tainted.

It took Tate a moment to gather what was happening, but soon enough, he was stepping towards her, wiping at the tears rolling mercilessly down his cheeks. He paused, only a step away, not wanting to force her into anything and potentially scare her away. This was like a game, and Tate knew all of the right moves to win. ❝ I’m sorry, ❞ he repeated once more, voice cracked and broken.

A wrecked sob escaped Tate’s lips. He didn’t want to be the reason Violet was dead - the reason she’d taken her own life. He didn’t care that the rest of the Harmon family was stuck there, but the fact that Violet was so unhappy and so alone broke his heart. ❝ I know. I know, and what I did was wrong and stupid and horrible. I wouldn’t be saying this if it wasn’t true. ❞

He would truly do anything; proving his regret was absolutely crucial to him at this point, so it was time to own up to it. Whatever it took to make Violet love him again. ❝ I killed seventeen people, including fifteen kids at Westfield High. I raped your mother. I - I did all of that before I even knew you! You changed me, Violet, I’m not that guy anymore. ❞

— ❝ Only for tonight? ❞ Hands entwining with the ones of Luc, Tate grinned at the boy in front of him. He wanted him to stay for longer, knew how horrible it would be to see him go the next day, but he couldn’t complain. ❝ Hey, maybe you can see some ghosts. ❞

After a moment, Tate’s facade cracked and he grinned at the woman. He didn’t care enough to scare people, unlike the rest of the dead residents of the Murder House. He shrugged, hands slipping in the pockets of ripped jeans. ❝ Nah, I’m just screwing with you. I’m Tate. ❞

Head bowing in remorse, tears began to well up in Tate’s eyes. Perhaps he had known all along that he was hurting people - and perhaps he hadn’t cared at the time. Even if that were the case, he felt regretful now. It had never mattered to him who he hurt before he met Violet, not once had he thought that he would meet somebody who would cause him to care, but here they were, and she had absolutely no problem hurting him. ❝ You’re not weak, Violet. But I - I love you. Don’t I get a chance to redeem myself? ❞

— ❝ You got any coke? ❞ Tate took a seat on his friend’s bed, dropping his bag down next to him. Pills and weed sounded great, but Tate was far more partial to cocaine. ❝ I brought something, too. ❞ With a grin, Tate pulled out two cans of spray paint; this had always been something they’d done when one of them was angry at the world, which was more often than either of them would have liked.

— ❝ I do get it, Violet, I do. ❞ Voice dripping with desperation, Tate took a pleading step towards the girl. He had never done well with rejection, and frankly, he’d never become accustomed to receiving it. ❝ I’m sorry. I love you. I know I’m a horrible person - you don’t have to forgive me, you just need to know that I’ve changed. Because of you. ❞

— ❝ Don’t you think it would piss mom off if we snuck out to go watch some? ❞

— ❝ No -- really? Are you fucking with me? ❞

— ❝ My mom found my stash and got pissed. Said she didn’t want to see me again for the rest of the night. ❞