Tate & Lindsay // The Aftermath
After doing hours of study for an upcoming exam, Tate Marshall had decided it was time to take a smoke break. Researching on a high had never failed him in the past, in fact it had at times improved his marks due to being so insightful. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Tate shoved a couple notepads into it and headed down the stairs. He was only half looking at where he was going; his concentration on rolling his joint. It was late, no one was around and even if someone said something Tate wouldn't care. Plus, he felt like showing off a skill he'd mastered in high school, something he called rolling while walking. It was all very impressive.
It was at that point someone bumped into him. Who else could be as aloof as Tate, to not even notice someone walking into them? Of course, Lindsay Bishop. She was the personification of entitlement, so it didn't come as a surprise to Tate that she'd have expected anyone to steer out of her way. He rolled his eyes in annoyance as she didn't even bat her eyes at him.
Outside the library, Tate pressed his back up against the wall. His tongue ran along the joint before he grabbed the lighter from his pocket. Once it was in his mouth and lit, he shut his eyes and took a drag. It was all so quiet and dark, just how Tate liked it. The silence was haunting in a beautiful kind of way and it made him feel his high that much quicker.
Tate's breath was cut short when a loud thump came out of no where. The sound of bones cracking was so familiar, he couldn't sworn someone had just attacked him. He jumped, dropping his joint and stepping his shoe over it. He hid behind the shadows, slowly creeping over to the nearby alley where the sound had come from. He saw someone laying motionless on the ground, but hidden from the parking lot light in the distance, leaving Tate unable to see who it was. Had they jumped? Had they been pushed?
In the next moment, Tate witnessed them move. They weren't dead. That kind of impact to the ground guaranteed death, Tate had heard the sound the body had made. But here they were, alive. Terrified and almost paralyzed by fear, every bone in Tate's body was telling him to run. But he didn't. For better or worse, he felt as if it was his duty to help them and ensure they were okay. Tate walked down the alley and headed closer toward the body but stayed at a safe distance. He took two steps back when he saw the mystery person stand up. That was when he ran. They were fine, Tate didn't need to involve himself with them - whoever it might have been. He didn't care to stick around and find out, he had enough of his own things going on. All that mattered was that they weren't dead. That was that.
But it didn't end there. Tate couldn't shake what he'd been partial to. Initially he charted it up to him being as high as a kite, but it was too real. He could still feel every inch of that moment. The next day, he wandered through the heart of the campus. He'd already skipped one lecture that day and had sidetracked all his studying. There was no way he'd be able to concentrate in this state of mind, that Tate was sure of.
At a nearby bench, Tate took a seat and scanned his eyes across the college landscape. Dozens of his peers walked by, laughing carelessly at one another with their books clutched to their chest. Even before last night, Tate would've never been a giggler or someone who clutched books. Trouble always seemed to follow him, as did death. He really should've been used to this. However, there was one person who didn't seem cheerful, not that she ever really did. Lindsay Bishop, a face he'd now seen two days in a row yet could've gone the rest of his life without laying his eyes on. Tate would've shrugged it off, until he noticed that she was walking straight over to him.
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