‷ where is my MIND?

ᶠᵒʳ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ 🎱 ⁱ ʳᵉᶜᵉⁱᵛᵉ, ⁱ’ˡˡ ᵈʳᵒᵖ ᵃ ʳᵃⁿᵈᵒᵐ ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿ ⁽ᵃᶜᶜᵉᵖᵗⁱⁿᵍ⁾

ᶠᵒʳ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ 🎱 ⁱ ʳᵉᶜᵉⁱᵛᵉ, ⁱ’ˡˡ ᵈʳᵒᵖ ᵃ ʳᵃⁿᵈᵒᵐ ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿ ⁽ᵃᶜᶜᵉᵖᵗⁱⁿᵍ⁾

Trust. Trust was such a powerful word in this day and age. It was honestly hard to think of any other scenario for this place, other than it being incredibly left field. This wasn’t like him at all. Secret club houses? “What are you, five?” Violet teased him and gave his hand an equally firm squeeze. “You could have at least made a tree house. I’m disappointed in you, Tate.” It was all sarcasm and playfulness of course. Her Converse sneakers had nearly fallen over a loose tree root in the foliage, but he had a good enough grip on her that she didn’t tumble to the ground or trip.

Watch your step. No shit. The first thing the blonde noticed, was the candles lit every which way. It was extremely romantic. A little cliche, but still hit home in the ways of her heart. “You built this?” Her hazel gaze took inspection of the wide and strong lumber, all the way to the perfectly installed screws. That was until something caught her eye in the dim lighting  And just like that, her hope fizzled out like a wet candle. There were a few cans, perhaps veggie cans or soup cans–with bullet holes in them. Why on earth would a teenage boy have a secret clubhouse and something that he used for target practice?

So peculiar. Her lips pulled up into a smile, still slightly irked by the cans that stayed off to the side. “It’s really nice.” Honesty was in her eyes as well as adoration. “You did all this for me?” Violet smirked, glad she had left the rose in the car. The last thing she needed was to drop it along the way or mess it up. As soon as the girl would get home, she would put that in water. Not sure how long it would last though.

Slowly, but surely, the teen was putting the pieces together. They both hated everyone at school mutually. But he had been more quiet lately, almost calculating before she got there. He seemed to be talking to himself a lot, before Violet approached him at Westfield. Tate would always look tired too, blank. As if he couldn’t feel any pain or remorse, he was just a blank slate. Numb.

Still, the equal hate of their school and gun training practice…she was finally starting to figure it out. Her first instinct was to call the police, but Constance probably was too broke to bail him out. In her heart, Vi knew that she had to get into his house soon, just to check his things. Sadly, the girl was the worst liar in the world; and Tate could see right through her. “This isn’t about candles or hand built club houses.” Her tone was concerned, but firm. “What you’re thinking of doing, is going to get you killed. I watch the news. It always comes down to two options, killing yourself or go out fighting.” There were tears in her eyes. She turned his chin to face her, holding the soft warmth of his cheek with the opposite.

“Don’t ever leave me, Tate Langdon. I don’t care what vendetta you have, fuck them. Stay with me.”

                                        ―― and just like THAT, the magic of the moment he’s worked so hard to craft is broken. with the touch of her hands guiding his gaze, her skin ever so slightly COLD against the flush that’s working its way up his cheeks, he locks eyes with her in a seriousness he hadn’t anticipated jarring the levity of their evening out. she doesn’t KNOW, has no proof. it’s too much of a stretch that she’s figured it out, not matter how smart he knows his counterpart to be. there’s nothing here that screams ‘i’m buidling pipe bombs!’, nothing she can truly use to SHOW any tangible evidence against him, but his heart is beating out of control with the sudden realization that letting ANYONE into his world ― even the girl he loves ―  may have been a grave and SERIOUS error.

                                ❝ what the hell are you TALKING about, vi? i’m not leaving you. jesus, this is supposed to be our first date  ― like, y’know, our first REAL one, anyway. why would i leave you? ❞

A smirk plays against her lips,hand running through her mess of blonde curls,she looks up at her best friend,“But you do them so well,Tate.’‘She says with a small laugh,giving him a playful nudge against his arm,smirking. She watches him as he rolls up the joint,licking her lips,antsy already to take a hit. She has zero self control when it came to smoking pot. She’s glad she didn’t join any sports,the teams at Westfield were super strict about what the players could and couldn’t do,and pot was one of the things on the can’t do list. ’'Sucks you joined the track team. But you’re the best fuckin’ runner we’ve got.’'She looks up at him and gives him a smirk.

SHE   FEELS   JUST   A   TAD   GUILTY.       she’s  interrupting  his  afterlife,  or  whatever  he  has  of  one,   on  a  silly  notion  that  she  could  try  to  find  the  woman  that  gave  her  life.  she  worries  her  bottom  lip  when  he  affirms  he  is,   in  fact,   tate  langdon,   and  stiffens  when  THE  VOICES  say  it’s  true.   she  takes  a  deep,   deep  breath  before  opening  her  mouth,   but  not  quite  brave  enough  to  look  him  in  the  eyes:

“the  lady  that  carried  me  in  her  tummy  knew  you.   i  don’t  know  how,  just  that  she  did.  i  don’t  know  if  she’s  alive,  or…like  you,”     the  little  girl  makes  herself  smaller  in  the  chair.   for  someone  that  boasts  about  being  fearless,   this  is  the  bravest  thing  she’s  ever  done.      “i,  i  think  her  name  was  flower  hardon  ??   flower  hayman  ??  harmon  ??   if  you  know  her,  if  she’s  with  you,   can  you  tell  her  thank  you  for  giving  me  up  ??   for  giving  me  my  mommy  ??   i  promise  not  to  bother  you  ever  again.”

that’s  all  she  wants—she  just  wants  to  thank  her.  she  just  hopes  the  voices  are  right  about  him.

blood runs like ICE in his veins at the mention of her name. there has to be a MISTAKE, something he’s missing. or it’s all a goddamned joke. he is torn between the urge to grab the child by the shoulders and SHOUT in her face, demand to know what she’s prattling on about, and the desire to RUN as far and as fast as possible from whatever it is she is about to make a part of his world. oh, beautiful cognitive dissonance ―  he knows he won’t be holding onto it much longer.

His concern for her touched her deeper than he probably realized. She’d never had someone who truly looked out for her like that. It felt so foreign… but pleasantly so. She shrugged at his question, eyes looking off to the side. “Three days. I’ve gone a lot longer.” She said it as if being starved was the most normal thing in the world, because for her, it was. She’d been able to eat at school, even if the free lunches were often expired, it had been something. Now things were much worse again, like they’d been when she was a toddler. She was completely at her mother’s mercy, and there was little to be done about it. “It’ll be okay. Mama wouldn’t kill me… she loves me, just not in a healthy way.”

                 ❝ BULLSHIT she does. ❞

He doesn’t exactly intend to spit the curse rather than say it to the fragile girl, but it HAPPENS. a sigh of frustration passes his lips as he tries a DIFFERENT approach, one that will hopefully be a touch less frightening for the girl and coax her into just taking the goddamned apple. he has no doubt that the old broad WILL kill carrie, one day. today is just another day he can try to change that course of action.

“no,” he breathed through clenched teeth. “you’ll just run away again, like you always do. how do i know when i let you go that you’ll talk to me?” tate was treading a fine line here. michael had already shown how poorly he handled his emotional reactions, how he was ready to burn up anyone who he mildly didn’t like. how long could tate avoid him before michael grew into the impression that he’d never get the satisfaction he craved out of their talk and did away with him out of sheer spite alone?

“promise me on something important that you won’t run.” he needed this, and he wasn’t going to back down, not today.

―――― he’s more than EARNED the distrust, no doubt about that, but it seems so superfluous from one who could quite literally ANNIHILATE his soul where he stood if the mood so strikes him.  not that tate is fully aware of the scope of his powers  ―  only that michael is capable of some BAD SHIT, spooky shit, should he moved to a comparable level of anger. as frequently as he’s pulled his disappearing act in the past with his wayward spawn, he’s smart enough to know it is in his BEST interest not to piss michael off, tonight. hands up in a DEFENSIVE position, he sighs in resignation.

                  ❝ i swear. on ― shit, i don’t KNOW. on violet? that good enough for you?❞