AN: Okay, so something big happens in this chapter. I love Takota (ship name creds go to Cloudcity'sBookworm, woo) fluff and cuteness but either the house itself or other people are always messing things up, because their relationship can never really be perfect and that's what you'll see in this chapter.

PM me if you have any ideas or requests you'd really like to see me write in, or any questions. Otherwise, please review :) I love all my readers so much and you guys are the best!

I'm just going to PM my reviewers for at least this chapter because last time the AN was really long and I don't want to bore you guys.

Dakota's dad pulled her out of the room as the nurses and doctors tried to revive her Grandma. She knew it wouldn't work, their efforts were futile. She'd seen enough death and she wished she hadn't seen her Grandma take her last breathe.

But her words bounced around in Dakota's head. How could she know anything about Tate? And why would she say that, even if she did?

While her dad tried to comfort her mom, she stood outside the room. A woman she vaguely recognised from somewhere approached her.

"Dakota?"

"That's me... Do I know you?" Dakota replied politely, trying to keep composed.

"I was a trainee here when you had your surgery after the..." The young woman trailed off, acting like if she said the word it would make Dakota break down. She was sick of crying until her head hurt, even today, she didn't want to shed another tear.

"The shooting," Dakota finished for her, a little shortly, irritated. "Congratulations on becoming a full time nurse."

"Congratulations on pulling through. All wounds heal, right?" She left with a cheerful smile before Dakota could contradict her. She didn't even ask why she was in there. She obviously didn't care.

Wounds did not heal. They may look stitched up, the scars may even have faded... But just a word, or a memory... That's all it takes to tear them open again. No, wounds never truly heal. And the pain they caused never truly goes away, either. You just learn to cope with it or you let it eat away at your soul.

The car ride was silent all the way home, apart from her mom's sobbing.

Dakota went straight to her room, and found Tate sitting at her study on a chair.

She jumped, forgetting that she had left him in there. "What are you doing, Tate?"

Tate stood up and took her hands in his, ignoring her question. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She held his too, but he noticed how loose her grip was, while his was tight as ever.

"There's nothing to talk about..." She said after a few seconds, looking down at the ground. But there was. There was so much to talk about.

There was this darkness creeping up on her, on their relationship. That was the only way to describe it. She knew that there was something so... So violent and dangerous about Tate. And he was hiding something terrible from her. She just knew it.

"Hey, look at me," he said in concern, dropping one of her hands and tilting her chin up to face him. "What's hurting you?"

She looked up at him for a second, but before he could search her expression for an answer to his question she pulled away, dropping his hand completely.

"I just... I'm tired," she lied, lying down in her bed with her back to him before he could press her for a truthful answer. "And my Grandma just died, so... I don't want to talk about it."

Tate definitely wasn't convinced, and he didn't understand why she had become so distant in less than two hours. What could he have possibly done wrong this time?

"Do you want me to go?" He asked, dreading the answer.

"...No."

Tate climbed into her bed and wrapped his arms around her without hesitation. He wanted to believe that she was just upset about her Grandma, but something inside was telling him that he was the source of her sorrow. Of course he was. He was the source of everyone's sorrow, or so it seemed. Even his own.

Dakota didn't close her eyes for a while, and Tate could feel how tense she was lying against him.

Eventually she rolled over to face him. "It wasn't about the blood, was it?"

"What?"

"Taint. You wrote it on my board. It's still there."

He glanced up at the board, and then back to her. "Go to sleep, Dakota."

She stared at him for a moment, and he stared right back at her. She was the first to drop her gaze, as usual, and curled into him like nothing was wrong. She'd allow herself to pretend for one more night, but when she woke up... Things had to change.

Dakota woke up to her alarm blaring, as usual. Tate had left at some point, probably through her now open bedroom window.

It still hadn't sunk in that her Grandma was dead. It probably would never sink in. She didn't want to be upset about it, she just wanted to be... Free of all of the death and destruction that seemed to close in on her just as things got better in her life.

"You don't have to go to school today if you don't want to," her dad said, opening her room door. "But I have a feeling you will, because you're strong like that, aren't you?"

"I'm going to school, dad," she said, running a hand through her hair.

Her dad smiled weakly. "That's my girl."

"How's mom?"

"She's... Better. How are you?" Her dad asked carefully.

"Coping," Dakota replied, picking out some clothes. "Because she doesn't have to suffer anymore. I would never want that for Grandma. She was surrounded by people who loved her when she died. That's how everyone should go."

Tate looked down, though she couldn't actually see him. He didn't live or die surrounded by people who loved him, because nobody really had. He wondered what it would feel like to be loved. Sometimes he felt that with Dakota, but now that was in jeopardy, and he had to figure out why before he lost her.

Sasha was absent in school, she had texted Dakota earlier in the morning to let her know although they shouldn't really be on speaking terms, after their dispute over Cameron the day before. But Sasha would always follow Dakota, she'd always forget any fights they had. That was a positive and negative thing about Sasha, it was refreshing since she didn't seem to hold grudges like Dakota did; but at the same time, could be irritating. Any conflict that arose between them would build up and remain unsolved until Dakota directly brought it back up again, and it would end in an argument.

She had notified Sasha about her Grandma's death, avoiding going into a sob story so she didn't need to discuss her feelings with her over text.

Dakota was about to walk over to her usual table and sit with the girls that she usually did, though she never really conversed much with any of them. But Cameron called her over to sit with him and his friends walked off when he motioned for them to. She shrugged, it couldn't hurt, could it? Tate would never know. It wasn't like it was a date, she was just curious as to what he wanted to talk to her about.

"I hope you're doing okay," he said gently. "About your Grandma..."

"Sasha told you?" Dakota asked, annoyed. "I should have known, she can't keep anything to herself."

"Hey, I won't tell anyone," he murmured. "It's just important to me that you don't feel alone. I know Sasha isn't always the best of company. My friends aren't either. I lost my mom last year, I know how you're feeling."

Dakota's gaze softened. "Thank you for being the only decent person in this whole goddamn school. And I'm really sorry about your mom, I'm sure she's proud of you."

"Don't be," Cameron smiled slightly. "Losing my mom, as horrible as it sounds, gave me this whole new outlook on life. It's not that glass half full bullshit. It's... A glass 50% full of water and 50% not full of water. It's pretty simple. You see things and people for what they are. It's very refreshing."

"I wish I could see life that way..." She sighed, then frowned. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Its okay, Dakota, honestly," he chuckled. "I get it. You see these shades of grey in between the black and white and that is both a curse and a blessing."

Dakota couldn't help but smile. There he went again, with his perfect ways. Tate was by no means perfect, but... He was her person. And he would always be her person, regardless of any Camerons' that walked in and out of her life.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Tate asked, lying by her side in her bed. This was after school that day.

She turned her head to look at him. "No."

"No?"

"No," she repeated firmly, with conviction. "I do not believe in ghosts."

"You should..." Tate trailed off.

"Do you?" Dakota asked, deciding not to question his strange statement.

She knew she'd have to deal with things soon. She wasn't going to he her mom and dad, letting a series of smaller events build up into something ridiculous. She'd confront him and he'd give her an answer to each question she asked and they'd all make sense. But nothing made sense about Tate, so why would he answer direct questions without getting either angry or dismissive? He wouldn't.

She couldn't find a viable reason for discussing everything today, she just felt emotionally drained. Surely it could wait...

"A ghost of a person is always there... I mean, it can't all be shit. Where else would you go? I don't believe in a heaven. I don't believe in a God."

"Neither do I, but there has to be someplace better... I've spent my time in hell on this Earth. I don't think it's a perfect place, but I think that when people who are truly good die, they somehow end up happy. Somehow, somewhere..." Dakota trailed off, deep in thought.

"Nobody is truly good, nobody's pure in this filthy, disgusting world. Apart from maybe you. Definitely you. God, you deserve a heaven built for you..."

"You'd be in it, Tate."

He turned onto his side and smiled at her, his eyes glimmering with a trace of light, for once.

"This is my place of happiness as long as you're here with me, Dakota. I don't need a heaven. I have you."

The next day, while Tate was visiting Beau in the attic, Constance headed into Dakota's room, confident that she wouldn't get caught by anyone.

She wanted to create some distance between Tate and Dakota, though she knew that it would only be temporary. She also knew that she could of course tell Dakota all about the shooting and who was responsible, but the truth was... She enjoyed seeing her son happy, and she had never seen anybody make him feel the way Dakota seemed to.

However, she was under the illusion that if Dakota left Tate even just for a few days like Constance had told him she would, then it would be a good opportunity for Constance and Tate to talk... Maybe, just maybe, he'd appreciate her being there and forgive her for her past actions. He would find unexpected solace in Constance, and then she would think of a way to bring them back together by the end of the week; and he'd love her like he did when he was a young child. He could be her gift again.

Constance retrieved Dakota's cherished scrapbook and leafed through it until she found a picture of Dakota with a boy. They must have been together at some point. She glanced up at the blackboard and noticed a word that only Tate would have written- "taint." She then pulled out a black permanent market pen from her bag and scribbled "TAINT" over that particular page, and left it lying open on Dakota's bed. She had timed it perfectly, Dakota would walk in any minute now.

Constance knew that Tate wouldn't admit to something he never did, which would make Dakota even more angry. Tate had serious trouble accepting and admitting to far worse things he had actually done in the past, and he would never accept the blame. This would make Dakota doubt him even more. And that was what she viewed as her cunning plan.

Constance walked downstairs and made a swift exact out of the backdoor when she heard the front door open.

Moira saw her at the last second, but wasn't aware of what she had done.

Constance had made one serious error, there was a flaw in her seemingly perfect plan. She had no idea how unforgiving Dakota could be...

Dakota walked into her room, deciding to try and carefully confront Tate about a few things he had told her that just didn't seem to add up. However, she froze with a look of pure horror upon her face when she saw her scrapbook lying open on her bed, vandalised.

"TAINT." It was written multiple times in different sizes and fonts.

Before she could react, Tate appeared at her doorway like he usually did.

"The backdoor was open, and I had to see your face again because-"

"What the fuck have you done?" She held up the scrapbook, showing him the page that Constance had scribbled all over.

The bright smile Tate was wearing when he walked in immediately fell.

"I didn't do that," he said indignantly.

"It says taint-"

"I know it says taint, but I would never do that. Not to you."

"Bullshit, you're lying!" Dakota yelled, throwing the book at him in rage. The corner clipped his shoulder, but her aim was off by far. He flinched.

"I never thought that you would lie to me! He was my friend, and he died in that shooting! How could you do that? How?!"

"I didn't do anything, how could I have?" Tate asked, stepping towards her slowly. He was desperately trying to stay calm, he didn't want to hurt her, and he was scared he would.

"I don't know, you always seem to find a way in, though, don't you?" She snapped. "You're sick, Tate. You're more fucked up in the head than I thought."

His expression hardened, and she pushed him away from her when he took another step towards her.

"Dakota, please don't do that again, I'm begging you-"

"I can't even look at your face, get out!" She shoved him again. "You did something and you're hiding it from me, and I think it was something worse than this. You think you can just dismiss me every time I ask about things that make no fucking sense, well you're wrong! I want answers and I want them now, I-"

"Dakota, stop, please," Tate said quickly. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You already did a great job of that, Tate, what could you possibly do to me now that would be any worse, huh?" She pushed him again, harder, but he didn't stumble backwards a few steps like he had the first two times.

He clutched her right wrist and left arm and forced her roughly against the wall. "You want me to show you?"

Somehow, he found one of his hands around her throat. Her chest tightened up and she felt like pinching herself. This couldn't be real. She would wake up any second now and find him lying beside her. She had to. He told her he would never let anyone or anything hurt her... That included himself, right?

"You think I'd hurt you, Dakota?" His words from the night of the home invasion echoed in her head. And then she realised something that made her shudder... He was wearing the same look upon his face that he had worn when he killed that woman.

Chad and Patrick stood at the bedroom door.

"We have to do something, Chad," Patrick said with a frown.

"No, let him kill her, then he might finally see what a monster he is, and so will she," Chad replied. "Don't be stupid about this, Pat, we're not cops. We have no obligation to lift a finger here."

"Well, I can't watch this, I don't understand how you can stand there and hope that this girl dies. Honestly, Chad... I don't know who you are these days... Tate isn't the only monster in this house anymore," with that, Patrick walked away. He would never stop Tate, not if Chad didn't want him to. He was disgusted with himself, knowing what was happening to her in there and walking away.

"Jesus H Christ, what is he doing?" Constance whispered to Chad, more than a little alarmed. She had decided to come and see how her little plan had worked out, and this wasn't exactly what she had been hoping for. But then, she had forgotten about how violent Tate could become when his darkness completely took over. She still believed the house drove him to it every time. He couldn't be to blame for his actions, or at least not in Constance's eyes.

"What does it look like he's doing?" Chad rolled his eyes. He had a strong hatred for Constance, almost as strong as his hatred for Tate. "He's doing what he seems to do best- killing people who have done nothing to deserve death, of course. Following in your footsteps, remember Moira? Except it's his girlfriend. I never thought I'd say it since the way he killed my boyfriend and I was so... Memorable. But god, hasn't he just outdone himself with this one?"

Constance felt the urge to slap Chad, well aware of the sarcasm filling his tone. But she didn't want to be noticed by Dakota or Tate right now.

Dakota didn't answer Tate's question, waiting for him to snap out of it and let her go. But it was clear she was terrified and she knew that he wasn't kidding. Her whole body was trembling violently. "Tate, stop-"

"Do you?!" He shouted, and his loose grip on her throat suddenly tightened. Acting on impulse, she punched him on the nose with her free hand, hoping it would wake him up from whatever state he was in. She watched the blood drip from his nose in shock. Had she just made him bleed?

The punch, blood or no blood, didn't cause him to snap out of it at all; it only made him tighten his grip again, and she found herself struggling to breathe. "Give me a goddamn answer!"

"No!" Dakota croaked weakly, closing her eyes tightly, but he wouldn't relent. "I-I don't want you to show me... Please stop, Tate..." She whispered weakly.

It felt like he was draining the life out of her, because really, he was. It felt like she was drowning, at his hand, and it was worse than any nightmare she'd ever had, it was worse than the shooting. Because this was Tate. This was caring, thoughtful, loving Tate. But then again, it wasn't. She searched his eyes for even a trace of the person she knew, but found nothing but an empty, deep darkness.

After a few seconds, he dropped his hand from her throat but didn't let her move.

Dakota burst into coughs, wheezing. That darkness that she had thought was creeping up on her had been creeping up on him the whole time. This boy... He wasn't the one she loved. He wasn't the one that loved her.

Suddenly, he blinked and looked down in horror at her and realised what he had just done. What had come over him? How could he ever hurt her? The thought made him sick, him causing her any kind of pain.

Tate dropped his hold on her arms and stumbled backward. "Dakota, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"You told me that you'd never let anyone or anything hurt me," she said tearfully, her voice shaking. "I guess you lied to me again."

"No, I didn't want to hurt you, Dakota, I could never hurt you!" He shook his head over and over and carelessly wiped away his own tears.

"You did!" She cried. "You just did! You're lying again!"

"No! Why would I ever do that to you?!" He stepped towards her and raised his hand to touch the bruise that was already starting to form on her throat, the one his own hand had caused.

At first, she thought he might try and finish what he had started, so she recoiled away from his touch and backed away from the wall and into a corner, instead; as if it would make a difference if he really wanted to hurt her. But he didn't, he was even more horrified by what he'd just done than she was.

"Get away from me, get out! Get out, Tate! I mean it this time! Go!"

Chad smirked, and Constance turned to walk away, somehow remaining unseen by Dakota. She walked right into Moira.

"You make me sick, you and that son of yours. He doesn't seem to be aware of what he just did to her, but you comprehend it perfectly. I suspect you orchestrated the whole thing."

Constance shot her what could only be described as a dirty look and left, brushing past her roughly. Her plan had technically worked, but it had worked a little too well. She didn't want it to come down to this, she should have thought about how umpredictable both of them could be, since Dakota was going through a grief process and Tate was... Tate was a psychopath and a killer, if she was being honest with herself. But Constance was rarely honest with herself about her son. She just wanted him to be perfect, because she believed that he could be. But even if he could have been her perfect son, he went out of his way to ensure that he never was.

"Please don't make me go," Tate whimpered. "I love you, and I crumble when you cry. I don't want to make you cry anymore. Let me fix this, let me fix us-"

She glared at him. "There is no us, anymore. You just strangled me, Tate!"

"No! Why would I hurt you like that? Why would I do that to you...?" He looked down, shocked and disgusted with himself.

"Go away, Tate!"

His expression changed, in some indescribable way when she said those words.

"Go," she paused, breathing out a sob. "Away."

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, and when she opened them... He was gone.