The attic felt colder than normal to Tate, knowing this ongoing decision to be alone was lonelier now that it was self inflicted. Everything seemed harder now after having spoken to her. Before, Tate had been able to believe in a million possibilities. His mind could wander and fantasies beautiful situations in where Violet believed his every word; where she knew he’d changed at that his love was pure and embraced him once more with open arms.
At the same time, he envisioned her complete rejection of him. The ending where Violet looked straight through him, refused his existence with simple “I hate you’s.” and “Go Away”. These scenarios hurt, but at least they were definite. Alll his fantasies were like that; black or white. Perfect or Horrible. Because at least that way, you knew where you stood.
Tate knew Violet wasn’t like that. She wasn’t an easy girl and she most certainly wasn’t black or white. She had layers and he’d be a fool to think he could predict her reactions. Still he’d tried, in vain. And reality had been crueler than he’d expected.
Complicated, that was the best word for it. She loved him, which should have been enough hope for him; should have been the green to go ahead and hold her and pretend it was all ok. But she hated him too, she’d said so herself. That hurt more. She hated him and she was in pain. How was he supposed to fix that?
He took to watching her now, silently creeping from the basement to be invisibile beside her. She didn’t want to see him, and he hoped this wasn’t a breech in contract. But he needed to see her. He needed some sort of affirmation that she was ok. He needed to know what to do to try and fix this.
Liar. That nasty voice in his mind called. You just want hope.
She’d finally seen him. After months of a scratching desire from the inside of her heart telling her to talk to him, she finally did. Violet thought that she would be overjoyed. She’d pictured herself running into his arms as he spoke to her, kissing him and crying outI miss you. But when she actually saw him, it was different.
All the reminders of the past boiled to the surface when Violet saw his face. His face that cried as he spoke brought her flashbacks of their screaming encounter the night her mother had passed because of him. It was tough to forgive him even though that’s all she wanted to do with her life. Well, afterlife. No matter what, Tate would always be a horrible monster in her eyes. After all the people he’d killed and lives that he had ruined, it would be hard for anyone to just drop what had happened and ignore it.
Though at the same time Violet tried to ignore it. She had to if she ever wanted to speak to him again the way she used to. Tate loved her the same way she had loved him. It was special to Violet, the way that they were fascinated with each other. She’d never seen it before.
The air around Violet felt the air surrounding her shift as she stood against the hard floor and pondered the thoughts that pooled in her brain like a puddle after a cold rain. It was obvious that Tate was suddenly standing beside her in the empty room. Speak of the devil, Violet thought as she silently laughed to herself while turning around.
“Uh, hey Tate…”
