A/N: Long, long, long overdue, but I've finally remembered to shout out and pay a little homage to some of my favourite fics and authors out there. I'm sure you have already, but check out shootingstella's amazing fic We are Golden because it's whole world's of awesome. Also, Lovely Helena's AU fix Race Track Princess is amazing.

It's probably sick, right? For me to want to be with him, despite all that's happened. I know it is, but waking up in his arms, warm and flush against his bare chest, and seeing him smile whilst his features are still soft with sleep, made me realize I really couldn't get away from this boy. It didn't matter whether I wanted him or not, he was my life now. I'd given up my family and my school and my fast track to college, however involuntarily, and all I could do now was make the best of it.

I mean there was no doubting he was unstable, and making him mad or stressing him out would certainly be the wrong thing to do in this situation. I needed to keep him calm and happy, and plan from there.

"We're leaving today," he mumbled to my back. I didn't turn around, content with staring at my feet resting on the spongy carpet beside the bed.

"Where are we going?" I was afraid of a vague answer, but I needed to know.

Don't worry about it. We'll figure it out." His voice didn't waver; I guess he genuinely believed everything was just going to work out. I didn't have the heart to tell him that's not how it works for murderers and their sick as fuck girlfriend types, so I just nodded.

"We can't take your car, right?" I turned now, burrowing back into the blankets to cover myself because I couldn't be bothered to find my shirt. Tate leaned up on one elbow, propping his head on his palm.

"No. I changed the plates though, and I keep changing them, so we should be good for a little while. We just have to keep moving until we find somewhere more legit. It'll be okay." He nodded, eyes focusing on the sheets, and I wondered if he was trying to reassure me, or himself. As far as plans go, this was a pretty terrible one, and I knew we had to be running low on cash.

"Tate… how long can we really keep this up?" His eyebrows knitted together, but other than that he made no move to show he'd heard me. "Tate… c'mon, you can't ignore this problem forever." He shrugged to a seated position, the blankets pooling at his hips and exposing the trail of hair leading down, down from his navel, reminding me painfully of last night. I reached a hand out and cupped his chin, bringing his face to mine.

"Baby…" I hated the nickname but I knew he'd respond to its use.

"Hmm," he mumbled, a little smile faintly outlining his dimples.

"We need to think a little more long-term than 'it'll work out'. You know that." His lower lip began to quiver, and I thought he was going to cry until he ripped his face from my hand and pounded his fist into the headboard behind us. The muscles in his back rippled under the strain of his punch and I heard the crackling splinter of fissures, deep in the cheap wood.

"Tate!" I yelled, terrified. I shuffled out of the bed and dropped into a crouch the other side, covering myself but making sure I could keep an eye on his progress.

"You just can't let me deal with it, can you?" He was still facing away, slumped towards the wood, breathing heavy. From the way he was cradling his hand, I guessed he'd done some damage to his knuckles, considering they probably weren't all that healed from last time he'd been angry.

"I just…"

"No, Violet!" He turned now, eyes black, and he reminded me so vividly of the night he'd appeared in my bedroom, tearfully confessing his sins, that my blood ran cold.

"I…" Even in danger, I couldn't really bring myself to say 'sorry', because, what had I done, really, that was so wrong? Questioning his plans was to ensure we could come up with something long lasting, why couldn't he understand that much?

"It's my job," he was crawling forward now, slowly, languid, like a predator approaching prey caught in a snare. He could take his time. "To protect you. From everyone else. From the world. It's a filthy goddamn horror show out there, Violet. I need… I need to make sure you stay with me. You need to stay clean, and pure." He had slipped off the bed, crouching beside me and turning my head with a finger and thumb on my chin, pinching too tight to be anything but a threat. He leaned in, eyes still cold, and I didn't want to let him touch me like this, but there wasn't much I could do right now. I didn't know my surroundings well enough yet.

"If I can't…" His lips brushed against mine, feather light. "If you don't stay clean, and pure," another soft brush, the caress of a lover tainted seven shades of sinful, "then you're no better than them." He pressed his lips hard to mine, puling back enough to look into my eyes. "And who would want you then?" His eyes were the last thing, before the hands around my throat and the blinding spots in my vision. The pressure dropped before I blacked out, and I slumped down against him, out of weakness more than surrender.

"But…" I choked, and he pressed a kiss to the top of my head, "if you're protecting me from the world," I gasped in a ragged breath through my ruined lungs, "whose going to protect me from you?" His arms were encircling my waist and they were anything but comforting, but I was limp from the attack and his heartbeat against my back was soothing.

I think I slept for about an hour, because I was refreshed but still a little tired, and it wasn't dark outside. I was hungry, and for a moment I forgot why I'd slept in the first place. I sat up quickly; ignoring the residual vertigo from my oxygen deprived state, and surveyed the room. Of course, I saw him instantly, sitting in the chair by the desk in the corner, eyes on me. His face was chalky, looking all the more skeletal with how sunken his cheeks were. His eyes were red and puffy, like he'd been crying, and his hair stuck up at all angles with grease and the motion of running his hands through it again and again.

"Tate," it was barely more than a whisper but it still hurt to speak.

"I'm glad you're awake. Do you remember?" I frowned, knowing there was no point in lying to him.

"Yes." He sighed, standing up and coming to sit on the bed in front of me, feet tucked behind him as he sat back on his heels. He had the nerve to smile at me, and I wanted to punch the look off his face, no matter how breathtaking he looked with it, or how rare his smile was.

"Good. I'm glad, Violet. Maybe you'll learn now." He reached a hand out, brushing his fingers down my cheek.

"Learn what?" I tried to keep my voice regular, though I was raging inside. I wanted to tear his eyes out.

"Not to get involved in things you don't understand. You know I just want to protect you, and keep you pure. You know that now, so, it's all going to be alright." He smiled again, shaking his head a little as he looked down at the sheets. I was boiling up, unable to contain the anguish and rage and heartbreak inside me. I'd given myself to him, stupid enough to think he was good for me, but now I was faced with the harsh reality brought to light by my own stupidity. Tate Langdon was a poison, something he couldn't even get away from himself. I glanced down at my hands, and I could almost see the filth he'd tainted me with last night, the filth I'd willingly tainted myself with, too. I clenched my hand into a fist, knowing before I moved what I'd do with it.

I'd never really, truly hit anyone in my life. The sickening crunch of bone against bone burned more than it actually hurt, and it was a satisfying feeling. The blood bubbling and beading up under his skin in the shape of my knuckles sent a rush of satisfaction blooming through me, and I smiled a real, genuine smile for the first time in a long time. He didn't fight back at first, probably stunned by the fact that I could possibly ever hurt him, his precious, pure little Violet. But I wasn't pure, and I wasn't his. Maybe I thought I was, or could have been, but he'd changed everything. He was a psychopath, and there was nothing I, or anyone else could really do to change that. He couldn't be cured. Eventually he reanimated, gripping the tops of my arms and digging his stubby nails in hard enough to draw crescents in my skin. I continued to thrash, spitting hard in his face. I got him in the eyes, because he shut them and growled, low and furious, and I knew I'd definitely crossed the line.

Tate threw me against the bed, pinning me underneath him.

"The fuck, Violet?" He growled, face flushed with anger and blood slipping down his cheek in thin, wavering veins.

"I hate you!"

"No, you don't." He shoved his knee between my legs and rubbed his jean-clad leg against the material of my panties. I flushed in shame at the thought of him putting these on me after practically knocking me unconscious. He probably tucked me in and kissed my forehead, too. "You can't pretend like you don't want this, like you don't want me." His voice was seductive, practically a purr. He was so sure of himself. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself, before looking directly into his eyes. Ignoring the throb between my legs, I smiled at him.

"No matter how much you want it… I will never be your perfect girl." His smirk dropped, and the blood drained from his face. I'd hit a nerve, though I wasn't sure which one, or which part had done it. He moved off me, standing up and stumbling back, face ashen, as though he'd seen a ghost.

"Mama…" He choked out before his eyes filled with tears and he let out one, long, heartbreaking wail before running to the door and exiting into the bright afternoon sunlight. I sat, dazed and confused, for a long moment before I realized he was gone, and he'd left all the supplies behind. I could take everything and run, right now, and there would be nothing he could really do about it. I could just go, tell somebody who I was, and I'd be home, just like that. Maybe they'd even catch Tate, and send him someplace he couldn't hurt anyone else, not even himself. Somewhere they could really make him better; with the drugs and the therapy I could never truly offer him.

I got up, quickly, finding some of my clothes folded neatly into one of the duffel bags. I grabbed everything off the floor and shoved it all back into the bag, zipping it up tight and slinging it over my shoulder. I couldn't find my shoes, but that didn't matter, I just needed to get to the reception office, and then call for help from there. Who gave a fuck about shoes, really? I got to the door and half expected it to be locked, for this to all be some cruel joke, but it opens and the sunlight blinds me. The air is different, the lighting is harsher, and I know we're not in California anymore.

"You're a long way from home, Dorothy," I whisper to myself, glad to be alone with my thoughts again. I slip out the door, glancing side to side at the rows of identical motel rooms, seeing the neon sign for the reception desk across the lot, a standalone building. I darted to the nearest set of steps, the metal burning the bottoms of my feet under the heat of the sun, but I barely feel it as I fly across the tarmac, reaching the building in less than thirty second. This is the fastest I've ever run. I wrench open the door and it gives, bathing my yellow-white skin in fluorescent light. There was no one behind the desk, but I saw the blinds in the office behind reception flicker slightly. Someone was back there, and they WOULD listen to me.

I dropped the duffel bags over the desk and hopped it, knocking on the office door. Of course, there was no answer. The receptionist was probably on lunch or something and just expected me to come back later. Well, that was a no-go. I knocked again, harder, before deciding I was just gunna have to burst in on this asshole's day and they were just going to have to deal with it. I shouldered the door open, stumbling through. The room was empty, but there were no exits. I took a few steps into the room.

"Hello?" It was a really fucking stupid thing to say, but I just couldn't wrap my mind around the crushing disappointment. I didn't want to be alone anymore. I couldn't do this without someone there to help me, even if they were a nine-to-five asshole that didn't care about me one bit. The door behind me closed, and I knew who it was without turning round. Of course, this was all one big game. Could I really expect anything else with him.

"Tate." I closed my eyes, dropping the bags to the floor, the fight leaving my body.

"Violet." I felt him pacing up behind me, the heat from his torso pulsing through the space behind us. "My Violet," he brushed the hair back from my neck, placing a kiss at the nape. "You're a traitor." His thumbs rolled circles onto my hips, pressing me back against him. I could feel his arousal against my ass. "Do you know what the Chinese used to do to traitors?" I held my breath, but he bit into my shoulder, intending to illicit a response from me. I shook my head, gasping in fear and an arousal I didn't understand. "They used to tie the traitor," he punctuated the offensive word with a lick to the shell of my ear, "up in public, and cut them, all over. It was slow," his fingers ghosted along the line of my underwear, my skirt bunched around my waist. I wonder where the receptionist really is. "And very, very painful. It was torture, as well as death, and a humiliation that just kept going and going." Two fingers dipped low into my underwear, sliding slowly along my slit. I knew I was wet, and now he knew it, too, if he hadn't guessed it before. "I really want you to learn, Violet. Don't you want to learn?" He held me tighter against him, curling my body over a little to give him better access. From this angle he could just barely slip his fingers inside of me, and it wasn't enough to be pleasurable. I had a feeling that was intentional. "Don't you?" Another bite to my shoulder, in the same spot, had me wincing.

"Yes! Yes, Tate, please," I whimpered, hating how desperate I sounded but not knowing another way to save myself other than to appease him.

"God, I love it when you beg," he voice was breathy and ragged. I was turning him on. Helplessness turned him on. "But," and the cold edge was back as he trailed his hand out of my underwear and smoothed my skirt down. The gesture was out of place in the circumstances. "In order to teach you, I have to punish you, too. Doesn't that seem fair?" I turned, looking over my shoulder. His face was close, flushed with arousal, dark eyes lust blown instead of angry.

"Yes, that seems fair. Punish me, Tate, and I'll never betray you again." His mouth parted and stretched into a slow, sexy smile, and he leaned around to kiss my cheek whilst the cool edge of a knife brushed gently down my arm.