I think I knew what he'd done before he'd said a word, because the dirt and the blood and the way it was smeared and dried on his arms, in the streaks of a struggle. I knelt down before him, carefully placing my palms on the knees of his dust-caked jeans. I wasn't stupid enough to try and interrogate him right now, because even though I knew he was just a broken boy, he was still dangerous enough to stalk me home and crawl into my room through the window.
"Okay," I breathed out, and he met my eyes, shining and clouded.
"You're not gunna ask what… what I did?" He stammered, voice thick with the collecting tears in his throat.
"You'll tell me when you're ready." He noticed the confidence in my voice, the absolute certainty I felt that he would confide in me, and despite his current condition he managed a smirk that sent little jolts through me. I know it's bad but he's beautiful when he cries and there's nothing more irresistible than a wounded, broken boy for me to fix. He caught my fingers where they were tracing thoughtless circles on his knee and his hand was cold and unfamiliar, marred by little nicks and scratches.
"I did it for you," he murmurs, eyes on our fingers. There was no doubt, now as to what he did.
"You can't hurt someone, and say you did it for me. You don't even know me," I tried, not wanting to be blamed for anything later and not wanting to make him angry. He just gave me a look like and a roll of his eyes, rubbing his calloused thumb over my knuckles.
"We both know that's not true." I opened my mouth, but no snappy argument came to me and I pressed my lips together, knowing he was right. I slipped my hand off his knee and down his thigh, and he followed my travelling hand hungrily with his eyes. I skipped over his crotch and rested my hand on his stomach for a moment, trying to ignore the way my heart sped up at the hard, flat planes of his abdomen. I blinked quickly, determined, and continued my hand's upward journey until I reached the place his heart should be.
"This is real," I made my voice louder than the sound of our breathing.
"I'm a monster," he smiled, wryly, but the shine didn't leave his eyes because I knew he was still a mess inside.
"You're my monster," I assured him, nodding. He leaned forward, and I hesitated for only a second before leaning into him. His lips were chapped and swollen and they didn't mould to the shape of the kiss, but the salt and dust taste of him had me threading my fingers into his hair and chaining him to me. He parted his legs and pulled me through the gap between them, resting me against him. The press of his chest against mine and the throbbing of his dick through his jeans made me lean into him, though I knew he'd done something awful and a rational, healthy, normal person would run, screaming and call the police. But I didn't, proving that the sickness in me had violated me to the core, and Tate was perfect for me.
He pulled away from me with a little whine and I smiled, pecking his lips once before resting my forehead against his.
"Where is she?" I asked, my hand soothing strokes onto his cold cheek.
"The beach. I left her on the beach," his voice was barely a whisper, but I was close enough to his lips that I not only heard his confession, but felt it in wispy breaths against my swollen mouth.
"Okay… we need to get rid of it. They'll come straight to you, anyway. There were witnesses yesterday, Tate." I gave him a meaningful, hard look, and he bit at the side of his lip, throwing his mouth off balance and making it's set unreadable.
"You're going to help me?" He asked, biting back a smile. I clamped my teeth down on my tongue to stop my own smile in return, because this was serious and though I wanted to help him now, he needed to know that this could not happen again. It was too risky and I wouldn't go down for his crimes.
"I like you, Tate. I know it's sick and I know you don't deserve it, but you're a monster and you're mine and I look after my toys," he nodded, a dark, mysterious look clouding his eyes. I stood up and half expected him to force me back down, but his hands dropped away from my waist gently and without resistance, because he knew we had to act fast. We both used the window this time, because I needed an alibi tomorrow morning and so did he.
Tate went to get in his car but a hand on his arm stopped him dead.
"We can't take the car." I didn't give him a further explanation, and I guess he didn't need it because he didn't ask me why, just followed me out to the little lean-to in his backyard. I gave him a look and gestured towards the door, and he produced a rusted key from under a rock. The door pushed open with a shove from his shoulder and a creak. He held the door open, a gentlemanly gesture so at odds with the reason for our visit that I wanted to laugh out loud.
"Do you have anything sharp?" I asked and watched a frown form on his face.
"I've got a few hacksaws from back when my dad was here. He liked to build stuff." Shrugging in a way that was anything but nonchalant, he bent down across me to pull up a large case. He popped the catch and the case dropped open with a clank, a few intimidating looking blades dropping out onto the warped boards.
"These okay?" He asked, looking up at me with a childish need to please. I nodded and he grinned, packing the equipment back into the case and standing up with a little huff of exertion.
We walked to the beach in silence, Tate tried to grab my hand a few times but gave up when I pushed his fingers away. Now was not the time to get sentimental. We both stopped at the edge of the beach, looking out at the black waves rolling against the sand.
"Where," I whispered, as the gravity of what we were about to do began to sink in.
"The little cove, right down there," he pointed at the mountain of rocks and I rolled my eyes.
"Kids play there." I stated, setting off in the right direction. He caught up to me, gripping my hand hard. The slickness of his palm against mine showed how nervous he was, but his grip was too tight to pull away from easily so I let it go. We probably looked like two lovers setting off for a romantic midnight picnic, and I suppose that's a good enough excuse for why we were here. I stopped when we reached the rocks, and Tate glanced at me for a moment before realising he had to go first and dropped my hand, pacing cautiously over the rocks and landing at a stop in a little dip. He gestured me forward with his index finger and I swallowed, hard, before storming over as though my insides weren't doing somersaults. I crouched down beside him and peered into the dark crevice.
"Tate, I can't see anything," I complained and he sighed, pulling a tiny flashlight from his pocket. I didn't know when he'd stashed it there, but I was grateful that he had, because this would be difficult to do in darkness.
The sight of her body made everything real, but I wasn't as scared or disgusted as I should have been.
"I meant to do it." He stated, his face blank of all emotion. He needed me to know that he really was a monster, but I could accept that. I'd accepted it in my bedroom, and I'd accept it here.
"I know. We need to cut her up, real small." His eyes widened at the idea of dismembering his girlfriend… ex-girlfriend.
"We can do that?" He asked, childlike wonder in his eyes and in the slight quirk of his lips and in his dimples. I wanted to press my tongue into it.
"Not here. There will be blood. We need to sterilize this area, too. We need bleach. Tate, we can't do this alone." I could feel the panic rising in me, because I'd underestimated the enormity of this task and now I was at the murder scene, with the murderer, and there was no way to get out of this now. Tate's face hardened and he nodded.
"Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes, but I don't want you to overhear the conversation I'm about to have," he stalked over the rocks and up the beach, and against my better judgement I stayed where I was. He could sell me out in a second, but I stayed as he moved to the payphone, his hair an unnatural shade of gold under the florescent lights illuminating the sign. He slammed his fist against the booth and I wondered who he could possibly be talking to. He raked a hand through his hair and hung up. I looked out towards the ocean to recompose my face and only turned around when I could hear his footsteps slapping on the rocks.
"Help is on the way," was all he said, before sitting down beside me and pulling me against his side, arm around my shoulders. It was 15 minutes later that two figures crossed the beach, and I shot up, alarmed that we'd been spotted at a crime scene. Tate turned in the direction of my stare and grimaced, before standing up and squeezing my fingers gently before dropping my hand and subtly inclining himself in front of me, like a shield.
"My baby," a female, with a southern accent drawled, stepping lightly and slowly over the rocks, hands outstretched like she meant to touch his face. Tate jutted his chin up to stop her and she pulled her hands back like he'd slapped them. The man that followed her was weedy looking, and he eyes Tate with a weariness that made me sure something unpleasant had been shared between them. He was afraid of Tate, as he should be, and I wasn't sure why Tate had called these people, when he obviously didn't like them.
"She's over there," Tate's voice was cold and hard, and the woman flicked her eyes away from him and to her male companion for just a moment. The man obviously got the message, because he went to crouch in the little space and picked up the flash light that Tate had discarded.
"This won't be hard," he stated, turning to nod in reassurance to the woman, who spared him one small smile before turning back to Tate.
"What happened?" She asked, her voice soft. Tate scoffed, and his reaction irritated me. This woman seemed to care for him, enough to help him cover up a murder, even, yet he was being nothing but rude. I stepped around him and smiled warmly at the woman.
"Oh, and who is this lovely creature?" The woman smiled back at me, and then looked to Tate again.
"I'm Violet, it's nice to meet you, even in these circumstances." I stretched out my hand.
"Constance, I'm Tate's mother. Are you his new girlfriend, Violet? I much prefer you to the other one," she shuddered, taking my hand and I saw Tate stiffen out the corner of my eye. "No class," she added and I smiled.
"Well, isn't this nice." Tate's voice was hard and cold, and when I dared to look at his face his glare was so murderous it made my knees shake. Constance's smile faded and she withered under his stare, because the malice in it was directed at her and her alone. She stepped away from the two of us and moved around to place a hand on the man's shoulder while he doused the body in some unknown liquid. Tate looked at me, briefly, before stepping up to stand next to the woman I now knew as his mother.
"Do you need my assistance? Or can you two handle this like you handled my father?" He injected more venom into his words than anything I'd ever heard, and she winced back from him, seemingly shrinking under his glare.
"No, no, you take young Violet home now. Momma will make it all go away," she reached forward and he let her touch his cheek, briefly, before darting back a step.
"Let's go, Violet." He held out a hand expectantly, but his eyes were still pure black and his glare was still murderous and cold and I felt safer staying where I was rather than venturing into the dark with him. "Violet," he spat through gritted teeth. I threw a last, imploring glance at his mother, but no one offered to stick up for me, and no one stood up to Tate. I stepped up close enough to him that he knew I would follow, but I didn't take his hand. We walked a way up the beach together in silence, the only sound Tate's laboured, angry breaths and the way it clashed with the waves on the shore. He waited until we couldn't see the cove anymore before pushing me to the ground. I suppose I was to meet the same fate as Leah, now.
He sat on top of me, pinning my hips to the ground with his thighs and my wrists to the sand with his hands. There was nothing sexual about the positioning, he had me here because he was going to kill me. I was almost certain.
"If I get off you, will you run?" He asked, his eyes still dark but his voice calm and soft.
"No." I held his gaze for a long moment, before he nodded once and sat down beside me. I sat up next to him and shuffled away a little, so I wouldn't be anywhere near him. I didn't want him to think that he could still touch me, not when he was like this.
"I haven't been honest with you yet," he stated and I scoffed despite myself.
"Damn straight you haven't. What was that bullshit back there, with your mum? Who was that other guy?" The questions came out fast despite the fact that he could still kill me, at any moment. The black hadn't left his eyes yet.
"It's all a long story. A long, really fucked up story. And when you hear it, you'll know everything. You'll know all the parts of me that are broken, and I'll still be a monster."
"I want to know, Tate. If something is ever going to work between us, I want to know." He crawled his fingers across the sand to rest on mine, and I let him because it was the lightest of touches and it was just the start.