Violet P.O.V
It's been three years since I told Tate to go away, since I told him to leave me alone forever.
Forever. That's one hell of a word, you know? People use it all the fucking time.
"I haven't seen you in forever."
"I haven't been there in forever."
"I'll wait forever."
And it doesn't mean shit until you literally have forever in front of you. I guess we could escape one day, all of us. Some religious freaks move in and purge us towards...whatever's next. It could happen. But, I doubt it will. No one has even tried to buy the house, no one has even come to see it. Which is great, because it's ours. We shouldn't have to share it.
I'm perched on my bed, smoking a cigarette, listening to the same Nirvana record. And I can feel him, looking at me, watching me. How can you love someone who raped your mother, killed her? Killed a lot of people, actually. How can I possibly love someone like that?
I don't know, but I do.
It's lonely in this house, man. It's dark and it's cold and it's fucking lonely. Tate was the only friend I had, and now we're reduced to watching each other in secret. My mother wants me to forgive him, my dad is too busy fucking Hayden. Even in death my parents hate each other. That's fine, because I hate them.
I sigh. I'm not one to forgive easily. I nurse grudges like people nurse wounds. I think it's a pride thing, really. Tate hurt me. No, Tate broke me. That's what's the most unforgivable. Being broken.
"If you love someone, you should never hurt them. Never."
"Acgh!" I scream. I throw the cigarette across the room. I could still hear his voice, smell him. It tortured me.
"Fuck it! I give up. Tate, come out come out, wherever you are."
He appears almost instantly at the end of my bed. His dark eyes are wary, his posture defensive. But, my God, his voice is soothing.
"Hey, Vi." He starts picking at the stitch on the bottom of his sweater, a nervous habit of his. I make him nervous.
"Hey." I murmured. "Will you come sit with me?" He nods, shaking his shaggy blonde hair around. He sits on the bed, feet against the floor. We sit like this for a moment, both of us unsure of what to do next.
"My chest feels hollow, Violet." His voice cracks, but he doesn't look at me. Just picks at his sweater and stares at the ground. "I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you. Years I've been stuck in this goddamn house. Fucking years."
His eyes find mine, they are dark and lined with red, and small tears are starting to race down his cheeks. "I have never felt so dead."
He reaches out for me and I don't, can't, duck away. His thumb, rough and cold, traces my cheek. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry." I can only nod. I lean into his familiarity, resting my head against his chest. He lays back, gathering me to him and nuzzling his face in my hair. We're both crying softly and silently.
"I love you, Tate." I whisper. I feel him breath in, as if he hasn't taken air in years.
