"What do you mean?" Tate's eyebrows pulled into the centre of his forehead, his face distraught and hurt.
Hayden sat on the basement floor, rolling a red ball between her right hand and the ground. "What I mean is what I said. She's still pissed at you, I saw her fucking around with drugs in her room." She threw the shiny sphere at the mop of blonde hair that faced her across the room. He raised one hand and caught it, staring at the concrete ground. "She's just a whiney little bitch, why don't you just get over her?"
"I can't just get over her, Hayden. She's different." He pushed his free hand through his hair.
"She isn't different, you are better than she ever will be. You are different, she is bland and boring and you can do better." She shuffled towards him, staring at him through her lashes.
"Shut up." He got to his feet and began to drag his feet towards the stairs.
Hayden rubbed her hands along her thigh, pushing up the hem of her dress. "We could do great things together, you and I in this big house for as long as time itself."
"I said, shut up!" He ditched the ball at the wall and stormed up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. He rushed up the stairs and opened the door to Violet's room. He lay his feet softly on the floor, noticing the figure that lay on the double bed. Tate moved over to her desk and stood, watching her sleep. He loved the way her lips slightly curled up in the most innocent way, like a child who told a lie. He loved the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she slept. He loved the way she rolled the blanket under her toes to keep them warm at night. He loved her, but he loved her enough to respect her wishes. Tate moved to her blackboard and drew a cross in the far right corner, then glanced back one last time before he moved out of her room. Violet opened an eye and saw the door close. She noticed the new letter on her board.
"Tate." She whispered and got to her feet, running to the door. She pulled it open and ran down the stairs searching for a sign. "Tate!" She shouted and ran down to the basement, she frantically turned and pulled herself up the stairs using the banister. "No, no, no." Violet ran from room to room, searching for any signs of the boy that held a piece of her heart. She felt warm tears fall from her cheeks. "I miss you." She spun on her heels and paced back up to her room. Tate sat on the bottom stair, head in hands. He knew he was doing the right thing, but why did it have to be so hard?
Ben opened the back door and pulled himself outside. He missed the way the sun had once felt against his skin, now he could only enjoy warmth through a distant memory. A crack came from behind a large tree in the corner of the yard. A bump of blond hair sashayed around the garden. "Constance, I know you're there." He walked over to the woman.
"Why hello, Ben. How's that lovely wife of yours?" She pulled the gloves off her hands and tossed them into the freshly turned dirt, pressing her glossy black shoe into the vibrant yellow.
Ben rolled his eyes and cupped the back of his neck. "Please, just remind me what's going on here and leave."
She began to walk away then paused and turned to face the man. "Well, you see. I really have the feeling that New York is the place for Michael, my fine boy, to live in."
He shook his head. "I really don't understand how that relates."
"Oh but you will." She plodded away to the house next door.
Ben returned to the inside of the home, making his way down the hall to his office. "She's right." He spun on his heels to face Marcy, who was gripping the banister of the stairs. "This home really does have death written all over it."
"Marcy." Ben walked over to her. "What did she do to you?"
"Poison, and that Michael helped her do it."
Violet stood at her window, tracing her finger across the dusty sill. The trees manipulated the light on her window, creating an out of place serenity. She watched as a figure approached the proud letterbox then still, their chin lifting under a drooping hat to reveal their youthful complexion. Leah. Violet felt her stomach coil as she slammed her fist against the window, trying to grasp the attention of her old friend. Leah looked up at the window, grimaced and quickly continued down the hill. She thought that if there were a next time, she had be better prepared.
"I must say that there is a part of me that is glad that baby isn't ours." Chad said as he straightened Patrick's tie.
"Tell me about it. I know that parenthood is rewarding, but only now do I understand how a crying baby makes you feel at two in the morning." He chuckled.
"How does Vivien manage that racket every night?" Chad glanced at his reflection in the mirror and licked his thumb, brushing a hair back into place. "I don't suppose that Ben is that much of a help." A creak of the door revealed the middle aged woman who disgusted their ways more than anyone. Marcy shook her head. "Marcy? What happened to you?"
"Oh boys, I'm here to stay."
"We aren't boys, we're men. I'm sorry tha-" Chad was cut off.
"You're unnatural perverts, that's what you are." She clasped her hands together, her eyebrows resting rather high on her forehead.
"You bitch." Chad pushed passed her in a huff, Patrick chasing him at his heels.
The stars twinkled in the evening sky while the clink of glass filled the room. Ben and Vivien toasted to their evening ahead and sipped at the red wine that had been ageing in the basement since they moved in. "To happier days and the wonderful night ahead." The man said while gazing into his wife's eyes. Vivien smiled widely as she listened to the voice of Sinatra bouncing off the room's furnishings. She had always loved the acoustics of the lounge, how sounds faintly echoed under the high ceilings. It was the perfect place to play the cello, it adopted a dark, almost haunting aura.
"I hope that Violet is doing better." Ben swished the liquid around his glass, taking in it's bitter scent.
Vivien knew that she was alright, but she also knew that the girl wouldn't want her father to hear of the encounter. It would only make him more eager to see her. "Please Ben, let's not talk about Violet or Marcy, or Constance and Michael. Let's just keep conversation light, the way it used to be."
"Anything for you." The corners of his lips curved upwards. But what was there to talk about? They didn't have any functions to attend, their friends weren't a part of their lives anymore. Chat about their jobs was long gone, and any normality from their old life had dripped through the gaps between their fingers. What was once a full fist was now nothing but an empty reminder of what once was.