I Don't Hate Mondays
Forgot this one the first time around (pleasepleaseplease don't sue me, Mr. Brad Falchuk, sir!) D:
I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING THAT YOU RECOGNIZE. Any lines from the show are my best attempt at remembering what was said in the few scenes I actually used. I refuse to directly copy the words unless if it is completely necessary. So if they are (or even if they aren't) right, I especially don't own them. Or the characters. Or the whole concept/universe-thing.
That should conclude the disclaimer. On with the Violate!
-o-o-o-o-
CHAPTER 1: A Shyness That Is Criminally Vulgar
-O-0-o-0-O-
"You shut your mouth, how can you say I go about things the wrong way? I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does."
-The Smiths, 'How Soon Is Now?'
-O-0-o-0-O-
Violet needed a cigarette.
Being crammed in a small vehicle with a dog that smells like ass, a mother who recently suffered a rather brutally traumatizing miscarriage and a father who had been caught red-handed laying pipe with his barely-legal student wasn't exactly relaxing. It actually kind of verged on psychotic breakdown material. The nicotine helped. A bit.
Honestly, at this point, she needed anything she could get. She was kind of sadly desperate for something- anything short of illegal.
So when the cheating bastard that called himself "Dad" (coughassholecough) made a crack at her habit, she snapped back some crap about needing to use the bathroom. It was bullshit. She was just hoping to grab a couple of drags in at any gas station bathroom before she cracked. Who the hell rides for six hours just to go check out a house that they may or may not want to someday live in?
But when he pulled out the 'Sunshine' routine, she responded rudely and resolved to sneak a rig while they toured the McMansion.
Just two more hours.
Oh God, kill me now.
-O-0-o-0-O-
The real estate agent was a blatant racist, homophobic, visibly anxious and, worst of all, a bad joker. As in so bad, you laugh out of pity.
"What did the frog drink? Croaka-Cola!"
Ha, ha, Marie. No, Mara? Violet had already forgotten the nosy woman's name.
Thankfully, the house was kind of not too bad. Weirdly beautiful. She almost regretted the tiny itsy-bitsy shot she had taken at it before. Besides, she liked the Addams Family.
But the woman in that god-awful cheap skirt-suit was too much.
She slipped outside, hoping to escape the slew of crappy 'knock-knock' jokes to come. The garden was nice. That much she could see. So she pulled herself up to sit on a low brick wall.
Her cigarette case shined silver in the sunlight when she pulled it out of her cardigan's pocket. You almost couldn't see the doodles of 'Morrissey is the king' or 'cancer can suck it'.
She sighed heavily as she shook one out, placing it carelessly between her lips in a long-practiced motion. Her fingers searched her pockets for her lighter, a book of matches, a flint stone, anything. An old gum wrapper. A balled-up Kleenex she hadn't used yet. Lint.
"Fuck me", she grumbled, realizing six hours and twenty-four minutes too late that she'd forgotten her Zippo in her frustrated departure from Boston. Now, she would have absolutely nothing to lower the rising tide of irritation and ire. Freaking Mandy and her stupid puns.
"I'd be glad to, but I thought I'd just offer you a light first", an amused voice commented. Violet had to stifle her yelp of surprise when its owner stepped out from behind of one of those brick-column-things. "Besides, don't you usually save smoking for after?"
She should've blushed, but her pride couldn't allow that, now could it?
"Here." He held out a flame fed by combustible liquid dancing on a metal fixture.
"Um, thanks?" she leaned in and touched the tip of her cigarette to it, sucking in a deep lungful of that heavenly nicotine-laden smoke.
He shrugged as it he didn't know what she was thanking him so hesitatingly for. "No problem." He flicked it shut and tucked it back into the pocket of his torn bargain-bin jeans. He was dressed like every other grunge kid in the world who modeled themselves after the man known as 'Cobain'.
The sun made his messy blond hair even brighter. Violet was certain that it came straight from a pharmacy store bottle. So he was vain.
Violet Harmon was smart. She could tell when someone was lying.
Everything about this boy was deliberate; crafted delicately in order to receive a very specific opinion and judgment. He knew exactly which boxes to check in order to appear just the right mix of carelessly good-looking and charismatically dangerous. But the challenge to peel away the layer of false social requirements and niceties was just too enticing. She had to see more.
"You live around here?"
Her lame attempt at conversation disappointed her. Why wasn't her usual sarcastic brand of humor speaking for her as it always did in these awkward situations where she didn't know where to stand?
"I used to live here." Truth.
"So you're the one moving?"
Puff, puff. Like the magic dragon. The smoke helped to settle her raging thoughts and direct her attention more entirely on the boy.
"Nah. I haven't lived here in a while." Truth.
Things got even more interesting fast.
"What's your name?" His voice cut through the shroud of haze she'd blown out of her mouth. His eyes were dark. So dark.
She felt her mouth go dry. "Violet."
The darkness twinkled back at her.
She'd gotten it right. This outer image was nothing more than an illusion. But those dark, dark eyes drew her in. She was the moth to his flame. She knew she would burn. It was inevitable. It was already happening. Even then, she knew that there was no way she could even attempt to stay away from him. She blamed it on her curiosity, that nasty bugger. Lie.
"Well, Violet", his voice seemed to linger on her name. "I'm Tate."
There was a moment of silence that followed. Violet declared it uncomfortable in her mind. She had to continue the conversation. She had to know more.
"Every time there's an awkward silence, a gay baby is born", she blurted, regretting her lack of filter of witty response immediately.
But Tate did something incredibly unexpected. He began to laugh. It reminded her of coffee. Bitter. Rich. Sweet. Contradictory. DARK.
"So I take it that you know about the reason why this house is for sale." She shook her head, taking another drag. No, she didn't know.
He chuckled. "A gay couple used to live here. They wanted a baby."
The giggles (like a little girl, so stupid! So stupid!) came trickling down like rain. She couldn't help it. The irony was just too much.
"But they fought a lot", Tate continued. "It didn't end well at all. Murder-suicide."
Violet stopped giggling. The taste of smoke grew sour in her mouth. She crushed her cigarette on the brick and turned her face to look up at the god-forsakenly eternally sunny sky.
She'd understood the implications of death long before most children.
Vivien had explained it so factually while Ben provided blunt observations when she was four.
It had been her first brush with the end of life that had instigated this to-the-point presentation of the facts. In fact, she was fairly certain that she vaguely remembered a PowerPoint in there somewhere, between the it's okay, sweeties and the it's only a part of livings.
Violet had been spending quality time with Nana Harmon when she suddenly dropped headfirst into the unbaked cookie dough courtesy of an aneurysm. She didn't even realize that her grandma wasn't just sleeping until she tried to shake her awake to turn on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. An hour later.
Now, as she recalled those early memories of ignorance, she felt a very acute need to place her head between her palms and shake it until she couldn't remember. Maybe if she forgot, it would be like it never happened. Yeah. Fat chance.
And then there was Morticia, her first goldfish.
Violet had known the instant Mrs. Addams was floating belly-side up in her plastic bowl that her pet was no longer among the living. Without even bothering to tell her parents, she held a short funeral for her pet in the bathroom before she flushed the toilet, sending Morticia to her watery grave. She'd read passages from Dr. Seuss' 'One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish'. It was beautiful.
When Ben discovered the empty plastic bowl, he spent the next five weeks psychoanalyzing his daughter and praying 'Oh God, please God, don't let my baby girl be some kind of sociopath'. Selfish ignorant prick.
Violet was strong. She adjusted quickly, if not through rather extreme measures. No wonder her parents were sure that she would survive her last two years of high school in a completely foreign environment. I wish.
Shaking away her thoughts, she returned her attention to the boy whose face was not his.
I will not think about it. I won't. Not now.
Instead, she let the fingers of her right hand skim their way up her left sleeve by five inches and press into the skin there. It stung.
"Where did they die?"
The question surprised her as it leapt from her lips but was expected at the same time.
A slow grin crept up onto his face, drowning the purple circles under his eyes in amusement. He looked almost happy. Truth? Lie?
"The basement."
Violet frowned. She hadn't seen it yet. In fact, she'd left the second the cookie-cutter realtor (Marsha? Macy?) mentioned 'Tiffany fixtures'. Stupid bourgeois designer shit.
Tate's grin only widened. "So you haven't seen it yet." Was she that transparent?
Apparently, or else he wouldn't have grabbed her wrist. She winced. Ow.
He pretended he didn't notice. "Let's go. I've got something to show you."
-O-0-o-0-O-
They tried to keep as quiet as possible as they crept into the house, avoiding the creaking floorboards that Tate pointed out. Ben wouldn't want her spending time alone with anything with a dick. Hypocrite.
Especially if said 'anything' was a total stranger (well, she did know his name) and moderately slightly (very) attractive.
They reached a door.
He nodded and she reached out with caution to open it. The doorknob was ice-cold under her sweaty palm. Her grip tightened and she twisted. Twisted. Twisted.
"What the hell?" she muttered, trying again, applying more force this time and rattling the frame.
"Stop, you're making noise" Tate whispered. "Let me get it open."
Bastard got it on his first try.
"Oh, shut up", she hissed, shooting his smug grin a glare.
The air of the basement was chilly and stale. It weighed on Violet like those lead gowns they make you wear during X-rays. Smells like mothballs.
She could feel something watching her- seeing right through her. Tate.
They were already at the bottom of the stairs. And he saw her
Violet couldn't see him.
His voice cut through the empty room. "I'd tell you're doing it wrong. To cut vertically. They can't stitch that up."
His fingers, cool on her scars, stroked her wrist delicately. "But you're not trying to kill yourself, are you?"
The shake of her head was slight. How did he-? What? I- I… HOW?
"You just need to remind yourself that you're the one who decides if you make it or not. It's all about having a bit of control over something in your life, right?"
She searched his eyes for everything she was afraid to find. Fear. Disgust. Judgment.
And she found them. And it hurt so much worse than it should have. But they were just little minnows in a huge lake of complexity. There was more. So much more.
Understanding. A tinge of regret. Curiosity.
Maybe she was crazy for thinking it, but if he understood, where was the sympathy?
Of course, he could be a total psychopath, but the intelligent Violet Harmon would've picked up on that. She would've noticed it right away. Right?
And then, as if the metaphorical Thomas Edison in his head invented a light bulb just so that it could brighten at that moment over his head, Tate's once-blank face lit up to one of sudden realization. He looked as though he'd reached enlightenment and nirvana all at once in his new revelation.
It made her want to burst out laughing and crying all at the same time. Was that odd?
"Violet", he whispered. His voice shook with… was that possibly anticipation she detected? "Violet, you're perfect."
She couldn't speak. The words that had once danced so easily on her silver tongue had left her alone in Wonderland with a Cheshire Cat. Am I dreaming? Maybe I should pinch myself…
"Sunshine! Come up!"
Of course. Ben just had to ruin the moment. Jackass.
Tate's joyous mood seemed to wither until his once-eager expression twisted into a dark scowl.
"I-I'm sorry." She stumbled over apology. "I have to go."
He exhaled loudly. "Fine then."
Whoa. His eyes make him look like he wants to hit something right now.
The hand that had clutched her wrist pulled it upwards. It was a rough and indelicate gesture. Her scars prickled as he lifted her arm higher and higher. He stopped when her curled fingers were just short of brushing his jaw. His grip was almost strong enough to cut off her circulation. Violet was certain that her skin would be painted the color of her namesake with fingerprints in the morning. And I'm sitting here like some frozen vegetable and letting it happen.
Okay.
Tate slowly bowed his head until his mouth hovered over her wrist.
"See you soon… Violet."
His lips burned a kiss into the bottled emotions she'd tattooed onto her body with the edge of a blade.
She forgot to breathe.
His long fingers, rough and cool, let her arm drop. He turned on his heel and retreated into another room hidden further into the shadows of the murder-suicide basement.
The regular mix of nitrogen, oxygen and carbon dioxide returned to her lungs as he vanished.
"You too, Tate."
-O-0-o-0-O-
"I'm afraid I must disclose any of the… incidents having happened in the past three years", Martha-Margaret-Marjory said, wincing at every word.
"What, did someone die in here or something?" Vivien's tone was joking. She probably believed that the foundation was in need of work, or maybe that the pipes needed replacing.
Violet scoffed. Her mother was so naively optimistic sometimes.
Molly (Morgan?) grimaced visibly. "Actually, yes. Murder-suicide."
"O-oh." Vivien sounded genuinely shocked. Her mouth hung open and her eyes bugged. Silly tree-hugger. Who's green and unknowing of the ways of the world now?
Usually Violet respected her mother more (even in her thoughts), but Ben was a bitch, Malory reminded her of a particularly yappy Pomeranian and her wrist still tingled. And it's sore. Ouch.
Her father and Madeline continued on about some irrelevant crap about pricing and square footage on some other house.
"Where did-?" Vivien didn't seem to be able to even bring herself to finish her inquiry. She looked like she felt guilty for even daring to ask.
"It happened in the basement", Mindy admitted in a tight voice, fidgeting.
A slow smile grew on Violet's face as she touched the scars Tate had kissed.
"We'll take it."
-O-0-o-0-O-
Chapter one is up (thank god)!
Well, I hope that you all enjoyed this one. Keep in mind, this story does deviate from the original storyline. Too bad I'm a horrible person and refuse to give too much away :3
Any feedback on how to improve is always appreciated (but keep it tasteful, people! No flames!) and I hope to receive more and work towards bettering my writing.
Thanks for reading!
Merida