I threw myself onto my bed. I couldn't stand it anymore, this 'hiding myself' bullshit. How long was I going to live here? And to put on a mask, a facade, a fucking show for them when they were dead? Hell no. I don't care anymore. I am Cherie Levins, Diagnosed Psychopath, Freak, Monster, Capital B Bitch, call me what you want! I couldn't handle laying there, so still while my soul thrashed in anger on the inside.

So I let it out.

My nails tore at my face. My fingers pulled at my hair. My legs kicked as though I were buried alive and desperately trying to break out, which in a way, I was. I didn't care to scream, my father wouldn't care, he wouldn't come running. Moira would keep her distance with a wary eye, Vivian would gasp and look away, Ben would give a smug 'I knew it' smirk, Violet would probably just run and cry when she realized how insane I really was, and Tate...I didn't dare try and guess what he might have done if he'd seen me. I didn't let myself think about it.

The pain was exhilarating. Hot traces of blood trickled down from my scalp from my nails cutting into it, and that was my sign to stop. With a sigh, I relaxed into my mattress. Some girls cut, or start gossip. I have mini freak-outs so bad a nun would have me exorcised. That's just the way I turned out.

I felt my heart start to slow back to its normal pace and closed my eyes, finally tired for the first time in weeks.

Weeks...

...It had been three weeks since Liam had so much as called me. The last day I'd seen him, he was worried when I didn't call every six hours. Now, it was like I might as well have been dead. I guess he managed to find himself a normal girl, who probably begged him to keep his contacts in. Maybe that was the reaction he'd really wanted. Or, he wanted to be accepted by a normal girl as some sort of verification, instead of being accepted by a freak. I didn't exactly give him the right kind of validity.

A loud slam ripped through the silence so loud that I'm sure my door bounced off of the wall. Fast, tiny steps came down the stairs.

"Micheal, get back here!" I heard Constance yelling.

Tate, too, was hollering for him, as they both clamored down the stairs after him, where he stood directly beside me now on the bed.

"Micheal!" I started, staring at him wide-eyed and shifted so that I was sitting on the side of the bed, my legs hanging off. His face was flushed, and he was breathing hard as though he was about to cry, but he just stood there, staring right back at me.

His father knelt beside him, brushing his bangs lovingly—relieved. "Hey, buddy. You could have fell and hurt yourself running down here like that." He cooed softly.

"And you know you're not allowed down here, Micheal," I gave him a very stern look.

He sucked in a deep breath, then shouted, "Stop hurting!", just before wrapping his arms around my waist as tightly as he could. I froze for a second, remembering the first time he had said that to me, and every time after.

I had refused to leave my room those entire three weeks. Every once in a while Micheal would sneak down and hold my hand or lay with me if I'd managed to fall asleep before Constance had drug him back out. As I stared down at his little blonde head, I couldn't help but feel his warmth radiating into me and I smiled, returning the hug. I kissed the top of his head and rested my cheek there.

"Don't look now," I whispered to him, "But it seems you're dramatic entrance got Daddy, and Grandma Constance in the same room. They really love you, little man."

It was true. Tate and Constance stood side by side, almost touching as they both focused on him. That made me a little happier, even more so when I saw a glimpse of a smile come and go from Micheal's tear-struck face. God, he looked so much like his father when he cried.

Lightly, I pushed him back, keeping my hands on his shoulders. "Do you know how horrible we all would have felt if you had tripped coming down those stairs? It would have made all of us hurt worse."

He hugged me again, pressing his face into my stomach. He was crying now. "No, Cherie. Stop hurting. Stop it."

I slid of the bed and knelt in front of him, wiping the tears from his eyes, and gave him a warm smile.

"I've missed you." I admitted. "Now, let's get out of this basement before Thaddeus smells you."

Even Tate chuckled a little at the shocked look on the kid's face as he turned to bolt back up the stairs. We both knew Thaddeus wouldn't actually leave his precious hidden room unless someone made too much noise directly next to it. But still, it was an uneasy feeling having Micheal so close to him. Quickly, Tate stuck out his hand, stopping Micheal just before he reached the stairs. "Oh no, you're walking up those stairs."

"But Thaddeus—."

"He's not that hungry. Walk." My heart fluttered when he glanced back at me as he walked his son back up the stairs, a happy grin on his face. It faded a tiny bit when Constance turned to watch him, but it didn't fade completely, he just turned his attention back to the stairs.

"He really misses you, you know," Constance said, sitting beside me on the bed. "Although he enjoys his time with his, heh, father, you're like a mother to him now. He couldn't stop crying that day I dragged him out of your bed, the little shit."

The way she'd said father showed all of the motherly love that I needed to see. I'd figured out over time that in her own, weird way, Constance really had loved all of her children. Just being able to call one of them a father made her almost glow.

After a few seconds, I processed the rest of what she was saying while I watched her smooth out random wrinkles in my blanket. With everything running through my head all I could think to say was, "I love him, too."

She patted the blanket, her hands hovering in her strange personal motion before she stood. "Well, I'm going to go back to sneaking around so I can watch my son and grandson. I guess, I'll let you continue your...sulking."

As I watched her leave, I realized that she wasn't saying it to be insulting me. Constance was a proud woman, she didn't like asking for favors unless she had some sort of ulterior motive, and when she didn't it was for pure kindness or need. This was her way of asking me to be there for Micheal.

The thought made me feel warm inside. It was like we were the shadow of a potentially happy family. I liked that.

Nervously, I crept up the stairs and into the hallway, making my way to the living room where I was sure Tate and Micheal still were. As I walked past Constance, who peered around the corner, she gave me a soft half-smile. A sort of thank you. Tate lay sprawled across the couch, with Micheal in his lap fast asleep.

"It's only the middle of the day," I whispered, laughing quietly as I knelt on the floor beside them. Lightly, I traced my fingers through Micheal's hair. "And here I actually worked up the courage to leave my emo corner."

"Yeah, I guess it's a kid thing, to pass out after crying like that. I'm surprised he isn't having nightmares, since he fell asleep talking about how he was so scared of Thaddeus." The whole time he spoke, Tate didn't take his eyes off of his son. They shined with pride.

"Thaddeus is his real-life boogey man." We both laughed at that.

When everything had calmed, I waited a few minutes, debating on if I wanted to ask him or not. In the end, I decided it couldn't hurt.

"Hey, Tate?" I shifted to a more comfortable position, sitting entirely on the floor and leaning my side against the couch where I could still see him, "Can I ask you something? It's pretty personal."

It took a second for him to answer, then finally he shrugged. "You know pretty much everything about me already. Shoot."

I chewed on my lip, instantly regretting opening my mouth. Something just didn't feel right asking this, but I'd already brought attention to it. I took a quick breath. "When we first met...you threatened to kill me if I had hurt Violet. You seemed so...dangerous. Now you seem so different, and, well, you never made good on your threat when I eventually did hurt her."

He raised his brow, an odd sultry grin spreading across his lips, "Did that disappoint you?" He lowered his voice to a breathy hush, "I can still do it you know. Kill you. It wouldn't take a whole lot of effort either."

I blushed, shaking my head. "No, no, no. I'm not, like, suicidal or anything," I stuttered.

"Cherie, would you die for me?" I whimpered, inwardly. I was so sick and twisted to find that attractive, but then again, what wasn't wrong with me at this point?

"So, what then?" He went to shift, then stopped when he remembered that he couldn't without waking up Micheal.

"...why?"

He slid into a more upright position, watching for any signs that Micheal might wake up. "Hey, Mom."

We were both shocked when he called for her, but he kept his face emotionless as he carefully lifted his son and stood, handing him to Constance. "I think it's time for him to go home, let him know that Cherie will be here for next time, if he doesn't run off again."

For the first time in probably years, he smiled at her. It was a faint, almost careless smile, but it was there. I stood also, walking over to Micheal and kissing the top of his head. "Goodbye." I whispered.

Constance nodded to Tate, on the point of tears. "Alright, baby. I'll make sure he knows."

"And treat him right. Not like that bullshit you pulled with Adelade. Got it?"

Another tearful shake of the head.

I could tell that she had really wanted to reach out to him and hold him even if it was just the side of his face, but she refrained. If she pushed it too much this time, she'd end up just pushing him away. Her hand wrapped around Micheal instead and she walked out, giving one last heart-felt look at Tate before she left.

Then he turned to me, hands in his pockets while he circled me. "Right, so, why didn't I kill you? I didn't because that's what you want, isn't it? For me to kill you, so that you can be like us. Like me. It didn't take long for me to figure that out." He finished his dramatic circling, and flopped onto the couch, relaxed.

"So, you really do still hate me then? You're only nice because of Micheal." I didn't move. I stayed where I was for the simple fact that I didn't know what to do with myself. If I sat on the couch it would be too friendly of an approach, if I sat where I was it would be out of place. Sitting at all would feel too comfortable anyways, I guess. So I just stood, watching him.

He shrugged. "At first. I mean," The look in his eye seemed so lost while he remembered the day I had first brought Micheal to him. "He's my son. My son... After I saw how much he liked you, I kinda...I don't know. I started to like you. In comparison, Violet isn't anywhere near as important as he is, she's not supposed to be. That's one thing I couldn't stand about my mother, always focusing on her boy toys more than her own kids. And I want to be a good father. Good parents put their kids first."

After that, it was just an awkward silence.

"So, how often have you watched TV in the past twenty years?" I asked lightly, forcing a small chuckle, went to the TV and turned it on, flipping through the channels until I found adult swim just as it started. When I sat down, I made sure to sit on the opposite end of the couch.

He laughed too, "Not much."

"I guess only people like us can go from talking about murder, to watching this shit, huh?" I gestured towards the TV, where a commercial was playing for the 'Heart She Holler'.

"Uh...yeah." His face twisted in comical confusion and he looked at me, "What the hell are we watching?"

Okay, that brought an honest laugh out of me.

Yeah, I think this is about my standard chapter length now. So there's that with Tate and Cherie, I'm pretty sure that qualifies as friendship, or something. I dont know. Lol If you think the ending is a bit to cheezy or out of place, I apologize. It felt right when I wrote it, it still feels right to me personally, but I do realize how weird it seems. But I want to know what you think about it!

Thx! :)