Sucker Love

Chapter Five

"There is a Light that Never Goes Out"

The first time he nearly runs into Her father at Her house is on the Saturday night.

For weeks now, he has successfully managed to avoid discovery by climbing up the rose lattice to Her bedroom window. She suspects no ulterior motive behind his actions, but rather thinks of it as just another one of his little quirks. Out of all the rooms in the house, thankfully Hers is the safest because She usually keeps the door locked for smoking purposes.

For the most part Her parents leave Her to Her own devices. Vivian, Her mother, is usually too engrossed with baby books and alternative health articles to pay Her much attention, and Her father often works late at his downtown practice.

Very rarely does he venture outside the safety of the soothing teal walls of Her room, unless he is absolutely certain that Her father is not home, or is in desperate need of the bathroom. It is because of the latter that he nearly walks straight into the man's back.

Her bedroom is situated just around the L bend at the end of the corridor on the second floor landing; which is both a blessing and a curse in terms of location as it is the furthest room away from the bathroom, and the corner also makes it very difficult to spot any surprise visitors from afar.

The second he sees the Doctor's back curved around Her door, he about faces and rushes back to the bathroom, as quickly and silently as his feet will carry him. With one hand he locks the door, and sinks down onto the lip of the bath, his head cradled between his hands.

It's becoming increasingly more difficult to justify to himself why he has not told Her yet. Part of him hopes that if he keeps silent about it, then the Doctor might forget and the problem will just go away. He could always break into the man's office and steal his file. It's an attractive idea, but it will take time and careful planning, and he certainly cannot do it tonight.

His sneakers tap agitatedly against the tiled floor as he drags his eyes over the shampoo bottles in an effort to inspire himself. He cannot stay in the room for long, She might come looking for him. What he needs is a reason, a good one, to get Her away from the house and Her father.

The sound of the phone ringing comes as a godsend.

He listens, barely breathing, as the Doctor closes Her bedroom door and walks down the corridor into his own room to answer it. Once he is sure that the man is safely distracted, he wastes no time unlocking the door.

But as he passes Her parents' room, the Doctor's frantic, whispering voice forces him to stop in his tracks.

"...I thought we had an understanding?" He hears him hiss.

Inside the darker beasts are screaming at him to flee, to snatch Her from Her room and speed off into the night, but curiosity wins out. He peers through the gap between the door and frame, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

"-Yes, but we agreed that it would be best— Yes, I know but I don't have the money— Yes, I know, but we've got to be realistic here..."

He watches the Doctor pace up and down, his face obscured from view. He doesn't need to see it to guess his expression however. Clearly the caller wants something from the man, so he decides to stay a little longer to find out what it is. Maybe he can use it against him later.

"-I'm married, and this is not going to change that— I know! I know! But is keeping it really the best thing for its future? It's a simple procedure, thousands of woman do it each year and go on to have children in later life... I already have a family to support, I can't just-" Doctor Harmon flops down on his bed and pitches the bridge of his nose. "Now-now don't cry... Just take a deep breath, and... and lets try to think about this rationally, Hayden..."

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who it is exactly that the Doctor is talking too, or about what. He forces himself away from the door and back towards Her room, but before he enters Her, he has to take a few moments to get the monsters back under control.

Although he now has a way of getting Her out of the house, potential blackmail material against Doctor Harmon, and a whole new reason to hate the man, it still feels like an ill gotten gain. He never wanted it to be like this. When She finds out, it will hurt Her beyond belief, and he never wants to be the one responsible, no matter how remotely, for bringing Her pain.

But now that he has a clearer idea of the situation, he knows that very soon the Doctor's guilty conscience will be more malleable to his suicidal suggestions. It is the very least that he can do for Her, short of killing the man and his pregnant whore.

With that thought in mind, he bundles his killer intent back up into its box for another day. As he walks into Her room, She looks up from the collection of Calvin and Hobbes comics on Her lap, a cigarette in hand. For a second, his breath catches in his throat at the sight of Her looking so blissfully unaware. He doesn't want to tell Her. He wants Her to stay like that forever, to never have such a sweet expression marred by anger or bitterness, or pain.

But he has to, in case the Doctor catches them together and then Her most carefully guarded secret will be exposed.

At the worry on his face, Her brow creases with concern and She closes over the book.

"What's up?"

He swallows and scratches his head. "I heard your Dad talking to someone and I thought that it was your Mom, so I knocked on the door and went in to introduce myself-" She shakes Her head in amused disbelief but Her smile soon fades when he goes on. "-He didn't notice me, turns out he was in the middle of a full blown argument over the phone..." He drags the toe of his sneaker over the sheepskin rug on the floor. "That girl, you know, the one he had an affair with... She wasn't called Hayden by any chance?"

The impact is instantaneous: She goes very still at first, and then with a furious shake of the head, She stabs out Her cigarette on the windowsill and jumps off Her bed.

"I can't fucking believe him! I bet you anything he gave her the house number."

He watches in silence as She yanks an ugly navy, pink and grey aztec knit cardigan from its hanger, and pulls a large brown leather backpack out from underneath her desk.

As She rushes about the room, throwing things into it, he swallows the guilty lump forming in his throat. He could argue with himself that it was the right thing to do, letting Her know, but She's hurt. He knew that this would happen, and it's making it very hard for him not to go straight into her parents' room and strangle Doctor Harmon with the telephone cord.

"I'm staying at yours tonight-" She tells him as She throws a pair of tights into the bag. He nods dumbly in reply and tries not to look too pleased about it. It's better reaction to the news than he previously imagined. "-I'll meet you out front. I just want to get something."

He doesn't have to wait for long. She wants to get away from the house as quickly as possible, which is understandable given the circumstances. He hasn't even told Her the worst of it yet, but he will, because maybe it will lessen the pain She might feel when Her father finally caves to his suggestions and kills himself.

As he watches Her run down the steps, buckling Her noticeably heavier bag closed, he decides that he will become the one thing that She'll ever need, the one person that'll never let Her down no matter what. It'll prove difficult, mostly because he has already lied to Her so much, but he knows that he's only really lied to protect Her; maybe that explanation She will be able to understand.

Their get away is delayed only by Her mother's return from the shops.

"No." Is She all She answers with when a surprised Vivian asks Her if She has gotten permission from Her father to stay over at his. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Without waiting for a response, She grabs him by the hand and pulls him off in the direction of his house. He doesn't really understand why She chose not tell Vivian about the call. It could be out of loyalty towards Her father, or maybe it is because She hopes that nothing will come of it.

He then feels even more guilty because he knows that he will have to tell Her the rest, and that it will put Her in an even worse situation where She has to decide whether to tell Her mother, or to keep Her father's secret.

She doesn't have to choose either though. She doesn't have to forge a painful alliance that'll only crumble into dust as the years progress. She can choose him, and he will never let anyone or anything hurt Her ever again.

The first time he sees Her cry is that same night amongst the burnt out ruins of the former Olive View Sanitarium.

They do not go to his house straight away like originally planned, neither of them are in the mood to deal with other people. So they decide instead to take a detour to the crumbling red brick in Sylmar, in a hope that maybe they can lose their respective selves in the emptiness.

They get a fire going from a stack of old patient files, trash and two old ceiling beams that have laid hidden beneath a pile of rubble for nearly half a century. She provides additional lighter fuel in the form of two photograph albums She smuggled out of Her house in Her bag.

When he asks Her what they're of, She flips over the front cover of one of them to show him. Immediately his stomach sinks when he sees the words, 'My First Photo Album' printed across the front. It pains him to think that She wants to destroy Herself as well.

"I've got their wedding ones too," She waves the slimmer, white album with a gold leaf motif around the edges before his face. "Can you believe my Dad used to have mutton chops?"

But She doesn't show him, maybe because She is afraid that She might fall prey to nostalgia. Instead, She opens the wedding album in the centre and chucks it on the fire, photos down, so that it can burn from the inside out. They watch in silence as the plastic wilts and blackens beneath the heat, releasing the pungent smelling chemicals into the air.

He gets why She is doing it. It's for the exact same reason he burned his old Track trophies and kit; She wants to destroy all evidence of the lie She has been living up until now, because that way it won't hurt so much when everything falls apart.

But the thing he identifies with the most is the cold look of satisfaction that plays upon Her pretty face as She watches the flames destroy the early days of Her parents' marriage. He knows that another part to Her personality has been born that night. One that, in its own way, can be petty and cruel and twisted like him. He finds himself wondering just how deep She will allow this vindictive streak to run within Her, and if it's rage will be allocated to Her parents alone.

But as She goes to throw the other album containing Her own photographs, he quickly snatches it from Her.

"You don't have to burn them all," he reasons with Her furious gaze. "Only the pictures with them in them are the lie, Violet."

She think about this for a moment. "Fine," she sighs. "But if there's any of me sitting naked on a potty, I'm burning it." She snatches the album back from him with one hand, and sits down between his sprawled out legs with Her back turned to him so that he cannot sneak a peek. "I'm glad I got to do this before my Mom decides to be weird and show them to you," She announces after a moment.

"Why would she do that?"

She casts him a brief glance over Her shoulder before tossing another photograph on the burning pile. "She thinks we're dating. Showing baby photos is just the type of embarrassing shit parents do to protect their daughter's virtue."

Now that the idea has been put before him, the concept of dating Her makes complete sense. He'd like to. It would give him an excuse to kiss Her whenever he wanted, amongst other things. The problem is he is unsure of what She wants, or whether She even thinks about him in such a way.

"Would you mind if we were? Her showing me the photos," he adds hastily so as not to leave the wrong impression.

"Probably. Nothing quite spells turn off like seeing your girlfriend in diapers."

"I think you look good no matter what you're wearing."

She arches an eyebrow at him. "You are aware that we're taking about my toddler self here? As in under the age of two? And even if we weren't, diaper fetish is creepy..." He knows that he has lost his chance to check, for no sooner does She make that comment, She begins to speak in a more serious tone. "...Did you happen to hear what they were talking about? If they were planning to meet up somewhere or something? You know, my Dad and that... bitch."

Slowly, reluctantly he begins to tell Her about the exact details of the conversation he overheard. He doesn't try to gloss his interpretation of it over. It's not something that can be lied about because sooner or later the truth will come out. And as he speaks, the thought dawns on him that maybe if he tells Her the truth about the big things, the important things, then maybe She will be more inclined to believe him when he lies about the small ones, or forgive him at least when She finds out.

The firework incident is still fresh in his mind. No one saw him, of this he is certain, but he's worried that She might be able to see through him. She can see through just about anything if She looks long and hard enough. Nothing ever escapes Her.

And then he will lose Her.

"If it's his then that means he went back to her again after Mom caught him... So much for a brand new start!" She shakes Her head bitterly when he finishes. "I can't believe she was so goddamn stupid and naive to take him back— and now she's pregnant too..."

Then it hits him, the horrible realization that She is about to cry. She tries not to, blinks it back, fights it with all Her might but She's on fire. She's burning up just like the photographs and it's terrifying, when all he can do is watch.

So he does the only other thing he can do, that he knows to do, he wraps his arms around Her and pulls Her down on top of his chest so that Her face is hidden against his t-shirt. He holds Her there, keeps Her safe, allows Her to cry where others have not. He won't tell a soul about it, to do so would be unforgivable; a lioness is not supposed to have any weaknesses after all.

He will allow Her them though. He will protect them and keep them a secret from the glaring eyes of the world. And even if it all falls down around Her, he will be there to put Her back up on Her feet again.

Eventually, She dries Her eyes on Her sleeves. He takes care not to watch while She does it, because he knows that She would not want him to see. Instead he busies himself with tracing circles with his thumb on Her back.

"I hate it here," She says after a pregnant pause. "I don't ever want to be like any of them, Tate."

"You won't. You're too smart for that," he reassures Her. "Don't believe that shit they tell you about turning into your parents, that'll only happen if you let it. You don't even have to finish High School if you don't want to, but you should," he then adds. "Cause you're smart. Just take what you need from that and them, and then get the hell outta here. I'll even go with you, I promise... Don't let it get you down, Violet, cause life in LA isn't real; it's a goddamn horror show. Look at Hollywood! Look at Santa Monica! It's all the same fucking fake, plastic bullshit created by the entertainment industry to exploit the minds of the stupid."

She laughs suddenly. It sounds strange at first because for a moment there, he was afraid that She would never laugh again. Thankfully his fears were unfounded because laugh She does, and it is as marvelous and as genuine as ever. It does not last for long however, She's conflicted. She has to decide which parent she wants to back.

"I wish there was a third option," She groans after a moment.

"There is," he says seriously. "me." He means it too, he wants to be the only person that She'll ever need, the only person that She'll ever think about. He wants Her to think about him as much as he thinks about Her. "-I'm the one here for you, right? I swear that you'll always have me to rely on. Leave your parents to sort out their own shit. It's not your problem, don't blame yourself for it and don't let yourself get caught up in it either. I don't with mine."

She nods, a small smile playing on Her lips. "...So it won't bug you if we hung out in yours rather than mine? Cause I swear that if I have to spend any more time around them than necessary; I might honestly have to kill myself."

It's scares him because he's still not entirely certain whether She's joking or not when She makes such comments. "Course not," He tells Her earnestly. "You can stay as long as you want, whenever you want... You and me, okay?"

They lie there on top of one another, legs intertwined, Her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. They speak of things, little things, unimportant things but for the most part they are silent, content to rest in the safety of one another's warmth.

And when She shivers from the night chill, he pulls the sides of his open cardigan across Her back and buttons it closed around them.

The first time he realizes that She might like him back, is when he is finally tricked into having a conversation about Her with the cock sucker.

In retrospect, he should have about turned the moment he saw the woman standing in the kitchen doorway, dressed from head to toe in full Stepford wife battle regalia, a cigarette smoking between her fingers. However, he is tired and thirsty and covered in sweat after an hour long run. Furthermore, no one is expected to have their guard up at eight o'clock in the morning.

On a normal Monday at such a godforsaken hour, he would be out on the curb already, headphones on full blast while the big yellow school bus turns the corner onto his street. Class has been suspended for a few days however, on the account of him blowing up several lockers and maiming at least a dozen of his peers.

He's not in the least bit sorry about it, about them. It's remarkable the things that can slip through the gaps in one's conscience after a life time spent numbing the pain. What he feels can hardly be described as remorse, it's more paranoia coupled with fear. He really doesn't want Her to find out. He did it for Her, to help Her, but he knows that Her strong sense of moral justice would prevent Her from being grateful.

The cock sucker interrupts his brooding thoughts with a careless comment about how he is usually still upstairs at such an hour, pretending as though he can sleep like a normal person. When he doesn't answer, she walks across the room towards the island, her heels clicking languorously off the tiled floor beneath her. For a time when he was younger, he used to admire her effortless grace, but now it feels calculated and tedious, like she's preforming before a camera.

"The school rang to say that you'll be going back on the Wednesday," she says as she sits down. "They better catch that son of a bitch responsible or I swear, with the Lord as my witness, there will be hell to pay. I bet'cha it was one of them Irish American terrorist types. They're never happy unless they're blowing a hole in something."

He has to fight the grin threatening to form on his face. Part of him wonders what she would do if she knew the truth. It would hurt her, undoubtedly, and he likes that, but she might also try to get him locked away again.

With one glance at dark shadows beneath his eyes, she sighs. "You better ask the Doctor to increase your sleeping medication again, Tate. You look like you've been up all night."

He looks irritably over his glass at her. One of the more unforgivable things about the cock sucker, is that she pretends to take an interest in his welfare. "Maybe the reason why I look like shit, mother, is because physical training tends to do that to people,"

This makes her double take. "Are you... Are you running Track again?"

The hope in her voice is enough to make his stomach turn. With one hand, he indicates to his choice of footwear and pours himself another glass of water.

"We'll need to get you a new kit then-" Whereas he is a master of deceit, she is the expert of avoidance. Not once since he burned his old one, has she mentioned it too him. Maybe because she is afraid that if she names it, then she might have to take some responsibility for it, for him. "-And I better pick up some candied violets from the Korean to put on some cupcakes for Violet," she finishes with a decided nod.

The glass stops inches away from his lips. He stares across at the woman with angry suspicion.

"What does She have to do with it?" In truth, She has everything to do with it, but it worries him that the cock sucker might have picked up on this, that his carefully guarded thoughts might be, in reality, transparent.

"Well, I was telling her about you being in Track-"

"What else did you tell Her?"

"Oh nothing about your problems, don't you worry your pretty little head," she assures him in a disparaging tone. "But if you go around manhandling her like you did the other day, she's gonna find out."

It is one of those rare, conflicting moments in which his hatred towards the woman is overshadowed with just the slight tinge of gratitude. He quickly stomps it out however, and reminds himself that the cock sucker's silence on the subject is not out of any real feelings of maternal love towards him, but from shame. In her twisted world of fame and beauty, imperfection, whether physical or mental, is inexcusable.

"You're taken with one another other," she goes on. "I think even more so than I was with your swine of father at your age— What? Didn't you realize?" She laughs at his stunned expression and shakes her head. "Good lord, you men wouldn't know a good thing if it hit you in the head. I've seen the way you look at one other when she's over, like you're safe guarding secrets-"

As the cock sucker launches into a speech about the evils of premarital sex, he stares down at the glass in his hand with dumb surprise. Maybe it's because he's been too preoccupied with securing Her good opinion, that it's never occurred to him before that She might already like him.

He does not understand why She would, he doesn't even like himself. As far as he's concerned, there's nothing about him to like; he is twisted and cruel, with a darkness to him that hides beasts too terrible to name. But then She is all that is light, and the light can be just as cruel; when angry it ravages and burns with an unforgiving intensity.

If only there was a way to check without having to overstep any verbal or physical boundaries. He's terrified that if he does act on this notion, it will make things awkward between them and then She might not want to speak with him anymore. But if he doesn't, and She does like him, She might grow tired of waiting.

"...She's different." He allows himself to say as the cock sucker reaches the end of her self righteous tirade.

From across the island, she takes a long, luxurious drag of her cigarette. "You don't see much of her kind around these days," she nods in agreement. "Most girls her age are too busy flashing their midriff like them prostitutes you see in music videos... She reminds me of myself in ways-"

A sharp pain jolts him back to reality. All at once he remembers where he is, and with whom he is having a conversation. The cock sucker stares down at his bleeding hand in shock.

"Let me get-"

"Shut up."

Another word from her, about Her, and he really will snap. She sits there in silence, watching with feigned concern as he throws the broken glass in the trash, and then rinses his hand underneath the cold tap. It stings but the cuts aren't deep, no need for stitches there. If he wasn't so furious, he would probably laugh at the woman's ability to provoke even his subconscious into a violent reaction.

They are nothing alike, she and Her, nor will they ever be.

But as he goes to leave, she decides to speak again. "May God have mercy on the fool who tries to get between you two."

He forces himself to look over his shoulder, even though he knows that he shouldn't. Really, he should just run up the stairs, away from her poisoned words. But look he does, and he is rewarded with a grim, knowing smile.

"I was ready to butcher the little bitch that came between me and your father, and you are very much my son whether you want to admit it or not."

And he hates her because she said it. He hates her because she still dares to compare herself with him even after all this time, after all that's transpired between them.

But most of all he hates her because he knows that she's right.

The first time he kisses Her is in an empty alleyway beside the movie theatre on the Tuesday afternoon.

It's certainly not a romantic location, but it's closer to reality than any sun kissed pier or candlelit dinner table will ever be.

After debating with himself for hours following his conversation with the cock sucker, he finally decides that kissing is the only way to really discover where exactly it is he stands with Her. That and he really wants to, even if he only gets to do it once.

He catches Her unawares, while She's walking along the sidewalk on Her way to meet him, and true to his original plan, he grabs Her by the mouth from behind, drags Her into the alley and pushes Her up against the wall.

She's not impressed in the least when She realizes that it's him, but before She can berate him for being an asshole, he has Her lips against his own.

He tries to be as gentle as his raging hormones will let him. He doesn't wrap his arms around Her or bury his fingers in Her hair like he wants to. He's afraid more than anything that he might scare Her away, or worse, break Her. He does, however, allow himself the liberty of gently grazing the tip of his nose against Her cheek as he pulls away.

She looks up at him with neither anger or fear, but with pleasant surprise.

"I scared you," he says triumphantly. Up close Her irises are a rich hazel, almost carmel in color. He's never noticed before and it fascinates him. He wants to study every single inch of Her face with utmost care, just to see if there are anymore details left to be uncovered.

"As if."

"...Really?" He's smiling now, beaming in fact. She's not afraid of him, at least not of the surface and the shallow layers resting beneath it. In time he wonders just how many he will be able to peel back for Her, and what She will say when She sees what really lies there.

But that is not a question for here and now. He watches, captivated, as She tilts Her head back with a sigh. She's smiling though when She brings Her eyes back to meet his.

"So do I have to pretend to be one of those lame girls who cry into their boyfriend's sweater every time a monster comes on screen?"

It's only then that he realizes just how foolish all his previous fears have been; She does like him. If it were at all possible, his smile grows even larger.

"Of course not," he tells Her seriously. "You should never feel afraid of anything when you're with me." And he means it, he really does. He will protect Her from all of that, even if it means letting his own monsters out to play. "So— Are we? You know...?"

It delights him to no end that She used the word "boyfriend", not mere "date" or friend. He still needs to check though, just to be sure.

"Why not?" She shrugs. "Steph and Mom seem to think that we are, so we might as well make it official." But there's a light flush to Her cheeks which suggests that She's just as happy with the idea as he is. "... It was taking you so long, for awhile there I thought that you might be gay-" His face darkens much to Her great amusement. "-but then I realized that you're just one contrary bastard."

"C'mon, admit it; you like it."

But before She can answer, he's kissing Her again and She's kissing back, which is really a much better response than words.

To be continued...

A/N: Why hello there fangirls...

Gotta love Tate's divide and conquer tactics; Realize that you've made her conflicted about both of her parents, so what do you do next? Get her to come to you!

Once again thank you all for reading and for all the wonderful feedback so far. As always, I would encourage you to sign so that I can write you a response. I like to do that as many of you already know.