Don't own. Won't own it. Can't own it. You guys all know the drill.
CHAPTER 9: Scrawling Her Name Upon the Ceiling
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"Fist pounding on a vending machine, toy diamond stuck on her finger. With a noose she can hang from the Sun and put it out with her dark sunglasses; walking crooked down the beach, she spits on the sand where the bones are bleaching…"
-Beck, 'Girl'
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"Tate, when I told you that I couldn't see you anymore, I referred you to another psychiatrist."
Here we go again. Sigmund Freud here thinks he can tell me to do what he wants.
Didn't he get the message last time? Or any of the times before that?
"You never showed for the first appointment and you didn't even call to cancel."
God, he went on as if what most people would consider just plain old bad manners was symptomatic of his eminent mental breakdown and resulting violent reaction.
Been there, done that. Now give me something I can work with, doc.
"I told you, I won't see anyone but you."
His clasped hands propped up on his knees kept the smirk from showing. He was going to have to pull out the crocodile tears and empty promises, wasn't he?
"Look, Tate, we've already discussed why that won't work for me. My daughter is involved with you against my better judgment and that implicates you in my personal life. I can't treat anyone I know personally outside of my office."
He was going to have to pull out the crocodile tears and empty promises.
"I can't see anyone else. You're the only one I can trust", he sobbed, the sleeves of his shirt pulled high on his hands as he rubbed at his eyes.
"I've already told you, I can't see you. Not in this house."
Go in for the kill.
Not literally, psycho. Figuratively. Got that?
Tate made firm eye contact, his gaze steady yet timid. He'd mastered the expression over the years of useless therapy and fucking around with misguided do-gooders with degrees hanging from their walls.
Ben sighed. "I've got an opening. I'll meet you somewhere outside. But you have to stay away from my daughter."
"I promise! I promise", Tate responded in a desperate tone. The killer that lay just beneath the surface of his vulnerable front smiled. Hook, line and sinker.
"No more weird shit."
You didn't screw with the women of the Murder House. Not Nora, not Moira, not Gladys and not Maria.
Ben was going to learn that. The hard way.
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Morgan-Mary-Macy's fluffers had arrived.
Violet had never seen so much flamboyance in one room. She figured it would be easier to hide upstairs than to get involved with the whole 'fluffing' scene. She'd never been all that great at pumpkin carving and she sucked at putting up decorations. Besides, she had Tate to worry about.
Sighing, she stared at herself in the mirror, brushing the hair away from her face like he preferred.
Your nose is too big, whispered the voice in her head.
Your hair has no volume. You have a zit on your chin. You could stand to lose a few pounds.
She bit her broken lip, wincing as her teeth made contact with the scab.
She'd lived with these insecurities for most of her teenage life, her mind poking at the defenses around her self-esteem until they crumbled and she was no more than a mess of hormones and unfounded fears.
Every girl gets this, she told herself.
Oh, if only you really believed that. And if you really thought you were beautiful.
She spun around when she heard a creak from the general area of her bed, approaching it cautiously. She began to lean down.
You could never be too careful in a house full of dead things.
The hand that shot out and grabbed her foot was unexpected, and the person who crawled out from amid the dust bunnies and long-lost socks was even more so.
Violet would have guessed that it was a certain dead male someone who just so happened to make her weak in the knees and desperate for affection.
You're pathetic. Hoping that the guy you have a really complicated relationship with on a good day would spontaneously appear just to sweep you off your feet and make you feel better about yourself. Sad.
"Trick or treat, smell my feet", sang Addie, pulling herself upright. "Give me something good to eat."
"Addie", Violet exclaimed. Her face was twisted into an expression of surprise mingled with confusion.
"I want to be a pretty girl for Halloween", stated the woman. Her smile was so radiant that Violet couldn't even bring herself to mind that she'd been lurking about uninvited in her room.
"What?"
"I want to be a pretty girl", Addie repeated. "Like you, Violet."
The words went a long way to bolster her floundering ego.
But then she felt guilty, knowing all too well that Addie had likely grown up with Constance telling her every day that she was ugly. How could she be so selfish as to allow herself to think of only how she felt when this woman had experienced countless insults from the very person who'd raised her?
Smiling, she dug around in her dresser, retrieving the boxes of eye shadow and some mascara and eyeliner she'd received as a gift from her Aunt Jo a few years back. She only used the mascara, and she hadn't even opened the eye shadow yet.
She considered offering it as a present to Addie but then imagined how horribly Constance would treat her if she believed that her daughter was gaining the idea that she could be beautiful too.
Makeup isn't to put on a show for other people, she'd decided. It's to make us feel better when we look in the mirror. That's where true beauty comes from. Confidence.
Twisting her hair into a bun, she got to work on applying pink lipstick and blush to her neighbor's face.
"I'm not too good at this", she warned Addie, brushing a pale blue over her eyelids.
"I don't care", she'd replied in a rush of words, craning her neck to glance into the mirror that Violet kept on her dresser. "I like it."
Violet furrowed her brow in concentration as she gently moved Addie's face back into position so she could finish. "Close your eyes."
She continued to paint powder into the crease of her eyelid. "So how old are you Addie?"
"A lady never reveals her age", the woman replied, holding up a single index finger to make her point.
Violet nodded silently, picking up the mascara.
"Is Tate your boyfriend?"
The question was hesitant, and it surprised her a bit. "You know Tate?"
Addie gave a small smile as if she knew a secret. "I talk to him sometimes when he comes for his head shrinking. He likes you. I can tell."
It was easy to discern the joy in her voice, and Violet allowed herself to grin a bit.
"He thinks you're a pretty girl."
Violet's grin grew wider and she applied some more color to the apples of the older woman's cheeks.
"Are you a virgin?"
Now that's a rather bold question.
"Y-yes..." she admitted, hoping that her cheeks didn't redden to the same shade Addie's were at that moment. "Aren't you?"
Be bold right in return. That's it. Don't be afraid.
I wonder if Tate is a virgin too...
No, Violet! Bad Violet!
He's dead, you sicko. Ew.
"Hell no", Addie replied with a tangible measure of pride.
"You can't keep breaking into our house, Addie", Violet said suddenly, thinking of all of the horrible things that hid in the dark. The poor woman would probably be drawn into a trap, as trusting as she was. "It's dangerous."
"But my friends are here!" Addie replied loudly, making no attempt to deny the last part of Violet's warning. She then turned to look at herself in the mirror again, seeing how Violet had parted her bangs in a slightly more mature fashion. "Wow! Violet, I look beautiful!"
The wonder in her tone made a smile grow on Violet's broken lips as she continued to brush her hair.
Maybe I'll have another friend here after all, she thought.
She looked over at the chalkboard with the unabashed capital letters spelled 'TAINT' proudly.
One that isn't so toxic.
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Violet glanced at the clock, whose bright red numerals read '12:00'.
Addie had left a few hours before, bursting with newfound confidence and after having found a new friendship in her neighbor. Their conversation had made Violet feel slightly better about herself and had inspired a huge rise in self-esteem for Addie.
"Tate", she called, her voice soft. "You said you would come by at midnight…"
Looking around, she saw no one else present in her room.
"Come out, come out wherever you are…"
A rough hand reached around her from behind and stifled her cry of shock as she felt his presence behind her. This time, he was warm and comforting, not the cold, detached person he'd been a few days ago.
He began to chuckle, releasing her from his hold after a quick kiss pressed to her temple.
"I didn't scare you?"
The question was designed to tease. He wasn't serious in the least. She decided to play along.
"No, of course not." A smirk slipped onto her face.
Thanks to Addie, she'd found the courage to pull her hair back into a twist instead of opting to keep it loose in order to hide behind it like she usually did.
In a single instant and with no more than a sentence, all of that bravery turned to dust.
"I bet I can."
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Lighting a candle, Tate pulled out an old dusty board left over from his living days.
They'd made their way down to the basement, Violet not without a small measure of apprehension. He'd promised not to allow Thaddeus to leave his small niche in the back room, so she'd hesitantly followed but remained wary. She didn't want a repeat of last week.
"Come on, humor me", he joked, trying to convince Violet to place her hands on the small plastic cursor used in the game. Rolling her eyes, she plopped down opposite him and allowed him to grab her and place her fingers onto the smooth surface of the indicator.
"Nora?" he called. "Nora, I know you're here. I have someone I want you to meet."
Violet stilled, her hands beginning to tremble.
Why did he want her to see the woman who'd started it all? Why did he want her to get to know the origin of Murder House?
The way ghosts materialized here wasn't like they showed in the movies or on TV. They did fade in or appear in a flash of light. It was as if they just weren't there and then they were. As if they'd just blinked into existence at that very spot.
She was beautiful. Violet hadn't noticed that when she'd been eavesdropping on her "tour" of the house. No, she'd been too fixated on the hole in the back of her head.
Her blond hair was pinned away from her oval face in an orderly bun, a curl or two having escaped. She was draped in a heavy shawl and wore dark clothes. She was clearly in mourning, but Violet wasn't certain if it was over her son or her husband.
"Hello."
Her voice was soft and sad, but Violet knew all too well form the stories Tate had told her that there was an underlying strength there that wasn't visible at first.
"It's so nice to meet you." Nora smiled wanly, her face drawn and pale. Probably over the fact that yet another family had moved into her house. That another family had doomed itself to its curse.
"Y-you too", Violet replied, stumbling over her words. "I'm Violet. You met my mother already."
"Yes", the other woman replied, her voice vague as if she was wandering through a dream. "Lovely. You were right, Tate."
He smiled at her, his face alight with satisfaction. "I know."
"I'll leave you two alone now", Nora said, smiling one last time. "So lovely to meet you."
And then she blinked out of existence.
"Why did you want me to meet her?" Violet asked, turning to face Tate once more. This was confusing. Who was this woman to him?
"She's my mother."
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I really do need to update more often. At least, I say that but I know that I probably won't.
It's been decided (thanks to you awesome people :D) that the M scene shall in fact take place. I have a rough idea of when it will but I won't know for sure until I know how it'll fit.
But it'll be in the near future, so no worries ;D
Readers: I love you people. What else can I say?
Favorites/Alerts: Wonderful feels you provide me with in deeming me worthy of your attention and continued readership warm my heart. Thank you.
Reviews:
MrsTateLangdon: I know the feeling xD The whole 'Ginger' joke never really seems to get old :) Thanks for your feedback and I hope this update brings you joy :D
jandjsalmon: No problemo, Iron Man :D and I promise, it won't lead to the story losing all semblance of a plot :P I swear it upon Tate's wicknedness ;)
Righty. I'm done for now. Got things to do (yeah right). Got shows to watch.
Merida, out.