"Violet, we're here to help you."
"Violet, you need to come to terms with what's happened to you, we're here to help you do that."
"It's okay to be scared, Violet, but we're not going to hurt you."
Where's Tate?
"Violet, your mother is here to see you. Are you ready to see her?"
My mother? Vivien doesn't care about me.
"Honey, baby girl, its mom. I'm here. You're so brave, Violet." She smiled at me, but I could barely hold her gaze for more than a second before the panic took over me and I had to look away because her eyes were all wrong.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Harmon, but we can't let her go like this. She's not well enough yet, she hasn't started coping with what's happened to her."
"Will she ever get better, Doctor?"
There's nothing wrong with me. I just need Tate.
"Violet," the voice is softer, female, and I'm sure it's a new one, though I've lost count of how many experts and how many well-wishers have stopped by. "Violet, I'd like you to eat something. Do you think you can do that?" I nodded; I didn't want him to get mad at me for not eating. I didn't want to make him cry. I stared at the sandwich like it was a slap in the face. It was the second day of school again and Leah was shoving me against the car. It was Saturday; Leah's brother was singeing my skin against the flames on the beach. I carefully, gingerly lifted one half, eating it in slow, paced bites. It was perfectly good, and I was hungry, but I forced myself to savour it because we didn't have much food. I gently pushed the plate away from me, noticing how blue-ish and skeletal my hands looked.
"Aren't you hungry anymore, Violet?" I shook my head. "Can you just try to eat a little more?" She pushed the sandwich towards me again. I shook my head.
"I can't." My voice sounded unfamiliar to myself, and the woman in front of me blinked in surprise. "Why not?" A smile was splitting her features. She thought she'd cracked into me.
"Tate… has to have the other half. Or we'll starve." I crossed my arms and rested my head back against the pillows. He's going to be so proud of me. I can't trust these people. We'll be okay, soon. I wonder where we're going, after the beach.
"Violet, sweetheart," I jerked away from the light press off fingers on my shoulder, too gentle and too feminine. Tate wouldn't like it if she were touching me like this. He'd bash her skull in and eat the pieces. "Don't you… remember what happened?"
"I remember," I was defiant. They were treating me like a mental patient, like I would slit my wrists at any moment… like I was fragile. If only she knew I was more likely to slit her throat than myself, because Tate would be furious with me for mutilating myself. It always upset him to see my scars.
"So… you know that Tate can't get to you anymore. You're safe, in the hospital. Don't worry; Tate will be behind bars for a very, very long time. You'll never hear from him again." She smiled, all clinical, and I wondered why she was being so very cruel. If I were really in a hospital, shouldn't she be trying to comfort me, calm me? I could hear an erratic beeping and wondered if it were another cliché, my heart monitor showing the race in my pulse at hearing his name. The woman glanced up at it and then back at me, eyes sympathetic.
"Poor thing, you're scared half to death, aren't you? I'll go get your mother. Would you like that?" She was up and gone, not turning to acknowledge the shake of my head. I turned my head to look out the window, though the nondescript scenery gave me no indication of where we were. The door to my room opened again, and I knew it would be my mother. I didn't turn my head.
"Violet? Baby?" I sighed, sitting up and acknowledging her existence because I didn't want to hurt her. I was dying inside, but I didn't know how much time I would have with Vivien before me and Tate had to take off again, so I may as well leave her with happy memories.
"Mom," I greeted her, flatly. Her eyes were filled with tears, and for once I thought they might be genuine. I guess she'd been worried about me these past months, like the police said she had, like the police said everyone had.
"I was so scared, baby, but I never gave up looking for you." I frowned.
"I wasn't lost, mom."
"Violet," her lower lip quivered.
"No, I wasn't lost. I was with Tate. I couldn't be lost with Tate; he knew where we were the whole time. He planned it all, mom." Her tears were falling freely now.
"My poor baby, look at what he's done to you." She stood up. "I'm so sorry, Violet. I won't be gone long I just… I need," she trailed off with a sob, darting from the room and rounding the corner. I could hear the wail of her cry from my room; I guess hospitals are always full of echoes of ghosts.
I sighed, closing my eyes because it's only in my head that I can be with him until he gets here. He runs away sometimes, after all, but he always comes back and as long as I sit tight and wait for him there won't be any punishment. There will be only good.
"I miss you," I whispered, within myself or outward I didn't care. I didn't understand why these people were shocked that I missed him. He's my fiancé, practically my husband, after all, and they'd taken him away from me. Of course I was going to miss him, how could I not?
I think I slept for a while this time. I knew I'd taken the pills away from Tate but he could always have had more. I trust him but he thinks he knows what's best for me when he doesn't. I crunched my eyes tighter closed before opening them, expecting a happy Tate, or a nervous Tate, or a sad Tate or a crazy Tate but a Tate all the same. I was, instead, met with the harsh cut of the florescent lights and the concerned but manufactured reassurance on the faces of three doctors and a nurse. One was wearing a surgical mask and gloves like I was rapid. I didn't need surgery so the whole thing was ridiculous. Mind you, my dreams usually are… ridiculous or nightmares, or sometimes both. This was both.
"Morning, Violet, how are you feeling today?" The doctor nearest to me asked, smiling warmly down at me. It was intimidating, nothing like the way Tate would tower over me, a protective wall encircling me in its arms and pressing against every inch of me.
"Good," I lied; because it was my dream and I could play this however the hell I wanted.
"That's good!" The smile never wavered; it was unnerving, as though it had been stitched into his gums from the inside.
"Where's Tate?" I asked, because it was my dream and I could play this however the hell I wanted. I still wanted Tate. In every reality, waking or within my mind, I still wanted Tate.
"He's gone away. You're safe now, in a hospital. You're going to get better. You were very lucky, Violet."
"I am," I agreed, nodding sincerely. "I'm the only one who ever got to see who he was, you know?" I wasn't' focused on any of the doctors individually, and I guess that was a good thing because they were all looking at each other and having a private conversation through facial expressions that I was not a part of.
"Violet," The first doctor gestured to the others, who filed out the room silently, having not said a word the entire time, observing me like a lab rat, a nutcase, a paragraph in a text book for later analysis. He perched on the edge of my bed and I skidded away from him, unable to be subtle in my panic. If Tate saw how close he'd gotten to me then, he'd slice him apart and tie me up with his entrails. "Violet, Tate is a violent, troubled boy. He murdered a young girl, one that went to his school, one you knew. He almost murdered her brother shortly after. He took you away from your family and your friends. He mutilated you. Violet, I believe you are suffering from something called Stockholm syndrome." I blinked, uncomprehendingly.
"I… don't understand."
"That's okay, that's okay. Stockholm Syndrome is a condition born out of a-"
"No, shithead, I understand what Stockholm syndrome is. I don't understand why you think I have it. I'm not some sick fuck, okay?" He sighed and patted my knee.
"He'll rip your head off if you touch me again. He said so himself." I just though he should have some fair warning. I was trying to be nice! But he stood up, eyes troubled and mouth no longer smiling. I guess someone pulled those happy stitches out of his gums.
"He told you he would rip my head off?"
"If you touch me again," I reminded him helpfully. I didn't want anyone accusing Tate of violent behaviour without a cause. He always had a reason. He was a protective person, it's not like that's a bad thing.
"I think you should get some rest now. I need to consult with my team." He left without another word and I sighed, closing my eyes in contentment and ready to re-immerse myself in the reality where Tate was waiting for me, hunched and fragile and loving. I could hear the doctors talking outside the room, their voices being channelled by the ghosts in the hallways, but I was too tired to care and it sounded fuzzy anyway, so I wasn't going to stress about finding out what they said. I mean, it's not like it's really going to effect me either way, they'll diagnose me with whatever they think I've got, pop some pills in my hand and send me on my merry way so I can start to plan my reunion with Tate. I know the system like the back of my hand… they'd never screw me over, Tate wouldn't let them.