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Violet trudged off to the auditorium as the bell rang sitting in the back row a After about 16 minutes of listening to bullshit Violet snuck out going out back to the parking lot. As she lit her cigerate she heard footsteps. She quickly threw it on the ground smothering it.Â
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{+} — but-violet
Violet and Tate were “high school” sweat hearts. They were both misunderstood depressed kids, who became friends then started dating. They are now 21 and very much in love. they live in a small house in California, but they aren't married or aren't engaged; that made violet mad and sad. That made her think she didn’t love her as much as she though he did but she let it be. Violet didn’t really cut anymore, but sometimes when she felt down or sad and Tate wasn’t there to comfort her, she did.
Today was Monday and violet was sitting on the toilet, peeing on a small white stick. Her hand shaking and her breath hitching in her throat. Was she exited or scare? She didn’t know. She was conflicted. Probably scared. She wasn’t ready for this— if she happens to be pregnant.
She finished and flipped the test over and left it on the counter. The peddle sighed, her hands were shaking more and more. It was just a waiting game now. “Tate? Tate.. Um.. you can come in” she said, as she pulled up her leggings.
Fuck! I have to write a starter..
God damn shit. God damn shit. Gosh damn shit, sit damn. God damn.
I HAVEN’T DONE THIS IS FOREVER HALP.
+ but-violet
The young, complaining, angsty ghost had her ass sat down on one of the stairs in front of the frontdoor of the grief famous Murder House, a cigarette in between her fingers and her thumb tapping the next- button in her iPod over and over again. She had over 400 songs in her iPod, yet she only listened to like fifty of them, but she never wanted to delete them, in case she would someday be in the mood of one of the other songs she didn't usually listen to. Currently she had a song from Coldplay playing to her ears.
Her afterlife was boring. It was nothing but boring. Her parents never spoke a word to her, all they did was hang around their new little baby, and it was like they couldn't give two fucks about Violet anymore. She had only been talking with Moira, and not that much with her either. Only few words a little now and then, like "Well, how have you been?", "I have been okay. What about you?" — and then, that's it.
The last time she spoke to Tate was five years ago. As much as she hated him, she did miss him; but there was no way in hell she would ever tell that to him. He was a psychopath, and the worst kind, like her father had said. Charismatic, compelling and a pathological liar. He was fucked up. And she hated the fact that she had been stupid enough to let herself fall in love with him.
