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theviolet-harmon:

darknessdoesntmeanevil:

“What do you mean not like me Tate? You didn’t even know some of them. They could have been just like me. So you really think the guy that had the side of his face blown off fit in with every one else? Or the girl you shot in the head. They were outcasts Tate. Just like me… and you.” she shook her head, almost in disbelief. As he cupped her face she looked into his eyes, they were dark, not wit lust like she had seen before, but pain, lots of pain. Just by looking at his dark eyes she could tell Tate truly was sorry and she had to accept that or things would never be fixable.  He was hurting because of what he did, he was regretting it all and that was a good sign.

“You kept me safe.” Tate was crying now, and it seemed as though she had no more tears left in her body to let out. Gently, she wiped away his tears with her thumb and kissed his forehead. “I, I forgive you. I know you were only trying to protect me.” Violet nodded her head and closed her eyes. Things needed to be fixed between them, and forgiving Tate was the first step to getting back what they had before all this. They would be able to love and play and smile and laugh together now that she found the strength to forgive him. He would be a better person with her by his side, just like he said, just like he was..

“Promise me that, Tate. That you won’t hurt anyone ever again, Please promise me that..” Violet was begging for this one promise, the only promise in the world that she needed to hear. She watched as Tate’s lip began to bleed and shook her head. “No no, don’t do that. You know I hate when you do that.” she gently wiped the patches of red off his lips and forced a comforting smile up to him. “I love you too.” she replied quietly, feeling her pale cheeks turn a light pink color.

She had a point. Tate knew nothing about the people that he killed. Except he didn’t. He killed people he knew enough about to think he was saving them. People that were nice enough to others, but not a single one of them could be anything like Violet. Because she was perfect, flawless, amazing, none of the people he hurt shone like his light. “The cheerleader, the jock, they were popular kids.” Tate mumbled, as if trying to defend at least a little of what he did, before he saw how wrong that was and just let it drop. Instead he just looking into her eyes, looking for some sign of redemption. 

Violet said she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her, that she knew he would keep her safe, but she didn’t know if she meant it until she reached out to whip away his tears. Her skin seemed burning hot against him. Her lips pressed against his forehead and Tate allowed it suspiciously. He wanted nothing more than this to be the truth, and but part of him was wondering if she would send him away. And then Violet told him she forgave him. She forgave him for his lies, at least. That was more than he could have ever wanted and without thinking he leaned into her, pressing his mouth against hers like he had wanted to do for so long. He pulled back almost as soon as their lips connected, he didn’t want to rush anything with her, force her in any way. Without wiping away the blood from where it stained his smile his lips pulled back into an urgent look. “No, not again, no one ever. I promise I won’t hurt anyone ever again.” He smiled for her, feeling her wipe away the blood off his lip lovingly. When he cheeks burning a pink color Tate felt his heart thud in his chest. Could things actually just work out like that?

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theviolet-harmon:

darknessdoesntmeanevil:

Violet cupped her face in the palms of her hands, shaking her head and sniffling. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Tate wasn’t bad. He was good. Her Tate was good. He protected and loved her and he did everything he could for her. He was good and whoever did everything he told her about today wasn’t Tate, it was the devil, not Tate. Tate was just a fallen angel, that’s all. He was good, he was gentle and caring and he loves her. The last thing he would do is murder someone, no, not her Tate. It wasn’t possible, in her mind, for him to be that bad, that evil. But now she was learning, that her Tate had a whole ‘nother side to him that he was telling her all about today. A side that he hid from her, to protect her.

“But you killed people Tate..” Violet’s voice was shaky. “You killed people just like you and me. Outcasts. You killed them.” she sniffled and looked at Tate. Her eyes were darker now, and she was only a little bit afraid. Afraid of him. How could someone who was just like her, so unaccepted by society, go out and blow the brains out of another person who had it just as hard as they did. What if she was around back then, and she was in that library. Would he have killed her too? Probably, if he didn’t know her. “That’s why they were there. You killed them and they wanted answers. You killed them, and Chad, and Patrick, my mom too. You murdered them all.”

She looked down at her trembling hands. Her boyfriend, her prince, he was a murderer . She knew that if people would able to move on from this house, Tate would go to a twisted hell and he’d suffer for eternity. “People just like us.” she whispered, wiping her cheeks and eyes again before looking up at him. She studied his face, and there was a part of him that looked so sad. For her? Maybe. But she hoped he felt sad for the people he had mutilated, that’s who deserved his sorrow.

He held her close to him as she fought with herself. He couldn’t imagine what it was like in her head right then, and it drove him crazy that he could hurt her that bad. If he ever regretted what he had done in the past, it was right then. He would have given anything to make this easier for her. Easy for her to see that he was what she wanted more than anything in the world. Like he needed her. If he had never shot up his school, burned Lawrence, killing the gays, raped her mother… then she could love him, right? And that was regret, and it left him feeling raw. 

“Not like you, Violet. There is no one like you. I would never hurt you, Violet. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to do something so terrible. I was selfish with you, but it was always because I wanted you safe. That was why I hid who I was from you. I was… trying to protect you from a side of me I didn’t want to be anymore.” His hand reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her cheek to wipe away her tears. Please, if there was ever a time for something to go his was, it was now. Because he needed her to understand. He hurt. Because he had done bad things, and because the bad things hurt the one good thing he ever had. “I am so sorry, Violet. I never wanted this to happen. I just wanted you safe.”  His tears were falling again because he saw fear in her eyes. She was afraid of him, like the night she saw Thad for the firs time. But he wasn’t about to shout at her this time, because he knew she was scared deep down and he wouldn’t mock her for it. How could he? He was scared too. Scared of losing her. 

“Not you, Violet. I love you. I only want to show you you can love me too. I want to be good for you. That is all. I won’t hurt you, or anyone else, ever again.” Tate was practically begging, and suddenly bit down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He had to stop that, he couldn’t fall apart like that. No, he had to be strong for her at all times. “I just… love you.”

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theviolet-harmon:

darknessdoesntmeanevil:

He was telling her everything she wanted to know, and for some odd reason, she suddenly didn’t want to know anymore. She didn’t want to believe him; she wanted to go back to the Tate and Violet that had the awkward budding relationship. Go back to the day Tate walked in on her cutting her wrists, and the day they sat on the hard floor of her old bedroom, listening to music until her dad found out and kicked Tate out. That was really the only time that everything was..okay. Sure, it all seemed okay after that, but her mom was pregnant, with Tate’s son, and things were starting to fall apart between everyone.

Violet felt Tate pull away from her, she knew he was just trying to knock some sense into the girl, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe that it was him who really did those things. She didn’t want to feel that pain of knowing his true colors again. Moving her eyes to look at his, she could see that they were screaming for her, pleading that she understood him, but she didn’t want to. Deep down inside she knew the evil that Tate was, she knew how much destruction he caused, how much sorrow he caused, but she didn’t and wouldn’t believe it, because that wasn’t the Tate she knew. Her Tate was her savior, not some monstrous best out for blood.

As soon as Tate mentioned the beach, the pictures from her computer screen flashed through her head. Stephanie, Chloe, Tate’s school picture. Dozens of articles on his shooting rampage in the very halls she walked through, the halls she got into fights in. At first she shook her head no, warm tears starting to slowly move down her face, but then she found her courage and finally let herself accept the truths that Tate was telling her. “They, they were there because they wanted revenge.” She looked at Tate, her eyes giving him a pleading look. She wanted him to tell her she didn’t have to say the rest, but he was silent. “They were the people you shot at school.” she choked out, wiping her eyes. “You, you shot them, you killed them all.”

He understood why she wanted to go back. Why she wanted to pretend she just didn’t know about the bad things he did. Because then things were more simple. They were just starting out, not looked at the end with heavy hearts not really ready to admit defeat. Back when love meant sharing secrets and stolen kisses and bonding. Now love was messy, it was sharp and rude and it wasn’t really fun anymore. But Tate would never give up, even when it was as bad as this, because he remembered the good times and wanted MORE. Not just to relive the ones they already had. 

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darknessdoesntmeanevil:

Here was where it got tricky. Here is where the darkness inside Tate finally reared its ugly head and turned its attention onto it’s host. It whispered things into his ear, demanded things, told him things. Like how much it wanted to take a knife from the kitchen and…

Why. Why couldn’t this be enough? Eternity together, even if she wasn’t seeing him for what he really was. Not the forced vessel of the darkness, more its willing conduit. Tate had her back and she loved him and wanted him and needed him. Nothing could stop him when he had Violet at his side. And that was the problem. Because nothing could stop him. He was something that needed to be stopped and he would eventually have to be stopped again.

“Vi, you know I did bad things. Against lots of people. I am telling you the truth. I am trying.” Tate pulled himself a bit away from Violet to look at her. “Please tell me you understand what I am saying.” Tate’s face was screaming with an unnamed emotion, something akin to panic. He knew she was strong and stubborn, they were reasons he had fallen in love with her. But now they were working against him. Fighting him in ways he couldn’t be fought. There was no changing his past and he needed Violet to accept it before they could fix it, before they could be happy and free of everything that has controlled them for so long. But if she still saw him as before… If she wasn’t ready to accept him.

“Violet. I need you to tell me about what happened on the beach where we went on our date. Tell me who was there. And tell me why.” his voice was firm, but inside Tate was shattering. How could he be even thinking about it? How could such an evil and blasphemous though even have entered his brain? Killing people was one thing, sending away his light? No, that was just wrong… Or was it?

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theviolet-harmon:

darknessdoesntmeanevil:

There was a side of Violet that was screaming at her right now, telling her to banish him again, to beat him once again, to neglect and hate him for everything he had done. That side of herself, and his story, is what was making her feel sick. The other side felt so sad for Tate. Although she rarely admitted it, she had a good life, even if her family was a little screwed up, but Tate didn’t. How could anyone expect someone who grew up in a house like this, with a mother like Constance, to be a good person who knows right from wrong. That was insane, impossible really. He was an unlucky person, destined for a life of evil at birth, and that’s what he had, a life of pure evil. Now that he was dead, she could tell that something in him must have changed.

She owed him so many apologies. She never really did know what exactly the motive was behind his dark ways, and she pushed him away without even thinking about asking him the simple question; why. Violet had pushed away someone who she was somehow, making a better person. Someone who had been fear and piratically unwanted all his life. Someone almost just like herself, an outcast. Different. So she owed him apologies, they owed each other ones; but Tate had already payed his dues, and she tried beating the shit out of him for it.

As his hand cupped her cheek, she gently rested her head against it, sniffling and closing her eyes. “I do need to be sorry Tate. I hurt you and all you were trying to do was help.” He was trying to help Nora, and that’s why he did the things he did, to help. “I’m so sorry Tate..” she whispered, opening her eyes to look back up at him. “Like you said, you didn’t even know better.” She rested her head back down on his shoulder again, sighing inwardly to herself. How could she be so cruel to someone who was so gentle with her. To someone who really, truly loved every last piece of her. “I love you too.” she mumbled in a soft voice, knowing if anyone heard her say that she’d probably get a million lectures on how Tate was a bad person that she should never love again. But she did, she loved Tate, every last bit of her loved Tate, even after his monstrous deeds. 

Here was where it got tricky. Here is where the darkness inside Tate finally reared its ugly head and turned its attention onto it’s host. It whispered things into his ear, demanded things, told him things. Like how much it wanted to take a knife from the kitchen and cut the man of the house from brains to balls. It reminded him how much he still had to overcome, how dark Tate really was. And that she was the light. He swore to protect her, and it was telling him the one thing she needed protection from most was him. And if she was far, far away she would be safe. But Tate had tried that, and clearly she was no better so how could he stay away. How could that dark and evil voice be right? And how could it be wrong?

Tate almost flinched as he listened to her make excuses for him. That was just wrong, and no matter how much he wanted to be a good person from now on, he could never say he had always been one. She was blaming others, and he knew he could nod and get away with it. He could blame Constance his shitty mother, or Nora his dead one. He could blame it on Addie’s downs and Beau’s death. Hell, if he was feeling really creative he could blame it on Kurt Cobain and the suicide that took his idol. But in the end it was still only him with the guns at the schools. Him with the gasoline and the match. Him in the rubberman suit. It was Tate and Tate alone who did those horrible things. No one else. “No, Vi. You don’t get it.” He looked into her eyes, trying to get her to understand him. This time there were no lies, or even half truths. This felt dangerously close to one of those times. “I did those really bad things.” His thumb, still damp from her tears, ran lightly across her bottom lip. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to just SHUT UP and kiss her. But he had more to say. “But I changed. I was always evil, and I will probably always be evil. But you, you make me… better. You make the monsters behave.” 

Her head came back down against his shoulder, and Tate felt her relax again. He wondered how long it had been since she could relax. Was it since the last time he held her like this? Like him, was she only herself when she was with him. Tate rested his head on top of hers, and he heard her tell him she loved him. Tate hummed his contentment, wrapping his arms tighter around him. He knew she had whispered it because of who might be around. Tate was still public enemy number one of the house, but he had heard her and that was all that mattered. 

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theviolet-harmon:

darknessdoesntmeanevil:

Tate was her rock. She may have constantly denied it, and tried to convince herself otherwise, but she needed the blonde ghosts, more than anything in the entire world. He brought her this feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that made her the good kind of sick, butterflies as others called them. He was there when no one else was, to hold her, wipe her tears, kiss the crimson blood that seeped out of her wrists. He was always there, with the best intentions, willing to do anything for her. That part of him was good, the Tate Langdon she knew, that fought away all the bad guys, that played Scrabble and cards with her, and secretly let her win each time, that Tate was a good guy. He was her night and shining armor, who just so happened to also be the villain in this twisted love story.

She was silent now, the only sound coming from her body was her rapid breaths starting to slow. If she was stuck in Tate’s arms like this forever, absolutely noway of escaping, running away, she wouldn’t mind at all. Deep inside she knew this was where she belong. Everyone had their own flaws, some more then others, but unlike other people around them, Violet got to know Tate. She listened to his thoughts and his feelings. She’s watched him cry, and get angry, and protect. He really did have a good side like every one else, it was just that his evil, dark side tended to show more. Almost as though the black, dusty part of his soul always pushed the vibrant, good part away. This house didn’t help much either, it pushed people over the edge, bringing them to their doom, whatever that may be. For her, it was death by an overdose. For Tate it was psychotic thoughts, and being murdered.

She pondered his question for a while, not knowing the answer. Of course, she wanted to know his motive behind it all, behind his rages and the terror he brought to others. But another part of her was screaming ‘no, answer no!’ because she was afraid. Afraid of an answer that she didn’t want to hear, but she really didn’t know what that kind of answer would be. She really couldn’t even think what a ‘good’ answer would be. There wasn’t one. After a moment of silence she nodded her head slightly, and choked out a soft “yes, I do.” 

As Tate told her his entire story, Violet began to feel sick to her stomach. IT was sick, disgusting really, that he would ever do something like that. A house was able to do make others murder other people, and think the way he did. It wasn’t Tate that was evil, it was the house. Violet knew her skin got at least 2 shades whiter, his story made her want to throw up, it made her want to cry, push him away again for being a ‘monster’. But Tate wasn’t a monster, It wasn’t all his fault. He was traumatized as a kid, not only by the lack of love from his own mother, but by a stranger who had killed his brother. He was influenced by others to do what he did and she was now beginning to realize this. Nora? Her mother’s death was really all because of Nora and her selfish ways. She wanted a baby and that’s what Tate was trying to give her, he had no intention to harm Vivien. The worst part was that Nora basically gave the baby up the first chance she had. This was all Nora’s fault.

“I’m so sorry.” she managed to tell him, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry for hurting you Tate. I just…” her voice began to crack again and she blinked back tears as she peeled her wet face up to look at his face. “I thought it was all your fault and I was wrong. Totally wrong.” she sighed, noticing a few new red cuts on his face, that she know she caused. “God, I’m so sorry.” she repeated, shaking her head in disappointment with herself. How could she be so narrow minded, not even realizing that it wasn’t all his fault. “I’m sorry about your mom and Beau and Nora, and the police, and me, I’m sorry about the way I acted.” 

He thought she was going to throw up. He didn’t know if a ghost could throw up, but he was pretty damn sure he was about to find out. She turned so pale, he didn’t know there were shades lighter than her skin, but somehow she lightened even more. But Tate couldn’t stop. There was no way he could even hesitate. The words were falling out of his mouth faster than he could control. It was like a purge, finally getting it all out there. The minute the last word fell from his lips he froze, waiting for her to condemn him. He could see it in her eyes. She couldn’t believe the horrible things he had done. Monster, Monster Monster. Each second felt like a thousand years, waiting for her answer, her final goodbye. And then she spoke, her sweet nightengale voice sung out to him.

With apologieze. She was actually telling him she was sorry for everything she had done. That she was sorry she had left him. How could she be sorry? She had done nothing wrong. He was the evil one, the monster, she was right to leave him. Tate had expected her to leave from the moment she burst into his life. Every second she didn’t was a miricale and something Tate would never question. He never expected her back in his arms again, holding tightly to him as if he was anything more than a thing to be feared. Oh heaven, oh beautiful wonderful turn of events. Thank you thank you thank you.But she had no reason to tell him she was sorry. He had wanted her to run.

She looked up at him, her bright hazel eyes sparkling with tears and Tate didn’t know what to say. Her head shook back and forth, and Tate quickly pulled his one arm from away around her back, reaching up to cup her cheek in his hand, his thumb bushing the tears away gently. “No, Vi. You don’t need to be sorry. I love you. You have every right to leave me. I did bad things. Any normal person would have known not to do those things. But I didn’t. Vi, I didn’t even know better.” Tate choked back his own sob, at the same time a half smile came onto his face. He was so sad, bone achingly sad, but there was a part of him that was really happy. Insanely happy, manically laughing out loud until he starts crying happy. Because he had her. He had her in his arms. Violet was real. 

Heart Shaped Box || Violate para

theviolet-harmon:

darknessdoesntmeanevil:

Why did he just stand there and take her abuse? Why? that’s what she wondered. Tate didn’t take shit from anyone, ever, and now he was just letting her beat him as hard as she could. She would have killed him again, if she was able to, but it wouldn’t have done any good. All his wounds would have just healed up within a few hours and he would have just been good as new. How could she say hate? That wasn’t true, it never would be and she never used that word, but of course, this was Tate and he made her feel so confused and happy and pissed all at once. He made her mouth dry up and her stomach tie in knots just by his presence. 

Her body was numb once she stopped attacking him. Her fists were cut up and she knew everything about her looked and was a complete mess, but nothing like that mattered anymore. She was numb ever since the day she screamed the two most horrible words. Her emotions had no idea what to do after that, and neither did her mind, it was almost as though she had a constant high. Her entire body felt different, and she really had no idea what should have been done or what was going on. Almost like she was oblivious to the world around her. She had thought that if she chose to ignore all the problems that were still lurking in the house, that they would just go away, but they never did. 

As he knelt down to her level, and pulled her in her arms, the last thing she wanted to do was fight him, so she didn’t.  His strong hands gripped her firmly, just like before, and the feeling of his fingers on her skin, on her body, reminded her things would get better. She gripped onto the sweater that covered the fresh bruises on his chest, staining it with her blood, and she rested her head against his shoulder. Her cries, sobs, moans, they all got softer once she was pulled into his arms. It comforted her, in some sick way, to be in the arms of the devil and that’s where she would stay.

She was in her safe haven. No one could hurt her here, Tate wouldn’t let anyone. “Why’d you do it?” she choked out with a slight whimper. “Why’d you hurt my mom. Why’d you lie to me Tate?” her voice cracked with each word as she held back from sobbing. “Why’d you kill all those people? The kids at the high school, Chad and Patrick,  My mom… you killed my mom.” Her mind was filled with questions like these, and she had only asked him a few of the important ones. There were no more tears falling from her chin, they were all joining the blood stains on Tate’s sweater. Her breathing was unsteady, not that it mattered much. “Just tell me why… please.” Violet’s hands were shaky, hell, her whole body was shaky, but just being cradled in Tate’s arms was beginning to calm her down, just like it always had before. 

She didn’t fight him. Oh god, this wasn’t real because she let him pull her to him. She let him hold her like he used to. Like when she was alive, or when she was dead, and he was all she had in this world. They were on an even playing field then, they had only each other and everything revolved around being together. Her tiny hands gripped at the sweater he wore, the black and green one she had told him she liked once, and he let her. She clung onto him and he was more than happy to hold her together. That was what it felt like, suddenly. But not only was he holding her together, having her in his arms felt like he suddenly was whole once more. And he was, wasn’t he. Violet was part of him, or he was a part of her. He couldn’t be without her there, with him. He was only a fraction of the ghost he could be, and never the good part. She was the good part of him. Like two different sides of the same demented coin, Tate knew they belonged together. But he had known that since the moment he saw her. And he would continue to know it until the day he no longer had thought.

Her head connected with his chest and Tate shivered, her warmth and light seeming so seep inside him. He hadn’t known he was cold, but suddenly the air around him was frigged compared to the searing heat of the ghost girl in his lap. Violet’s sobs began to quiet, and Tate was grateful of that. She was slowly crying herself out. And he would hold her until the end. He would hold her until she told him those two terrible words again, and then be banished once more. Where he would wait, wait for her return because what she wanted mattered more than anything he could need. He felt her begin to relax and it made him realize something. She still felt safe with him. That was good. She knew, somewhere, that he wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her. Then again, Tate hurt Violet more than anyone else, hadn’t he? With a love like Tate, you didn’t need enemies. Or friends. Or family. Your one stop shop for everything to drive you crazy. And she drove him just as crazy. 

When the questions started Tate froze, his arms holding tight to her as he wondered exactly what there was to say. Would she understand? He knew she would believe him, after everything they had been through there was no more need for him to lie to her. Ever. But still it was going to hurt to admit any of it, well, the parts he could remember. Things were still… fuzzy. Parts he couldn’t remember. Parts he remembered several different ways. Parts he remembered out of order or even backwards. But he would try to answer her because she deserved the truth, she deserved the answer. “Are you sure you want to know?” The question came out of his mouth softly, almost a plea to not make him say it. He had only confessed once before, to Ben, but to tell Violet all the dirty details? He had to.

“In 1994 my brother was killed. By Larry, you know who he is. The burned up guy… I did that. Because he killed Beau. Because my mom asked him to and he fucking did it.” Tate’s voice was low, but sure. He lacked most emotions, but he spoke steadily. As if he were more reciting the grisley deeds of others as apposed to actually reliving his own horrid crimes. “After I went to Westfield High and shot fifteen of my classmates because I believed this world was evil and I could save them. That I was like a fucking angel of vengeance, with my weapon of choice and my coat of power. I was shot by the police officers in our… your old room. Because I pulled an empty pistol on them like I was going to shoot them. I had long ago learned about this house and it’s powers and knew I would be a ghost here, forever. I wanted it. I wanted to be perfect and flawed forever. I wanted to be remembered because I was feared.” There was a sudden reverence in Tate’s voice. An odd longing and backhanded accomplishment. Because he had been rememebered because he had been feared. And now he wished he wasn’t. 

“I killed others, once who got too close, once who almost knew about the house and me and all the others here. Moira and Constance helped me get their bodies off the property. Some of them are still here, some of them died after they had been taken away. It’s not a pretty list. I was… so consumed with the darkness. I didn’t even know I had been alive. I thought I was only here to do what ever it was the house wanted.” Tate buried his face into the crook of his neck, hiding the fact that he was now crying as well. He took a deep breath, taking in her scent. Oranges and Vanilla and Cigarettes. She was heaven to hold. 

“I killed the gays for the same reason I… did what I did to your mom.” Tate didn’t want to say rape just yet. He couldn’t force the word out no matter how hard he tried. How much he knew he needed to say it. “Nora… she was so nice to me when I was little. She took care of me and Addie and Beau when Constance was too busy sucking random guys off or when she was too drunk at two in the afternoon to remember that she even had kids. But we grew up, we became too old for us to play into her fantasy of us being her babies. She needed something newer, younger, and… I wanted to give it to her. I wanted her to know that I cared about her, and that I appreciated everything she had done for us. She raised us, Violet. She was my real mom.” Even now, saying it out loud, Tate didn’t even fully believe it. “When the gays were going to leave, they were breaking up and then this house would stand empty until they got it sold… I couldn’t wait that long. Nora was getting worse. Without me aging anymore, I think it messed her up worse.” Tate closed his eyes tight. “I didn’t know the baby would kill your mom, Vi. I didn’t know it was… evil. I just thought if she was pregnant then Nora could do the rest. But I met you. I tried to tell Nora not to go after them and I tried to help when I knew… how bad it was.” Now Tate was crying and Violet was crying and the truth was out in the open. Now the chips had fallen and the pair could see just were they stood because, now there was nothing left. Either everything or nothing would happen now. 

Heart Shaped Box || Violate para

theviolet-harmon:

darknessdoesntmeanevil:

Her fists were slammed against his chest and his face time after time. To her, she wasn’t just beating up Tate, but she was beating out all the horrible emotions inside of her, and maybe all the darkness out of him. She screamed and cried and pushed, her own strange way of releasing everything. “You’re not sorry!” she screamed, her face red with anger. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” her breathing was now heavy and the punches that were being thrown at him were getting weaker and weaker. “I hate you.” she told him again, out of breath. The truth was, she didn’t hate him, hell, she was far from hating him; but she knew she was supposed to after what he did, he deserved her hate, and hate from everyone else, she just couldn’t give it to him. Backing away, Violet was breathing heavily, and warm tears dripped off her cheeks onto the cold concrete floor. More sobs left her throat, and she had no more energy to attack Tate like before.

She looked down at her bloodied and bruised wrist before taking a few more steps away from the blonde in front of her. “I hate you.” she whispered, shaking her head in the process. Dropping down she sat on the floor, bringing her knees to her chest and rocking ever so slightly, not caring how loud her cries were anymore. She was just a complete emotional wreck, and she really had no idea what do do with herself at that moment. It was wrong to want Tate to bend down and scoop her up into his arms so she could feel that strange comforting sensation again. So she could cry and cry and cry in the arms of someone she knew loved and cared about her. It had been a long time since she had cried, too long, and now it was all hitting her. She was dead. Dead. Trapped. Alone. Longing for Tate was wrong and she knew that, she shouldn’t want him but she did. He was a monster. Psychotic. He ruined her life and her family, everything. But deep down inside, she was in love.

Still he took it, though the moment she began to tell him she hated him, Tate could no longer keep the tears from falling. Not because the words hurt, like she wanted them to. But because to him, hate sounded like it meant love. He let her scream, let her hit, let her get it all out. She let him think she was hurting him, though in a sick way he was enjoying her abuse. She still cared enough for this to hurt her. She still cared enough to hurt him. Tate could take caring, because it meant he hadn’t lost her completely. If it was only a tiny bit that still belonged to her, Tate knew he could win her back. He would win her back. 

She was so sexy when she was angry, and while he was still crying with his face remaining blank, inside he was smiling. She hit harder than he thought she would. Not that it was hard enough to actually hurt him, but it surprised him none the less. Her face was red and there was a knot between her eyes as she screamed. Even the way her perfect red lips, pulling back against her pearly white teeth, facinated him. Not that he would let her know. Because that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted him to suffer, to hurt, because he had hurt her. The one thing he cared about more than anything ever. 

Her backing away from him did, however, sting, and Tate let loose a tiny whimper, uncontrollable, and took a halting step after her. She was hurt, injured by her attack, and Tate felt even worse that he did before. Not only could he not fix it, he had hurt her ever worse now. And then she sunk to the ground, worn out and emotionally destroyed, and Tate just watched her. She started to cry again, crying harder than before, rocking on the dirty ground in her pain. What had he done to her, Violet the Brave. Violet the Fierce. Violet the only person to ever strike fear in the heart of the monster Tate Langdon. This was his fault. “Vi…” His voice broke on her name, his tongue thick and dry, sticking to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to go to her, sit down and pull her in his lap to get her perfectness out of the dirt and grime of the basement. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and let her press her delicate face into his warm chest and cry there. Because Violet still needed him. But would she banish him again? Could Tate handle it again? He was slowly slipping without her, but now that she was here, and had broken the dead silence in his brain, how could he return to the harmless beast, tamed and little more than a side show attraction? 

Her wales grew louder, and it was more than Tate could take. He fell to his knees next to her, sitting back and pulling her into his lap. His strong arms wrapped around her without a word, one holding her waist, the other on the base of her neck, rubbing tiny circles into her soft skin. Let her send him away. Let her call him the darkness again, and swear and curse and belittle him. Let her find her strength again and attack once more. He already knew his cheeks were red and swollen. He had bruises on his chest that would continue blooming for hours before they faded away and he was left a dark god once more. Once she was gone, because of course she was going to leave again, he could stare at them in the mirror and remember how it felt to have her in his arms once more. “Violet. I am so sorry. I never never never meant to hurt you.” He pulled her in closer, enjoying the discomfort her weight gave him. There was a thin line between love and hate, it all came down to passion in the end. This was his Aphrodite, his Venus, his physical embodiment of love. And, oh, how he hated her sometimes. But never more than he loved her.