"You promised."
Violet raised her eyes to look in the mirror, and he was there, standing in the doorway. Just like the first time. She dropped the razor blade in the sink.
"You promised me that you would never cut yourself again."
"It's not like it does anything. I'm already dead, so why does it matter." She could barely speak. It took everything she had not to run over to Tate, hug him, and tell him she loves him.
"It doesn't matter, Violet." He started to take a step towards her, but then he stopped. "I don't like seeing you hurt yourself."
"Then leave." She turned away from the mirror so he couldn't see the new tears falling. She didn't know how much longer she could stay away from him.
"I did, Violet! I left when you told me to because I love you! And it kills me every day knowing that you're here, but I can't touch you or talk to you. I stay away because that's what you want, but I'm not going to let you hurt yourself. Because I promised you I would never let anything hurt you." His voice broke at the end and she knew he was crying too. Violet turned around to face him.
"Tate . . . You hurt me." It broke her heart—broke it even more—to see him crying.
"Violet, I'm sorry!"
"Go away, Tate," she whispered and he disappeared. Now that he was gone, she finally let herself break down. She slumped down against the wall and leaned her head back. Why did you do that! Her heart screamed. Sobs wracked her body and she reached a hand up to the sink, fumbling to get a grip on the razorblade. When she did, she sliced it across her wrists repeatedly. The old wound had already healed, leaving a scar that would soon fade. Blood was flowing freely onto her clothes and down to the floor.
"If you're trying to kill yourself you cut vertically," he had said what seemed like a lifetime ago. So she did, not that it would matter. She couldn't kill herself—she was already dead. But that didn't stop her from slashing the blade along the underside of her forearm on first her left arm, then her right.
That's how Vivien found Violet. Gashes in her arms, sitting in a puddle of her own blood, crying her eyes out.
"Don't you ever get tired of this?"
"Tired of what?" Tate asked Hayden. He was sitting on the basement floor, rolling the ball to Beau, and Hayden was standing on the stairs.
"Tired of her rejecting you. Tired of moping around. You do have needs don't you? You are a guy after all." She walked over to him and ran her hand down his arm. "I can help you with those needs."
"Get off of me, Hayden." He shook her hand off his shoulder. "I told you I would wait forever if I had to; I wasn't lying. I will wait as long as it takes."