AN: Okay, so this chapter explores how complicated and tainted Takota really is. Ugh I just love their ship name aha. Thankyou Cloudcity'sBookworm! I need your opinion on something else, guys, next chapter do you want more drama or more cute fluff and just conversations between Tate and Dakota? I might bring Hayden into the next chapter, too. And I doubt I'll use the rubberman because one of my most loyal reviewers gave me their opinion on it, and I realised how there's honestly enough drama. The shooting is enough to leave Dakota confused and probably conflicted when she finds out about it, but the rubber man, too, might just make it a no-brainer for her to tell him to "go away" as soon as she knows. I'm not certain on that, yet, so keep giving me your opinions like if you want to see RM or not, it helps.

I'm so sorry I took a while to update, I've been busy and this took a while to get right. It's a pretty long chapter and I feel like I balanced the fluff and drama better than usual so yeah, enjoy and please review! PM me any additions questions, ideas or opinions.

And yes, I used the name of the creepy song from the first scene of the pilot episode which is also used in the finale of Murder House in this chapter because I thought it would just be cool to use it, so yeah :)

Guest: Wow, thankyou so much! I'm glad you're liking my story and writing.

Cloudcity'sBookwarm: As always, I'm so grateful for you and your reviews and lovely comments :) Thankyou! And yeah, this might be the last you see of Cameron for a while in this chapter, it depends on how things go in the next one- but my goal was to make you guys really start to like him then begin to hate him, I hope I've achieved that aha. I'm also glad you liked the nightmare scene, it's mentioned again in this chapter :)

ZeldaZonkk: It makes me so so happy that you're so enthusiastic about my story, you have no idea how much that review made me smile :) Thankyou!

LaraPendrington: I PM'd you but I'd just like to thank you again for your review :)

Constance had heard a car pull up outside Dakota's house and watched the scene unfold. She was actually about to go outside and do something about it, and Tate saw her, though he didn't look like he appreciated it. However, Dakota was running back inside before she could say a word. That didn't stop Constance from confronting Cameron.

"I swear to god, boy, if you touch that girl again I will break your goddamn arm. Don't come by this house another time or you'll regret it," she saw the fear in his eyes and smiled, satisfied.

"W-who are you?" Cameron asked shakily.

"You don't need to know that, just pray that you don't find yourself outside this house again and you won't need to worry about it," Constance turned to leave. "You're lucky you got me, some people around here... They would never be so kind."

She had gotten her newly styled hair dripping wet, and although Tate hasn't witnessed it; she'd make sure he found out. Moira had seen, unknown to Constance, and she had to give the woman at least a little bit of credit. Constance rarely cared if it didn't benefit her, so perhaps her involvement was just a way to apologise to Tate. Either way, it was a surprising effort, and a rare one.

"You saw what happened, didn't you?" Dakota asked as Tate carried her upstairs, because she was drunk and that was a perfect excuse to hold her in his arms.

"Yeah, and if he shows his face here again he's going to find my fist bashing it in," he muttered, setting her down gently on her bed.

"Oh, I can handle myself fine, Tate," she smirked, remembering something that had happened a couple years ago. "This guy was dating Cara, and she was so goddamn happy. But I knew there was something about him that wasn't right. So we were at her house, and he was drunk. I wasn't, I had decided to be the responsible one for once. Anyway, she went as far as the other room, and he started hitting on me. I made it clear that I wasn't interested and when he tried to touch me I broke his arm, somehow. I guess I was pretty mad."

Tate laughed for a second, then frowned, as if he had realised something terrible. "That's horrible."

"Well he deserved it-"

"No, what he did to your friend," Tate said, deep in thought. "If you love someone, you should never hurt them."

"I know," Dakota looked down for a second, thinking about what had happened between them the last time they had spoken. She was sure he was thinking about it, too. "I really miss her. She would have never let me have anything to do with Cameron. She knew how to keep me safe. That's what we did. We kept eachother safe. But I couldn't keep her safe, that day, the day she died. I think I tried to, I can't remember. I must have tried, I would have died for her, you know? She was like the sister I never had."

Tate looked down. "I'm sorry you lost your friend."

"Me too."

"I can keep you safe, now. I can always keep you safe, Dakota."

"Then why didn't you stop him?" She asked after a moment of silence.

"I was too far away to do you any good, you had it handled before I got there," he said convincingly. Yet for some reason, it didn't add up to Dakota. It just... It just didn't.

"Oh," she murmured, feeling her eyes begin to get heavy. "I don't usually sleep this early, but I'm..."

"Drunk," Tate finished for her with a smirk. "Tell me it wasn't the punch."

"It was the punch," Dakota laughed, standing up with his assistance.

"You want me to, uh..." He began, and she turned around.

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

"There's worse ways I could be spending my Friday night," he smiled, un-zipping her dress for her. "Trust me."

Dakota laughed, almost nervously. It was just weird, the whole thing.

"I should probably go, right?" Tate asked, stepping back from her when he was done, though it was clear he wanted to stay.

"No," Dakota shook her head. "I want you to stay with me, Tate."

He nodded, and turned to walk away so she could change into something more comfortable; but she gently pulled him back. They just stared at eachother for a second, their gazes flickering to and from each other's eyes and lips.

She was about to kiss him, but he stopped her. "Dakota, no..."

She frowned, hurt. "Why not?"

"Because," he began. "I want you to remember our first kiss, and you're clearly drunk right now."

She said nothing for a moment and folded her arms. "Yeah, whatever you say," she muttered, manoeuvring out of her dress while he looked away. "God, we're not in middle school, Tate. You can look if you want, I don't care. It's not like we're having sex. You're acting like you're my gay best friend, except even a gay best friend wouldn't turn away like-"

"I'm not gay, Dakota," he snapped, irritated. "I'm just not taking advantage of you while you're goddamn drunk, okay? I'm not Cameron."

"Fine, but I already know you're not like him or anybody else," she said, climbing into her bed. "I trust you. You're different."

Tate lay down beside her. "Did he hurt you?"

Dakota snorted in laughter. "No, are you kidding? The worst he could do was rip my goddamn dress. I'm going to blackmail him until he fucking pays for it, it was new."

Tate found himself laughing harder than he had in a long time. She brought out the best in him, parts of him he never knew had existed. He was also aware of the fact that she seemed to bring out the worst of him, or awaken it, at least. But she was worth all of the pain.

She lay her head down against his shoulder, but then something occurred to her. "Wait, my mom and dad, they're going to be confused that I'm home when I get back, I should call them-"

Tate shook his head. "I'll take care of it. I saw them leave, they had to go sort something out to do with your Grandma. Don't worry about it, just get some sleep."

She nodded, feeling herself drift off against him in contentment.

At some point while it was dark, she woke up to the SWAT team from her previous nightmare bursting into her bedroom, yet again.

She immediately looked up at Tate, who let go of her and stood up.

"W-why are you here?" She sat up and asked the men shakily.

"He did something bad," one of them replied, appearing behind her out of nowhere. She screamed, scrambling back from him, eyes wide. He had his gun trained on her heart. "Don't you remember?"

This didn't seem real. It didn't seem like something a member of a SWAT team would say. In fact, he shouldn't have told her anything at all.

Dakota stood up, staring at Tate who had this look of knowing, of some kind of insight that she didn't have on his face. This strange, frightening look.

"Tate, what is he talking about?" She didn't demand it, but it was clear she was getting uptight. Of course she was. There was a heavily armed SWAT team in her room with their guns trained on the boy she loved's chest, as well as her own. Red lines beamed from the guns.

Tate didn't even look at her.

"Tate, what is he talking about?" She repeated, more agitated. "Tate!"

He finally looked down at her, then glanced at her chest. A dark scarlet stain was seeping through her shirt.

"What happened to me?" She asked in horror, her body trembling from sobs.

He looked down for a second, then he grabbed her hand and held it tightly. "I'm here. I'll always be here."

"Tate, I'm scared."

"I'm here, I'll always be here."

"But-"

"I'm here, I'll always be here."

"You're scaring me!"

"Don't be scared. It won't hurt, I promise," he murmured, and she just stared at him, trembling.

"What won't hurt? W-what are you talking about?"

He looked at her sadly, almost like he pitied her for a few seconds. And then, he stared back at the SWAT team. His expression was so indescribable, it was just incredibly intense and... She'd seen that look on his face before, it always happened before he did something bad, ironically enough.

Tate gradually squeezed Dakota's hand tighter as he slowly raised his other one, just like he had in her nightmare. He made it seem like his hand was a gun, again.

"No! Tate, stop!" She tried to disentangle her fingers from his but he clutched her hand so tight that she couldn't move it, and it hurt. She tugged on his free arm, trying to make him snap out of it. "Tate, please-"

He pulled his own invisible trigger and she waited for what she knew would happen next, the inevitable.

Tate turned and reached for a gun under her pillow, pulling her with him. And then his body shook violently, the bullets entering his chest over and over.

"No!" She screamed, and it was a horrible, pained, anguished scream. It wasn't just fear. "Tate!"

"Dakota!" she jolted awake with him shaking her shoulders roughly, looking down at her in concern. "It was just a nightmare, I'm here. It's okay, I've got you."

He gently pulled her up into a sitting position. "What happened?"

"Don't you ever die on me," she exhaled a shaky breath, ignoring her question. "You promise you won't do that to me?"

He pulled her against his chest. "I promise."

But Dakota couldn't see his face, she couldn't see the sorrow in it, the guilt.

"You've died twice this week, in my dreams, in my nightmares. In the same way, except the last one felt like it was really happening. They shot you."

"Who did?" He asked in a hushed voice, trying to seem oblivious, but he knew the answer.

"The SWAT team. They shot me, too, in the first one. This time they walked in and I asked why they were here. One of them told me that you'd done... Something bad, and asked me didn't I remember. So I asked you, and I told you I was scared. You just kept saying 'I'm here, I'll always be here.'"

He said nothing, trying not to get emotional. If he got too sensitive about this then she'd know that something similar really happened in the room they were sitting in right now.

"And then you told me not to be scared, that it wouldn't hurt. You told me the same thing the first time, and I died with you; they shot me too. You tried to pull a gun on them from under my pillow, and you did this thing with your hand like you were pulling your own trigger... I was bleeding from the start, before they shot me, from this," she shuffled back a few inches and pulled her top down slightly to reveal her scar from the shooting.

When he saw it, he quickly looked away.

Dakota frowned. "I'm sorry, does it repulse you so much that I have a damn scar, Tate?"

"No," he said quickly. "Well, yeah. But not in the way that you think. I just hate the idea of you being hurt by... Someone."

Dakota looked away. "I'm fine, Tate."

"Did it hurt?" He asked, staring intently at her. "When he shot you, at your school, did it hurt?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she swallowed, still not making eye contact with him.

"You can't just shut me out, Dakota."

"I'm not shutting you out, I'm shutting the memories out, you fucking insensitive narcissist!" She yelled, finally looking at him. Then her expression softened. "I'm sorry, that's not true. You're anything but insensitive and you're definitely not a narcissist, you care about me a lot, I know you do. I'm sorry."

"Well answer the question then," he muttered, and it was his turn to look away to mask the hurt on his face that he knew she'd already seen.

Dakota sighed. "Yeah, it hurt. I remember it feeling like my chest was burning from the inside out and collapsing at the same time. It was horrible. He made me wish I was dead..."

Tate flinched, still looking away, avoiding her gaze.

"The thing I remember most is the pain, I think. The rest of it is all fragmented and confusing," she continued in a quiet voice. "I remember being in the hospital, and being hooked up to all these tubes that were keeping me alive, and being afraid to move. It hurt to breathe. I heard them telling my mom and dad that they were sure I wouldn't make it, and that made me determined to try harder. The worst part was that when I initially woke up, I didn't want to exist. Because since that day, I can only seem to see the worst in people. I'm right to, but still... I lost more than most of my blood and my best friend that day."

"Well you won't ever lose me," Tate said eventually after a few seconds of silence. "C'mon, go to sleep, Kota. I'm right here, I'll wake you up if I think you're having another nightmare."

"I'm scared I'll lose you every time I close my eyes, Tate, I don't want to sleep," Dakota said in a pleading way, like she was a child begging her mom to let her stay awake later than usual.

Tate sighed, laying back down. "Just lie here with me then, I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do. You don't have to sleep, it's okay."

He knew she'd end up falling asleep, anyway. He hated the idea of her losing sleep over him, for any reason.

"Are my mom and dad back?" Dakota yawned, curling up into him.

"No, you were only asleep for half an hour," he replied, supporting her head with his arm.

"What if they walk in and see you?"

Tate smirked. "Don't worry, I have a way of making myself pretty invisible when I have to."

He glanced down at her to see if she had reacted in a puzzled way, because it would only be natural to after what he had just said. But she was sound asleep. He stared at her, at how peaceful she looked, but so fragile. The world was too cruel for a girl like Dakota.

The next morning when Dakota woke up, Tate was gone. She began to panic and wonder if last night had been a dream, or a fantasy, since she had consumed a fair amount of alcohol. She went downstairs after getting changed into jeans and a camisole top.

Her mom and dad were eating pancakes in the kitchen, looking miserable. They instantly perked up when they saw Dakota, but she could tell it was completely fake.

"Hey, baby, did you have a good night?" Her mom asked brightly.

Lying seemed to come naturally to Dakota, so she didn't hesitate to smile and nod.

"And Cameron didn't enter the house while we were out, did he?" Her dad asked, in a serious tone.

She laughed at the irony of it, since it technically wouldn't be a lie if she said that he didn't, which was exactly what she did. "No, dad, you don't have to worry about me."

He smiled. "You're my little girl, and you always will be. I'm never going to stop worrying about you."

Dakota couldn't help but feel overwhelming happiness at how protective her dad was being. It made her feel appreciated, and loved like she used to be. It made her believe that they could still be a family. Not a perfect family, but a family. And really, that was all she wanted.

"Where did you guys go last night?" Dakota sat down, and thanked Moira for a warm plate of pancakes, who she noticed couldn't seem to make eye contact with her. "I can home early, the party got boring after a while and Cameron had to get home, too." She tried to say Cameron's name without any hint of resentment, though it was difficult.

"We had to handle something else about the funeral, and we rescheduled it for tomorrow, is that alright?" Her dad asked, patronising her because she really had no imput. He was only trying to be considerate of her feelings, of course.

"Of course," Dakota said softly, taking a few large bites of the pancakes before her, which tasted pretty damn good. Then she noticed her mom looked down.

"Something else happened, didn't it?" She asked her parents, frowning.

"What makes you say-" her dad began quickly, but her mom sighed and cut him off.

"Your Grandma had a letter written to... You, Dakota."

"Where is it?" Dakota asked immediately, anxious to find out and read it.

"Honey... We think it would be best if you didn't read it," her dad said carefully, waiting for her to practically explode.

"What did you do with it?" She asked, bitterness creeping into her tone.

"We put it somewhere safe..." Her mom replied, avoiding eye contact with her completely.

"This is bullshit," Dakota snapped, standing up. "I knew it was too good to be true, us being anywhere close to okay again, not even happy- just okay. I knew it!"

"Dakota-" her mom began, but she ran outside and slammed the door. They didn't follow her, and she felt a pinch of guilt when she heard her mom sobbing and her dad attempting to console her.

She walked round to her backyard and climbed the tree without much difficulty. It wasn't pine or sycamore any other type that she recognised, and it was beaten and fragile looking. Yet, it looked ancient and archaic. That's what she liked so much about it. It was worn, it had been through so many winters, and it had withstood that damage. The tree didn't look like the other trees, and it wasn't simple, it had winding branches of all different shades and textures. It was just like Dakota, in many ways.

She pulled out a lighter and pack half full of cigarrettes, about to light one up when she heard familiar footsteps approaching.

"Where'd you get those?" Tate asked with a frown, climbing up to sit beside her. Their legs dangled over the thick branch, and they were at least ten feet above the ground, maybe more.

She shrugged. "Some girl last night, I think her name was Erica. She sits at the same table as me in school and we've spoken once or twice."

Dakota pressed down on the lighter, but Tate snatched it out of her hand.

"Shit, Tate!" She exclaimed, forgetting that her parents were fairly nearby, in the house. There was little chance they'd hear her, anyway, over her mom's wails of sorrow that Dakota could only hear faintly if she really, really focused on it. Though with Tate sitting beside her, she couldn't focus on anything but him. "You could have gotten your hand burned!"

"Well I'd rather that than watching you corrupt your lungs with that shit," he muttered, examining the lighter.

She sighed. "Just one? Please? I really need it right now."

Tate looked up from the lighter and to her. "Fine, one. After that, I'm taking that pack off of you," he said it reluctantly, but he knew he would give in easily to her as soon as he took the lighter. He couldn't deny her an escape from whatever was happening inside. He couldn't deny her anything, really. Not when she looked at him like that.

Dakota smiled. "You're my favourite person in the whole world, Tate."

He smirked. "Why? Because I'm letting you smoke a cigarette?"

"No," she paused and put the cigarrette in her mouth, leaning forward.

He lit it for her and gave her this look of pure love, like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him, because she was. Like she was the bright sun in the beautiful day and he was the blackest star in the dark sky, and somehow, they had collided. And it was tragically beautiful in every way.

She took a long drag and then she continued. "Because you are my escape, you are my sanctuary... Not the cigarrette. You're my paradise than I can go to anytime I want, and I want to be there forever. I want to be with you forever, like this. I wish it could always be this simple. This easy."

He glanced at the ground for a few seconds, wishing he could tell her that it could be like this forever if she really wanted it. But then she'd have to die and accept that he's dead and she'd find out what he had done to her in the past. This could never end without ultimate destruction, really. Because violent delights meet violent ends- and theirs was about as violent as they come.

"Me too," he said it so softly that it sounded like a whisper. "You looked beautiful last night, you know. You always do, but you looked like something from an old Hollywood movie. Like that one unforgettable girl who always has to die at the end."

She smiled at first, but it contorted into a concerned frown. "Are you saying that I... That I have to die?"

"What?" Tate asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. Then realisation flooded into his features. "Oh, no, of course not. I'm saying that you're beautiful in my weird way of describing beautiful things. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she shook her head. "I like your weird way of describing beautiful things as long as you don't mean it in a literal sense. I like it when you call me beautiful, too."

He just smiled and gazed down at the early autumn leaves beginning to collect on the ground in the slight, gentle breeze. The breeze scattered the leaves around the yard over and over, yet the leaves returned the breeze every time.

That was the thing about such a gentle thing, it usually wasn't what it seemed to be; and it destroyed the fragile, crumpled creatures in it's wake- much like Tate did. He was the autumn breeze collecting Dakota as the crumbled leaves up into a neat little pile only to scatter it all apart in the end and leave them more damaged than they were before.

"Lie to me again," she said with a sad smile, rubbing the end of the cigarette into the tree bark, leaving another mark, another memory on it.

"I didn't mean it," he replied solemnly after a few seconds, bringing his gaze back up to her. "When I strangled you. I guess I lied when I told you that I didn't mean it. But you're beautiful, Dakota, that wasn't a lie. Don't you ever forget it."

Dakota swallowed. "You meant to almost choke me to death?"

"I did, now I that I think about it," he nodded, and his eyes flitted down to the ground, then back to her with a new intensity. "Because you should know that I can do terrible things to the ones I should love the most, even when I don't want to. So, yes, and no. I didn't mean to hurt you but when it was over and done with, though it disgusted me, I was glad that you knew what you were getting yourself into."

"Are you telling me that you have some kind of split personality disorder?" She asked after a moment, struggling to fully comprehend what he had just said.

"No, I'm telling you that there's a darkness to me that I can't always control."

"Then... I'll be your light," she took his hand. His skin was calloused and her skin was soft. "I'll block it out. I will."

Tate guided her hand up to his cheek and let go, bringing his against hers. He brought his other hand behind her neck and slowly leaned in to kiss her. And god, it was everything a kiss should be. It was passionate but it was gentle. It was so special, somehow. Probably because it was him, Tate made everything special for Dakota.

When he finally broke it off before things got too intense, he smiled at her and said: "Told you you'd want to remember it."

Dakota spent most of the day with Tate, until she was forced to come inside and enjoy a "wholesome family meal." It was cooked by Moira, of course, and it was lovely. The whole thing would have been lovely if he parents could just have given her the damn letter. Now it was the elephant in the room.

"So, did you enjoy spending today outside?" Her dad asked. "Did you get a little alone time?"

"Oh, I wasn't alone," she smirked.

"Dakota, I told you that Cameron couldn't come here-"

"It wasn't Cameron," she cut him off.

"Then who was it?" He asked, perplexed.

"I'd be more concerned about trying to hide this, from me, dad," Dakota pulled the letter out from her lap, under the table. Tate had pulled it out of his pocket when she was called inside and told her that he had overheard them saying they were going to leave it in her scrapbook so that when she wanted to remember upsetting things, she'd find it and be emotionally ready to do so. He had, of course, taken it and given her it.

"Where did you find that?" Her mom asked, frowning.

"Does it matter?" Dakota asked, beginning to carefully open the letter.

"Dakota, please," her mom rubbed her temple with her hands, closing her eyes. "Not here, not now. Please, honey."

"Fine," she muttered, only because she cared about her parent's feelings and didn't want to be the source of their sadness. "I'll take it upstairs. If you would have just let me read it like Grandma would have wanted me to, then we wouldn't be having all of this upset. And you should never have read it, anyway, it's private between my Grandmother and I. You had no goddamn right!"

Before they could object, she stood up and darted upstairs, eager to read it. She was anxious, too, and almost dreaded it in a sense. Her parents had seemed upset about it, and not just because it was her Grandma writing to her who was now, of course, dead- but for a different, more complicated reason.

Dear Dakota,

Firstly, I would like you to know that I love and admire you more than I could ever show in this letter. You will become a wonderful woman soon enough, don't lose your spark. Don't lose your light.

Secondly, you must know something: The devil is real. And he is not a little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful. Because he's a fallen angel, and he used to be God's favourite.

Believe me, you have looked into his eyes.

Dakota found herself remembering her Grandma always having strong intuition, but she'd never claimed to be psychic or anything of the sort. Another thing that unsettled her was that this letter was dated to have been written before she had met Tate, who sprung to mind as soon as she read those words, somehow.

She shuddered and neatly tucked the letter under her pillow, then sneaked outside. Her parents had the television on, and they were probably planning some kind of heart to heart with her; so they didn't hear her.

Tate leaned against the tree, pretending that he had just been waiting for her to come back out. His face lit up when he saw her and he stepped towards her, then leaned in to kiss her.

"No, Tate... We need to talk," she shook her head and stopped him.

"About what?" He asked, his expression instantly turning into one of concern.

"I don't know how to... I'm just going to say it; I think you're hiding something from me," she said, trying not to break off eye contact before he did, but it was difficult. She was just waiting for him to get angry and lose control.

"Why would you think that?" Tate asked, almost like he was the one that should be suspicious of her.

"Because when I bring up things that don't make sense about you and your actions and words, you just cut me off and change the subject," Dakota began carefully, fighting the urge to step back and create a little distance between them. She couldn't seem submissive or weak here, she was determined to obtain answers. "You don't explain things that I ask you to, you don't ever invite me over to your house... So what is it? Is it me?"

Tate just stared at her for at least half a minute, and it began to make her nervous. "I can't invite you to my house, Dakota, you know I can't. Your dad doesn't want me around, he doesn't even want to treat me anymore."

"You never did explain why you were seeing him in the first place," she said, folding her arms. "Why?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to-"

"But I don't know anything, Tate, because you never tell me!" She exclaimed, irritated. "I only seem to know what you want me to know, and I'm sick of it! I tell you anything you want me to, I tell you about my day, I tell you about the people I talk to, I tell you about my parents, my nightmares, I tell you about the shooting! You know every single one of my 3am thoughts!"

He said nothing, just staring at her with a blank expression on his face, and if she were thinking straight, she would have finished at that. But she wasn't. She wasn't thinking at all.

"You talk about this darkness, and I'm starting to think that maybe it's something you made up as an excuse for all the shitty things that you say and do-"

He grabbed her shoulders and forced her against the tree. "Are you scared?"

"No," Dakota swallowed nervously, completely lying.

"How about now?" He brought one of his hands closer to her throat.

"No, because you're not going to hurt me, Tate. I don't know what you're trying to prove, but I want you to cut the shit and answer my goddamn questions," she tried to bring her back off of the tree, and he let her, only to slam her back into it. She let out a small yelp. "Tate!"

"You're scared," he said simply, releasing her but leaned both hands against the bark beside each of her shoulders, so she still couldn't really move. "Why can't you just admit it?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dakota asked, anger creeping into her voice. "You tell me you love me. You tell me you'll never let anyone or anything hurt me. You hurt me. You tell me you're sorry, you tell me you didn't mean it. And then you tell me you did mean it, and then you hurt me again!"

"Because I'm trying to show you that this isn't going to work!" He exclaimed in frustration, stepping back from her.

"W-what are you saying?" She asked in a small voice, though she knew exactly what he was saying. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think we can be together, anymore, Dakota," he said firmly, but his voice shook. She knew he wanted her, maybe even more than she wanted him. So why was he doing this?

"You don't mean that," she shook her head in disbelief, stepping towards him. "You don't."

"I can't do this to you anymore, Kota, I don't want to hurt you again," his voice cracked. "I'm sorry."

"Tate, you're the only thing keeping me from falling apart, you can't do this to me!" She grabbed his arms, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Please don't leave me..."

He stared down at her with a conflicted expression, but there was some pity in his eyes, too, and guilt. "I have to. I'm doing this because I love you."

"No," she whimpered, shaking her head again. "No, we can fix this! I don't care if you have issues, I do too. I can make the darkness leave you alone, I can make it go away!"

"You can't fix me... I'm sorry," he planted a soft kiss on her forehead and wrapped his arms around her, carelessly wiping his own tears away while her body trembled violently with sobs. "I'm sorry."

And then he let her go and turned to pretend to leave before her pleading and crying made him change his mind.

"You said you'd always be here, you said you'd never leave me!" She ran alongside him, and stopped in front of him, blocking his path. "You promised."

"Dakota, get out of my way," Tate said as steadily as he could, taking a deep breathe and blinking slowly first.

"No!"

"Get out of my way!"

"No!"

Tate sighed in frustration and shoved her aside as carefully as he could, then darted away from her to her front yard.

"Tate!" She cried, but when she ran out after him and turned the corner into her front yard he was gone.

"Tate..." Her voice was reduced to a small whimper, and she slid down against the side of the house with her head in her hands.

Tate watched her cry and eventually had to turn away and disappear into the basement. He knew they'd end up together again, but if he at least tried to leave her, at least he couldn't blame himself when he really destroyed her in the end.

He had been denying it for a long time, that he was hurting her every second her was with her. But he had to try and see if she could move on, even though he knew he never could. Running away from her was the most difficult thing he had ever done.

"Rough day, huh?" Chad smirked, approaching him.

"Don't you have Patrick to stalk all day? Or did he finally just tell you to go away, because he doesn't love you?" Tate asked with mock interest, tilting his head.

"That girl doesn't love you, either. You're going to regret leaving her like that, because you know what she's going to do? She's going to let that other boy back into her house. And do you know what they're going to do?"

Tate glared at him. "She'll never talk to Cameron again. You're wrong about Dakota."

"Oh, people do dangerous things when the one they love leaves them, Tate," Chad turned to leave. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

The next morning, at breakfast, Dakota's parents decided to have their talk with her, about the letter.

She had fought the urge to hurt herself last night, falling asleep as soon as she lay down; because she had taken two sleeping pills. She didn't have any nightmares, and found herself forgetting their conversation yesterday when she woke up without his arms around her, confused for a few seconds. Then the memories came back of his words: "I don't think we can be together anymore, Dakota." "You can't fix me." "Get out of my way!"

Dakota got dressed into a nice outfit, and she applied her makeup as usual. She brushed her hair and she made sure she wiped every tear that had escaped her eyes upon waking and concealed any trace of redness or puffiness around her eyes. And then she went downstairs to face the day without him.

"You read the letter, didn't you?" Her mom asked, breaking the silence over morning coffee and cereal.

Dakota just nodded.

"You know, honey, Grandma was very sick when she wrote it, and not just physically-" her mom began gently, but Dakota cut her off.

"I know, mom, you don't have to reassure me. It's okay. Where's dad?" She quickly changed the subject.

"He went out to collect his suit for the funeral tomorrow."

"Are you okay, mom?" Dakota asked softly, turning to her mom.

"Yeah, your Grandma is happy and free now. She was so proud of you, you know. We all are. And we're sorry, for reading that letter before you were able to. I mean, I'm never exactly going to be okay with the fact that my mom isn't with me anymore. I know you're going to find it tough without your Grandma, and your father and I weren't helping you by hiding her letter to you. I really am sorry, honey," she smiled weakly and stroked her daughter's cheek soothingly.

"I forgive you, mom, it's okay," Dakota hugged her mom tightly. God, hugs with her mom just made her feel better about everything. Even Tate.

The remainder of the day was uneventful, and Dakota found herself disappointed when she woke up from a dreamless, peaceful sleep. She would have coped with the nightmares if she got to see his face in them.

She wore a tight lace dress, because her Grandma had always told her to "show her assets off" at any chance she could. It wasn't see though or too short, it was just how her Grandma would have wanted it to be. It was classy, and it was feminine, but it was... Well, it was sexy. Her Grandma had always been a glamorous, stylish woman in her youth, and inspired Dakota to be the same. She had been beautiful even in old age, but polaroids from the past revealed a movie star-esque young woman that Dakota idolised.

She wore Mary Jane heels that made a clinking noise as she took a deep breathe and stood up to sing at her Grandma's funeral. People she knew and people she had never seen in her life watching her with pity, but also with admiration.

She sung a slowed down, haunting rendition of her Grandma's favourite song from her younger years. The song was entitled "Tonight You Belong to Me." Dakota played piano for the first time since before the shooting, and felt herself become lost in the music. It was a nice escape, temporary as it was.

She received a standing ovation and her mom had proudly and tearfully video-taped the performance. Her dad had this look on his face that made Dakota feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He just looked so proud. If only she could have Tate to go home to that night, and cry to, and kiss... But it wouldn't happen. He had left her all alone like he said he never would.

Her parents had let her go to school after the service, because she had told them that it would distract her from the sadness surrounding the whole day- which wasn't a lie.

Sasha comforted her, of course, to the point where she was smothering Dakota with her loose hugs and "she's in a better place now" bullshit. Dakota wanted to tell her that the better place was where she could be alive and well, with her family, but she knew that if a Heaven existed- it really was a better place than the hell called Earth that she resided in. Maybe Sasha was right.

Towards the end of the day as Dakota collected books from her locker to study with, Cameron made an appearance.

"Dakota, I'm so sorry. About everything. About your Grandma, about the dance... I'm sorry. I was drunk and stupid. I was an asshole. Please just... Don't stop talking to me. Give me a chance to at least be your friend?"

His words sounded so heartfelt and genuine to Dakota that she couldn't seem to help herself from agreeing. But really, she'd accept any love of any kind from anyone right now. It was how she was unknowingly dealing with rejection, since she had never experienced it quite like this before.

That night, she cut herself again. Tate didn't see her do it, he was sulking in the basement. He knew if he saw her, he'd crumble and give in. He couldn't do that to her, it just wasn't fair.

Dakota's parents were out for a romantic meal the next evening, or that was what they had told her, anyway. She spent half an hour listening to music in her room, reading. But then there was a knock at the door.

"Cameron?" She asked in surprise, and he smiled.

"I thought you could use a friend right now."

She let him inside without even thinking it through, it was like she had forgotten what had happened between them just a few nights ago; what he had done to her.

"I was just sitting around, anyway," she said, leading him up to her room. "Sit down, if you want."

They both sat in her bed, and he offered her a cigarette, which she accepted. But it wasn't just a cigarette. It was a joint. She hadn't even noticed him rolling it, distracted by her thoughts.

"You ever done this before?" He asked as she took her first drag.

"Yeah, a couple times," she lied, and after a few minutes, began to feel numb. She liked the feeling. It was pretty much instant. She didn't even consider the consequences. She knew she should feel high, and she did, but it didn't only make her a weird kind of happy- it blocked out the pain.

"Was the funeral tough?"

"Yeah, I hate funerals. They're more for the living than the dead, anyway, and they might provide some people with closure; but today poured more salt into my wounds, you know?" She asked, resisting the urge to lie back. She had taken two sleeping pills to get her through the night before Cameron had spontaneously showed up.

Once they were done smoking, he kissed her, and she felt herself kissing him back. "Do you want this?"

She didn't answer him, but she didn't stop him either, when he pulled her shirt off and began kissing her neck.

"You ever done this before?"

Tate was sure he had heard the door being knocked, and paced around the basement for at least fifteen minutes before his uncertainty got the better of him.

He smelled the marijuana straight away and frowned, making his way into her bedroom just as Cameron pulled her shirt off.

"You ever done this before?"

Tate felt bile rise in his throat and turned to leave. She wasn't stopping him. He couldn't do anything about it.

But then he heard it. A quiet sob. And then another. At this point, they hadn't actually gotten anywhere and she was fully clothed apart from her shirt. But she was crying.

Cameron stopped kissing her. "Are you worried it's going to hurt or something?"

"No, I don't... I don't really want this," she said eventually. "Can you- Can you go?"

"Seriously?" He huffed in frustration.

"Yeah, I feel tired. I feel like I'm going to fall asleep, so... Could you just let yourself out or... Something?" She asked, fear creeping into her voice. She was trying hard to hide it, but she wasn't doing a great job. She also sounded like she would fall asleep at any moment.

"Other girls would kill for this, you know," Cameron muttered, tugging at her skirt, almost playfully. She slapped his hand away.

"Well I'm not other girls, I'm my own person," she snapped, anger replacing her fear. "Take your joints and leave, go fuck a cheerleader or something. You know, now that I think about it, I actually wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire; let alone give you my virginity. I'm starting to remember that you're not a sweet, thoughtful guy, you're a narcissistic little boy obsessed with getting some- and I want you to get out."

Tate smirked, he loved that about her. The way her sarcasm just popped out at the most unexpected moments. He wanted to snap Cameron's neck, but at the same time, if he didn't need to interfere he wouldn't. He wanted to spare Dakota the confusion and let her deal with him herself.

"Do you really?" Cameron asked, tilting his head fake-thoughtfully. "Because girls like you only get high to forget someone, or something. And you would never have let me in here if you weren't feeling lonely."

Dakota just looked down, not answering him, because he was right. She felt herself becoming drowsy again after her little spit-fire of sarcasm and he went back to kissing her neck.

"I think you're just sad, Dakota," he said, pushing her lightly onto her back. "But I can make you feel better."

Panic set in again, and she shuddered at the feeling of his warm body against her cold one. She was almost fully clothed and he was still completely clothed, but it still felt so wrong.

"No, I don't need you to make me feel better, please. Please don't!" her voice cracked with a sob. "Please don't..."

His hand slid up her leg to her thigh, under her skirt and she squirmed under his weight, trying to shove him off.

Tate couldn't let it go any further, realising that she wasn't going to get herself out of this one. He pretended to burst through the doorway, since nobody could know he was of course a ghost. "Get off of her. Right now." His words were precise and deadly, but somewhat calm.

Cameron turned his head to look up at Tate. "Who the hell are you?"

"Assholes like you are the people that make this world so goddamn shitty and dirty. Get off, I won't ask you again," Tate growled.

Cameron glanced down at Dakota again, who looked drowsy. He rolled off of her and stood up, obviously seeing something in Tate's eyes. The darkness that was consuming them.

"What did you do to her? Did you drug her?" Tate asked, his voice growing louder, more aggressive. He grabbed Cameron by the shirt collar and shoved him against the wall.

"I let her smoke a joint, that's all, man," Cameron said quickly, his voice shaking in fear. "She was into it at first... I was going to stop, I swear."

"If you ever even think about touching Dakota again, I will fucking kill you," Tate spat, his voice shaking with rage. "I don't want you to look at her or glance at her, I don't want you to talk to her or about her, I don't even want you to think about her. Or I'll do it, I'll kill you!"

"Alright, alright, okay!" Cameron nodded his head vigorously, eyes wide in fear and panic. "I won't go near her again, but you should know that I'm not the only guy in our school who wants to add that name to my list. I mean, she never said she had a boyfriend."

Tate just glared at him for a few seconds in disgust, then punched him hard in the face, then again, and then again. Cameron didn't stand a chance, and he was knocked out in seconds.

He let an unconscious Cameron slide down the wall onto the floor with an unceremonious 'thwack' and carelessly wiped the excess blood from his knuckles onto his pants. They were bruised from punching Cameron so hard. But god, it had been worth it to hear the crunching of his perfect little nose that his rich parents would have to have fixed up, and to see his dark blood flowing from it...

Dakota was lying on her back, shivering and still sobbing quietly with her eyes tightly closed.

"Oh, Dakota," Tate sighed, walking over to her slowly so he didn't startle her.

"Tate?" her eyes flickered open and she looked up at him in confusion, though she was certain of one thing. "You came back for me."

"Of course I did," he murmured, sitting on her bed and pulling her head onto his lap gently. "I always will."

She closed her eyes again, but his voice made them open straight back up, meeting with his like they were finally home again.

"Are you high? What did he do to you?"

"Yeah, you should smoke one, Tate, they make the pain go away," she smiled slightly, and he pulled her up into a sitting position carefully.

"Dakota, did he or did he not drug you?"

"He didn't drug me, I wanted..." she trailed off. "I just missed you. I only took two sleeping pills, don't worry..."

Tate sighed, and got up, guiding her head onto her pillow. "You really need to stop doing that."

"Are you going to leave me?"

"No," he grabbed her shirt from the floor and slipped it back on her. "I'm not going to leave you."

"I love you," she murmured, curling into him when he sat beside her. In that moment, he realised that he couldn't be with her or without her. They were both damned either way. Their love was truly tainted.

"I love you too."