Tatum, the only daughter of Gale Weathers and Dewey Riley, couldn't wait to leave the horrors of Woodsboro behind and set out for New York City with her surviving friends.
Despite her hopes of starting anew, Tate soon finds herself face to face wit...
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TATUM LAY IN HER BED, STARING UP AT THE CEILING. She could feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her, but her mind refused to let her rest. Memories played on repeat in her mind, each one more gruesome than the last. She tried to push them away, to force herself to think of something else, anything else, but the images wouldn't budge.
She could hear the sound of her own breathing, slow and shallow. She knew she had to sleep, but it felt like an impossible task.
Over the past year, she had tried everything: counting sheep, drinking warm milk, taking sleeping pills. Nothing worked, not long term. The only thing that seemed to bring her any sort of relief was alcohol, but even that was temporary.
As she lay there, the gnarled scar on her back began to ache. She rubbed at it absentmindedly, hoping that the pain would fade away. But it only seemed to intensify. She wondered if it would ever go away, if she would ever be able to forget the feeling of a knife sinking into her flesh over and over again.
She knew she needed to talk to someone about her insomnia, her nightmares, her general state of unease. But she wasn't weak. She wasn't broken.
Tatum tossed and turned in her bed, unable to shake off the thoughts racing through her head. She felt like she was suffocating, like her mind was trapped in a never-ending cycle of pain and anxiety. She tried to close her eyes and focus on her breathing, but it was no use. The darkness only made her thoughts louder.
I am you, and you are me.
Her aunt was brutally murdered by someone she trusted.
You are me, I am you.
Her aunt was blonde, so Tate dyed her hair the darkest shade of black religiously.
Her dad always said she reminded him so much of Tatum. Sidney said the same thing, when Tate was 13 and still had her hair in its natural blonde and wore skirts.
We are one.
Her name wasn't hers. Her trauma wasn't hers. She was a ghost.
Tatum turned over on her side and squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to think of something else, anything else, but her mind kept going back to the same dark place. She thought about the bottle of whiskey she had hidden in her closet, about how easy it would be to take a few swigs and just pass out until morning. She thought about cutting or burning her skin just to feel something, anything.
Tatum let out a deep sigh and buried her face in her pillow. She wished she could just turn off her brain and fall asleep like a normal person. But she knew that wasn't going to happen. She was stuck in this endless nightmare, and she didn't know how to get out.
Tatum's phone buzzed with a new text message, and she instinctively knew who it was from even before she looked at the screen. Gale. She had been trying to reach Tatum non-stop ever since she moved to New York, but Tatum had been ignoring her calls and texts.
Part of her wanted to block Gale's number and be done with it, but another part of her enjoyed the feeling of making her mother hurt. She liked knowing that Gale was sitting on the other end of the phone, wondering why her daughter wouldn't talk to her. It was a small victory, but it was still a victory.
Tatum sighed and looked at the message. It was another guilt-trip, filled with phrases like "I miss you so much" and "I just want to hear your voice." Tatum rolled her eyes and tossed the phone aside. She didn't have time for this. She didn't need her mother's drama to ruin her night that was already pretty shitty.
As the minutes ticked by and the darkness outside her window began to lighten, she knew she couldn't keep going on like this. Something had to give.
Two knocks at her door followed by a second of silence and three more knocks tell her exactly who's outside.
"Tate, are you okay?" Chad asks, concern laced in his voice, walking inside her room like it's his own.
Tatum feels embarrassed. Back in Woodsboro, even though her dad's trailer was tiny, she usually kept her room clean and presentable. Here, everything is in disarray, and she can't help but feel like Chad is judging her for it. She wishes she could just disappear into the shadows and not have to face anyone.
As he sits down on the bed beside her, Tatum can't help but feel self-conscious. She wonders if he can see how much she's struggling, how much she's hurting. She doesn't want to burden him with her problems, but at the same time, she can't bring herself to push him away. She knows Chad feels some sort of obligation towards her after Wes died.
"I can't sleep," Tatum responds, her voice barely above a whisper.
Tatum tries to compose herself and put on a brave face, but she can feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She wants to be strong and independent, but sometimes it's just too hard. She's tired of fighting, tired of pretending everything is okay when it's not. She just wants to give up and disappear.
Chad takes her hand and rubs it gently. "Want to come to the party with me and our friends? It might help take your mind off things."
Tatum thinks about it for a moment. She wants to accept the invitation because then she can drink and get some pills without feeling like she's hiding it.
''What am I supposed to go dressed as, huh?'' She asked, voice raspy. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had some water. ''Washed-up murder victim?''
Just as if on cue, some guy sticks his head through the door and Tatum jumps.
She was surprised to see a tall, lanky guy with shaggy hair sticking his head in. He had a timid expression on his face and held out a cardboard knight hat towards her.
"Um, hi, sorry," he said softly, "I'm Ethan. Chad's roommate. Accidentally heard about your costume... thing. Sorry. New York apartments thin walls. "
Tatum sat up in bed and studied him for a moment. He seemed nice enough, but also a little bit awkward. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for him. After all, Chad had always been surrounded by popular, outgoing friends, and Ethan seemed like the odd one out.
"Hey," Tatum said, eyeing him up and down. "Thanks for this. It's...unique."
Ethan's face lit up a little at the small compliment. Tatum couldn't help but notice how sweet and innocent he seemed. It was almost like he was trying too hard to be a good person.
As Ethan backed out of the room, Tatum couldn't help but wonder what his deal was. She had a feeling that there was more to him than met the eye. .
"Come on, Tatum," Chad urges. "It'll be fun. You don't even need a full costume. Just wear something black and come as a ninja or something."
Tatum hesitates for a moment before finally giving in. She needs to get out of her head for a little while and some drinks might help.
"Okay," she agrees, sitting up in bed. "I'll go."
Not in a ninja costume, though. She accepts the hat Ethan is offering her wholeheartedly.
