I felt like throwing up. Or crying. Or fainting. Or everything all at once. Instead I just said;
"What?"
"He cannot know about this, Violet. He cannot know that his sister has passed. Not now… He doesn't… react well to certain things. So you… You have to promise me." Constance said, sounding like she was about to sob violently into her hands. Instead, she forcefully grabbed my arms, her brittle fingernails clinging and clenching into my skin desperately.
"I don't understand." I mumbled in all honesty, trying to calculate the bullshit that was happening in my little baffled brain.
"Well he's a sensitive boy. You've seen that. He-he's a young man with… too deep feelings, the soul of a poet. But none of the grit or steel that acts as a bulwark against this… these horrors of this world. The steel that has protected me. That Adelaide possessed. And that…that you have too." Constance trembled in her Southern Virginian accent, tears forming dramatically in her tear ducks.
"I think… That's why he's taken so with you. He craves your strength." Constance admitted, grinning gingerly, Picking up a picture located on one of her wooden shelves, admiring it with blissful, warm eyes.
"Look. Maybe he just misses his sister. But we must protect him, Violet." Constance said, handing me the photo. I analyzed it assiduously. Tate and Adelaide were both grinning with aggrandize, Tate's arm was over Adelaide's shoulder, leaning by a tree. Tate was keeping secrets, but what? I needed to find out, and I needed to find out soon. The person I love the most has tainted my trust. They have grasped my honesty and stepped on it, swallowed down my acceptance. It felt like betrayal. At this moment, the circumstance was truly worse than all the swarm my nightmares articulated. The infidelity blared at me like a sign of travesty and the fallen, all summed up in one. This of course, this wasn't the end of the fucking world, but might have been the end of me and Tate.
AN:So that was the end of the chapter, I hoped you liked it ^_^ I'm currently on summer break right now so, I'll be definitely be more active on this site… YAY! After I finish this fanfic, I'll most likely do one in Tate's POV, but not the murder house story, you'll see. It'll definitely have Violate in them though, not those OC shit. Anyways, Please leave reviews guys, I check for them every day and they honestly are so helpful while writing this story. I love you all, please leave reviews! I won't post the next chapter until I get enough!
ilysm