Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3627588.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      American_Horror_Story, American_Horror_Story:_Murder_House
  Relationship:
      Violet_Harmon/Tate_Langdon
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Gun_Violence, Blood, Public_Sex,
      Fingerfucking, Vaginal_Fingering, Oral_Sex, Nipple_Play, Rough_Sex,
      unprotected_sex, Drama_&_Romance, School_Shootings, Loss_of_Virginity,
      Squirting
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-27 Words: 5689
****** Us and Them ******
by Decayedwhirrs
Summary
     High school AU where Violet is present during Tate's school shooting.
Notes
     Please don't repost anywhere! School events take place in '94,
     "present day" events are in '99.
Nothing was supposed to be weird that morning. But then again, doesn't every
unforgettable day start off that way?
He had warned me not to come to school. We had stayed up all night talking on
the phone, my fingers curling around the land-line cord, a sappy grin on my
face as I listened to the soft, sweet tone of his voice. But as the
conversation came to a close, his tone changed, becoming something sterile and
cold. "Just stay away," he warned. "I'm thinking of you." But how could I tell
my parents that he, the "crazy boy," the one that drew terrified stares and
harsh whispers from the neighbors, told me to cut class for no reason? How much
trouble could I get in if they found out that the "bad boy," the "wrong boy"
was my boyfriend? My dad would freak out if he knew that I wanted to listen to
anything that boy had to say.
So I stayed silent, broke my promise, and went to school.
I didn't know why I was so surprised that I didn't see him in my first few
classes. But I missed his company, so I started filling in the blanks myself
with lighthearted possibilities: maybe he had an appointment. Maybe he wanted
to skip the day together and surprise me. Maybe he would be there waiting for
me when I got home. That thought made me smile. He had snuck into my house
before, creeping through the kitchen door, past my father's office, up the
stairs where we would talk, cuddle, kiss for hours. One time, my mother knocked
on the door, and he hid under my bed, tickling the backs of my legs, trying to
blow our cover.
It was supposed to be a day like that. But things never go quite the way you
want them to.
I was doodling his name in my notebook, lost in my fantasy world. Maybe later
we would play board games, or cards. Maybe we'd share halves of a sandwich and
pretend to study. Maybe he would fill me up with his fingers, the blanket
pulled up over our heads as he smiled down at me. Maybe it would even be the
day, when we'd finally go all the way. I tried to contain the dopey grin on my
face, not wanting the other students to see. I had my special guy, and our
special relationship, and I was ready. Maybe he was preparing, buying condoms
and stealing a bottle of champagne from his mother's fridge.
BANG!
Everyone jumped. I was snapped out of my dreamworld, to see the teacher slumped
to the floor, a bright smear of blood and brain matter plastered over the
blackboard where her head hand been moments before. Horror gripped everyone,
the echo from the gunshot ringing in our ears. A girl in the corner of the room
screamed. His boots stepped over the tiled floor, slowly, his black coat
swishing around his calves, flaring dramatically as he turned, two massive
black guns pointed at us.
That's when my heart dropped into my stomach, a cold sweat breaking over my
flesh, which had gone deathly pale. I brought my hands to my mouth, but before
I could stop myself, the words were coming in a weak gasp past my lips: "Oh
Tate, no!"
--
People are all the same. At least, that's what I always thought. There's only
been one time in my life where I've been wrong about that, and that time was
Violet Harmon. Of course, I didn't give her the benefit of the doubt or
anything. She had to prove it, just like everybody else. But she was the only
one, that small, bright girl with an infectiously kind smile and sunny face,
she was the only person in the world to past my test.
I didn't expect it, any more than you probably would. I was the most surprised
of all. It started the way you could imagine, though. We were paired together
for a science project. "What does this pretty bitch know about science?" I
scoffed to myself. "What does she, with her hipster clothes and light hair,
know about anything?" Turns out, she knew a lot about science--what a pathetic
reason I had to doubt her. And eventually, she would know a lot about me.
A lot, but not everything.
Anyway, we started talking. Turns out she was funny. And cute. And she
understood me. In fact, I was stunned by how much we simply got each other.
Turns out the pretty girl in the flower dresses cuts herself too. And smokes
cigarettes like they're air. So naturally, I got with her.
I was shocked the first time she let me kiss her to tell you the truth. I
thought she'd push me away, be repulsed by me. "No Tate, I don't like you like
THAT." But instead, she simply closed her eyes, her pink lips soft and doll-
like, and let me kiss her. When I pulled away, she was smiling at me. That's
it. Just a mysterious, slightly giddy smile.
So we kept hanging out, and kissing, and soon talking between classes and after
school "study sessions" turned into smoke breaks after lunch and skipping class
to hook up in the bathrooms. I remember the first time she let me taste her.
She wore pink cotton panties--maybe she was playing up the good girl thing for
me. Maybe it was because she was a virgin. Maybe it was because I wanted to
believe it. But when I leaned down to lick her wet hole, her legs wrapped over
my shoulders, her arms reaching for balance on those dirty, grey bathroom stall
walls, it was the sweetest, most pure thing I had ever tasted.
I loved her. She loved me. But it wasn't enough. Not for this filthy, rotten
world.
I tried to protect her, I really did. I told her not to come to school that
day. I said she should just stay home, stay away, go some other time. I didn't
want her to see what I was capable of, who I really was. I didn't want to look
into her face and see disappointment. But at 11:30 am, that's exactly what
happened.
I told everyone to get against the back wall. And with the kind of guns I had,
you don't argue with those. Almost everyone just got up and shuffled back
there. That's what made me notice her, like always--she was doing something
differently. She just sat there, staring at me, shaking her head slowly from
side to side like a disappointed mother. It caught me off guard, you know? I
almost lost my cool for a minute. And you can't do that in my kind of
situation. You have to let people know who's in control. You can't let them see
you sweat.
So in the sturdiest voice I could muster, I looked her dead in the eye and said
"I thought I told you to stay home today."
--
I got up slowly, my palms planted firmly on my desk for balance, never taking
my eyes off of him. I could feel everyone behind me, watching us, staring down
his guns. What was gonna happen? I couldn't predict it any more than they
could. Not in the way they wanted me to. I wasn't worried about them, or even
me. All I could think about was Tate. Didn't he know what this meant? What
would happen to him? I could feel my face screwing up. But I wasn't gonna cry,
not in front of him.
He moved slowly, his eyes posed on the mob behind us, cold and hard like a
viper's, as he set one of his shotguns on the teacher's desk behind him. The
other was pointed firmly at the crowd in the back. With his free hand, he waved
me over. I didn't hold back; as cheesy as it was, I ran for him, threw my arms
around him so tightly he stumbled off balance. "I'm sorry," I said into his
shoulder, still choking back tears. "I know I said... my dad... he wouldn't...
oh Tate," I pressed my face into his chest, squeezed him close to me. This was
too much. What he had started... there was no going back now.
He stroked my hair with his palm soothingly as I blathered into his chest, his
body swaying gently back and forth, rocking me as if I were a child. But it
worked, and I felt calmer just being touched so kindly by him. After a moment,
he cupped my face, and I looked up at him. I knew there was a glossy fear in my
eyes. Not a fear of him, but FOR him. "Violet, listen to me. Go home right
now," he asked. His voice had softened to a sweet suggestion, not an aggressive
command like the one he gave the other students. I shook my head wildly from
side to side, my hair shaking around my shoulders. I tried to control my
features, make them expressionless, the way he so easily did. But my brows were
knitted and I could feel my lower lip sticking out. Tears were stinging my
eyes, and I could feel the heat in my face, surely making it red and blotchy.
"I can't," I protested. "I'm not gonna leave you now."
"Violet..." he started.
"No, Tate!" I screamed. "You kept this whole thing from me and you expect me to
walk out on you now?! No fucking way." I grabbed his free hand in mine, my
knuckles turning white; I felt like I was squeezing it for dear life. "We go
down together."
I still remember the warm glow in his eyes, the way he weakly smiled at me
before kissing me on the forehead. "Alright. You can leave at any time, I won't
be mad. I never meant for you to see this," he said. But I shook my head. I
didn't care. I knew what was coming, and all I could think was how to stop it.
What did it matter to me what he put in motion? We had talked about it loads of
times: these people were rotten, nasty, foul. They would stab each other in the
back the second it benefited them. Tate was brave--or stupid--enough to do them
all, and this world, a favor, knowing damn well what the end would be for him.
I just couldn't believe he expected me to sit idly by as if I'd be ok with
letting it happen to him.
I pushed some random items--cup full of pens, folders with coursework, etc,
back on the teacher's desk, clearing a space for me to sit on. Tate moved his
gun off the desk and propped it up against the desk, pointing the original at
the crowd. I sat down and faced the students, and realized in that moment how I
must've looked to them: the strange, quiet girl playing Bonnie to the misfit
psycho's Clyde. But wasn't that sort of what I'd told him? It was us and them
now. We all knew it.
He took a step towards them, both hands on the shotgun. "Everybody put your
hands up!" They did, twenty-some pairs of hands raised up, as if worshiping
Tate as a deity. "Nobody move!" I observed them, their odd obedience, my hands
folded dully in my lap. The girl who was screaming earlier was now sobbing
uncontrollably. "I want to go home," she sniffled. "Shut up" Tate snapped at
her. "Please, I've never done anything to you! I want to see my mother, ple-ee-
ease!" She said between sobs. I felt my face twist in disgust. She was
sniveling on the floor, getting dirt on her knees, crying and trying to bargain
with a loaded gun. In that moment, they were the ones that seemed infinitely
weird to me.
I could only imagine how I looked to them, hands folded neatly, legs crossed
ladylike at the ankle, watching peacefully, not speaking, not screaming, not
helping.
The girl, I think her name was Stephanie, kept talking--shrieking, really--
until Tate walked right up to her, jammed the barrel of the gun into her
blathering mouth, and pulled the trigger. I clapped my hands over my ears,
wincing at the sharp sound. Blood splattered onto Tate's face. An African
American boy who had been sitting near her shrieked in hysteria, her blood
blinding his right eye. Bits of skull and brain matter were sprinkled in the
students' laps, on their faces. For a minute, chaos ensued--everyone screaming
and crying, just as Stephanie had done up until her death. But Tate wasn't
having it. He fired another round into the ceiling, silencing everyone
instantly. "Everyone just calm the fuck down!" He commanded, his hand up, palm
flat like a fortune teller, barrel of the gun sticking straight up in the air.
He proceeded to eye them like a starved wolf in a butcher shop, walking slowly
up and down the row of terrified students, his boots click-clicking on the
tile.
He turned and cleared the room, standing next to me, his arm wrapped around my
shoulders. "Who should I pick next, Vi?" He said brightly, like a game show
host. I blushed, chuckling at him, tucking my hair behind my ear. He was still
my funny guy. I could see them looking at me, some of their faces contorted in
disgust. I shrugged. It was nearly midday, the sun streaming through the
windows. I watched how the sunlight caught his blonde hair, warmed up his pale
skin, just like it did that very first day we connected in science class. He
had a window seat, the sun illuminated those strands in such an enchanting way
that I blurted out "you have really pretty hair." I thought he would grunt at
me, but he didn't. He actually smiled--and my God, what a radiant smile--and
thanked me. I had a feeling right then that he wasn't like other boys, that
Tate would never be a person you could pin down.
That memory made me feel nostalgic, and I wrapped a finger around one of those
pretty blonde curls. He turned to look at me, and smiled. He melted my heart
with that smile, the way he always did. What I did next was really, really
stupid. I slowly licked the side of his face, lapping up some of Stephanie's
blood. He gave me a coy smirk, lifting an eyebrow at me knowingly, flirting
with me. There was no holding back after that. I wanted more.
I kissed him. Right there in front of everybody, gun in his hand, another at
his side ( a third in his coat). I didn't care about any of that. All I wanted
was to spend the day with him, just like I had imagined at the beginning of
class, before this nightmare was set in motion. And if I had to do it like
this, in the thick of the mess he started, then I was going to do it. He knew
it, I knew it--it was our last chance.
I still remember how soft his lips felt, pink and plush and oh so delectable,
the kind you wanted to kiss again and again. I had grabbed him by the face, the
warm blood streaking my palms, the ends of his soft, silky hair tickling my
fingertips. For a second, I pulled away. He was looking at me like I was crazy,
like I was the one who brought a gun to school. But it didn't matter. My mouth
was on his again, hungry and needy, lips parted, licking tongues, my hand
grabbing the hair at the back of his head in a fist. "Mmm, Tate" I whimpered
biting his bottom lip with my teeth. "Violet," he breathed between kisses.
"Everyone can see us."
"I don't care," I snapped, tossing my hair over my shoulder. And it was true. I
had never been one to play voyeur--Tate and I were always sneaking around,
hiding from our parents, our teachers, anyone who might catch us. But this
time, urgency came first... and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't kind of hot,
having twenty-odd pairs of eyes on us. I spread my legs and pulled him close to
me by the belt, our lips glued together, my tongue squirming in his mouth. I
tugged at his belt buckle with one hand, greedily sliding the other over his
growing bulge.
Tate moaned in my mouth, before grabbing me by the hair. "Well, if that's how
you want it..." he growled in my ear, yanking my dress down, exposing my bare
tits to everybody. I moaned softly in delight. I shouldn't have, I should've
felt more shame, the urge to hide, to make it all go away. But this was my
moment, with the boy I loved. An audience wasn't going to take it from me. I
tugged gently on the hair on the back of his head as he started trailing soft
kisses slowly down my chest. "Mmm, Violet" he moaned, kissing up the underside
of my right breast. "You have the cutest perky little tits." He roughly grabbed
my left one as he spoke, squeezing it as he slowly licked my nipple, looking up
at me with false innocence in his dark, round eyes. He moaned again, flicking
his tongue over my nipple, his fingertips manipulating the perky flesh of the
other one. He wrapped his beautiful babydoll lips around it, sucking as if he
were being breastfed, before scraping my nipple with his teeth. I felt my knees
shake. "Tate," I whimpered, curling my fingers around my lip. I rolled my head
back and moaned, trembling as he played with me.
Some of the hostages were leaning close to one another, whispering. Their
contempt for me was written on their faces and, since Tate had his back turned,
they were making no effort to hide it. But he could hear, and he visibly wasn't
happy about all the noise. He straightened up, grabbed his shotgun, turned on
his heel while pumping it, and fired. I don't think he was even aiming, because
he hit a boy in the shoulder. The boy's scream split the air, and then it was
silent. "Shut the fuck up!" Tate yelled at them, staring at them with wild fury
in his eyes. "No one leaves this room 'til I'm done with her!" I blushed a
little at the mention of me, shifting awkwardly. I didn't like all their
accusatory, resentful eyes on me at that moment. "So don't get any big ideas,"
he finished. "I don't want to hear another sound from any of you." I swear to
God, you could hear a pin drop in there. I noticed the boy Tate shot squeezing
his bleeding shoulder, agony on his red face, yet he was biting his lip hard,
determined not to cry out in pain.
He propped the gun back against the desk and, seemingly fueled by his rage
towards the disrespectful students, grabbed me roughly by the ankles, propping
them on his shoulders, knocking me flat on my back. He hooked his fingers
around my panties and yanked them down, ripping them in half to get them off,
and tossing the scrapped fabric onto the floor with a flick of his wrist. He
glanced up at me, that wild light in his eyes still burning as he kneeled down
onto the floor, pushing my legs open wide by the thighs, and kissed between my
lips. I gasped and arched my back, cold shivers running up my spine. His mouth
was hot against my wet, innocent skin, sending electric pulses shaking through
my insides. My breathing quickened into needy panting; that and his tongue
slurping my hole were the only sounds. He traced his tongue around my entrance,
slowly and leisurely, before dipping in to taste my insides. He moaned as he
licked me, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head slowly to symbolize that
he loved it. He spread his tongue flat and licked from the bottom to the top,
flicking the tip of his tongue over my aching clit, just as he had done with my
nipple earlier. I gasped again, my muscles tight, body shaking. Every single
nerve in my skin was hypercharged, every little move he made was an overload of
intense, passionate stimulation. I couldn't even think. I was just focused on
the feeling of him licking me with his filthy tongue, the same one he used to
talk back snarky to his mother, the same one he used to threaten those
students' lives. As he flicked his tongue over me, he slid a finger over my
entrance, teasing me before pushing two in. I bucked my hips as he did--it was
extra feeling, extra pleasure. I could feel him spread his fingers apart,
pushing me open. When he felt I was wide enough, he slipped in a third, and
finger-fucked me. He didn't just lazily push his fingers back and forth, he
hammered them into me, pumping furiously from the elbow. He kissed my clit and
snickered, looking up at me. "I want to make sure you can take it," he growled,
before taking my clit between his lips and sucking on it. He held my leg up by
the back of the thigh with his free hand, digging his nails possessively into
my flesh. I bit my lip and looked down at him as he worked over me. Every
muscle in my body was strained, tense. There was so much pressure building up
in me. "Tate..." I whined. He was too skilled, it was beginning to be too much.
"Cum for me, Violet," he demanded, rubbing his thumb over my clit as he spoke.
"Cum in front of everybody you naughty girl. Right now!" He sucked me extra
hard, his fingers pounding into me, looking up at me with that bad boy look in
his eyes. What else could I do? "T-Tate..." I panted, like a warning. He
laughed at me, that naughty, smug laugh he did only when we were intimate, the
one that said "I've got you." I screamed, my fingers clawed on the desk, that
pressure releasing into shocking pulses from my hips to my chest. And--I was
humiliated, but--I felt the liquid of my pleasure squirting out of me.
I sat up, still panting, my hands over my mouth as if I had just seen something
horrific. "I'm so sorry," I started. "That usually only happens when I'm alone,
I..." But he was laughing. I felt him wiggle his fingers inside of me before
slowly pulling them out, making a squelching sound from all the wetness. He
held up his glazed fingers, the extra, clear fluid dripping down his wrist.
"Did you just squirt for me, Violet?" He asked, sucking the liquid off his
fingers. I blushed bright red. "I, um--" I was quiet as a mouse. He snickered
again. "You did didn't you? You filthy girl," he said with a smile, wiping the
liquid on my thigh as he kissed me. His lips were sweet and damp. "You really
are a naughty little girl, Violet," he said, yanking on his belt buckle and
zipper. "I'm glad you're not mad," I said, smiling, brushing my hair off of my
face. "Mad?" he asked. "Why would I be mad, knowing I made you that wet?" he
said, climbing on top of me, jerking himself. "After all, no other boy has made
you wet before, have they?" he purred in my ear, nibbling on my earlobe as he
pushed inside of me.
"Ahh!" I gasped as he thrusted into me. I don't think being gentle was really
in Tate's nature, but he waited a moment for me to adjust to the feeling of his
thick cock inside of me for the first time. After a bit, pain gave way to
pleasure and I was gripping onto his coat, begging him for more. He chuckled
and grabbed me by the shoulders, and began to fuck me. "Ugh, Tate..." I moaned,
feeling him slam into me. He moved fast, but maintained a look of control on
his face--he was gonna cum when he wanted to, and that wasn't right away. I
gyrated beneath him, squeezing him with my muscle to praise him. Stacks of
paper and manila folders full of coursework slipped off the desk as he thrust
into me, our bodies shaking the table."Mmm, you like that, Violet? You like
getting fucked by the school shooter?" he barked at me. "Mmmm, yessss" I
whined, pulling him closer to me, wrapping my legs around his hips under the
warm privacy of his coat. He was biting his lip, smiling, looking down at me
with a pleased look as he pounded his cock into me, the "squish squish" sound
of my still-wet cunt punctuating his motions. He brutally pressed his palm into
the side of my face, hooking his thumb around my jaw and gripping my throat. He
growled like a savage, pumping into me. "You like fucking the crazy killer,
Violet?" he snarled at me. "Mmm, yes, yes!" I whined. My eyes rolled back in my
head, and my mind went blank again. He was so big, so skilled, so nasty. It was
unbelievable.
But I heard the squeak of tennis shoes on the floor and looked up. A boy,
desperate for his life, had tried to run while Tate was distracted. But he
pulled out his pistol and shot off three rounds, one in the head, and two in
the chest. Immediately the boy stopped moving, his body staggering before
slumping to the floor. Tate glared over his shoulder. "I thought I told you not
to move," he growled at them. He looked down at the bleeding corpse on the
floor, and chuckled. "Peter was on the track team with me," he said. "He was
never able to outrun me. I don't know why he thought he'd be lucky today." He
slammed the gun down on the tabletop and pulled me up by the hiked up fabric
around my waist. He slid back into me, bucking his hips, pushing himself deep
into me each time. I wrapped my legs around him again, and my arms, playing
with the hair at the nape of his neck kissing the tender flesh of his neck as
he fucked me. I could feel his heart beat against my chest. "Mmm, Violet, you
feel so good. Such a tight, wet little virgin," he moaned into my ear. He
snickered. "Not every girl gets to lose it to the devil." He laughed wickedly
and dug his nails into my shoulderblades, slamming into me as hard as he could.
He tossed his head back, gasping. "Ah, Violet, I'm--I'm gonna cum," he moaned.
I gyrated my hips against him, looking up at him with sweet, innocent eyes.
"Please baby?" I urged him. "Come on Tate, fill me up, I want it, please." He
slammed into me, grunting, his dark eyes flashing with that wild passion again
as he climaxed. "Ahh, Violet, I...!" His body tensed, spasmed for a few long
pulses, then relaxed, crumpling against me. We held each other close, wrapped
up in each others arms, warm and safe and comfortable. I listened to the soft
music of his heartbeat. I still, to this day, concentrate on that sound when I
miss him. He caught his breath, and pulled back after a moment, smiling at me.
"I love you, Violet Harmon," he said, smiling at me and kissing me gently on
the mouth. I smiled back. "I love you too, Tate Langdon. Even if you are a
killer," I said jokingly. He laughed with me.
That's the last happy memory I have of him.
I heard sirens blaring. Oh no, they're here, I thought. "Tell someone to close
the blinds," I told him, hopping off the desk and fixing my dress. "What?" he
asked, confused. "The blinds!" I snapped, frantic. "If they can't see you, they
can't shoot you." I scooped my ripped panties on the floor and rushed over to
where I left my bag at my desk, and stuffed them in there. No evidence. Tate
pointed his shotgun at the girl closest to the windows. "Close 'em," he
instructed her. Immediately she obeyed, turning the rod and cloaking the room
in darkness. "Quick, Tate, you have to kill them," I begged him. "What? Violet-
" he started. "Please! No one can know..." I was being entirely selfish.
Everyone had seen me, which mean everyone had a story. If the police, the
community knew what had happened with me and Tate... I didn't even want to
think of the consequences. Dead lips can't tell secrets. He looked me in the
eye and understood, pumped his shotgun and killed them all, methodically, one
by one in the row they had sat in since the beginning, switching guns as
needed. My ears began to ring from the incessant shots, but it needed to be
done. I knew Tate would protect me.
And I was determined to do the same for him. The last boy had hit the ground
when I heard the SWAT team's feet barreling down the hallway. "Get down!" I
ordered him. He opened his mouth to protest but I repeated, "Get DOWN Tate!" He
fell to his knees, and I stood in front of him, facing him, wrapping my arms
around him so tight my hands turned cold. The SWAT team stormed in, prepared to
fire, and hesitated, their lasers pointed on my back. "Let her go!" one of them
ordered him. "No," I whispered in his ear, the curtain of my hair and my
position hiding my lips. I was shaking, and crying. I knew from the start it
would come to this, but that didn't make the moment any easier to face. One of
the SWAT members spoke into a walkie talkie "Can't shoot.... human shield...
Caucasian female..." I could barely speak, words sounded dry in my mouth, but I
forced them out. "Point the gun at me, Tate." He shook his head. "No, Violet.
Don't be stupid. Don't do this for me." I shook my head. "Bullshit! I love you,
Tate. We go down together, remember?" I whined. I was choking on tears now, my
chest heaving in violent, sporadic hiccups. He had a silver ring that he wore
on his thumb every day. He slipped it off and put it in my hand, and closed my
fingers over it with his. "I love you too. That's why I want you to promise me
you'll keep living. For me. Have an ordinary life. Okay?" I shook my head,
blinded by tears. I held onto him so tight, clinging for my life. "I love you,
Violet," he repeated. He glanced to the SWAT, and slowly set his pistol down to
the side and stood, his hands up. "Tate...?" I clung around his waist, but
before I knew it, a SWAT member had his arms around me the same way, yanking me
off of him. I kicked my legs and failed my arms. "NO!" I shrieked. "Tate!!" He
looked at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen. "Just go" he mouthed to
me. "Please."
I was barely shoved out of the door when I heard the shots fire. "NOOO! TATE!"
I screamed in agony, collapsing onto the floor in grief, the SWAT member still
holding my limp body my the arm.
Police asked questions. News reporters and journalists came knocking on our
door. Even talk show hosts asked to interview the lone survivor of "the
Westfield Massacre". But I turned them all away, keeping as much about Tate and
our special bond as private as I could. My mother homeschooled me for the rest
of senior year, since I was too upset to return. They didn't know it was
because of the pleasant memories I had of talking in the halls between classes
or hooking up in the bathrooms or the consummation of our relationship were far
too painful. My dad insisted I go to therapy, but I refused. No one would
understand, how could they? Six months later, my mom found my ripped underwear,
and, not understanding their significance, threw them in the trash. At least no
one asked where I got my new ring, which I wore faithfully on the same thumb,
every day of my life.
The worst was seeing people call him a monster. They knew nothing about him,
about the deep, funny boy that listened to and understood me when no one else
bothered to. I sobbed uncontrollably all the time, for months. When I had no
more tears left to shed, grief gave way to depression and I became withdrawn,
clamming up, hiding in a stormy shadow from the world. Tate had been the light
of my life. The day he died was a solar eclipse that left me in a constant
shadow I had never been able to crawl out of.
But there is a silver lining.
"Whatcha doin' mama?" he asks me. I smile, looking up from the silver ring I
had been twisting on my thumb. "Nothing sweetie. Just thinking." Our son is
five years old. He crawls up on my lap, messy blonde hair in his eyes. "Where'd
you get that ring?" He asks. I grin. "Its from your daddy, Tate" I say proudly.
My boy looks up at me curiously. "What was he like?" he asks excitedly. I smile
wider. "He was the greatest man I've ever met. Besides you of course," I say
kissing him on the forehead. "Come on," I say, lifting him up. "Let's get you
something to eat."
Tate wanted me to keep living, and I couldn't bear it without him. I look down
proudly at our little boy, and smile. I guess we compromised.
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