The Suffering Of Tate Langdon

Chapter 1: As The Weeks Go By...

It's been.. god, I don't even know how long it's been since I've seen her. I've spent so much time in this fucking basement that I don't even know how much time has passed. As soon as Violet said those two words, I knew I was damned to see her again, that I was forbidden to love her. I punch the concrete wall for the forty-thousandth time, not even slightly paying attention to the broken and blood fist that belonged to me. I couldn't feel it, so I didn't care, I just continued trying to break the invulnerable concrete wall in front of me. I punch one final time before hearing a familiar voice.

I turn around to see who my visitor was, fist clenched in absolute rage. But as soon as I saw the familiar beautiful face (although it wasn't the one I wanted) my anger soothed. It was the woman that saved my life but also got me into this fucking mess. It was Nora, strutting around in her familiar and sometimes irritating swagger, but I knew I couldn't release my anger on her.

"Hi, Nora," I say emotionless, trying to hide my feelings from her, even though she was distracting with trying to find her baby.
She stares up at me. "Hello, handsome," she smiles. "What are you doing here by yourself?"
"I've been done here for ages, Nora. You're the first one to notice - no, can that, you're the first one to give a fuck!" I snarl.
Her face says it all, she has no idea what's wrong with me. But I do, I know that I'm standing in this piece of shit hellhole called Murder House, I know that the only people that know what's wrong with me, hate me. And I also know that the girl I'm basically infatuated with, won't love me back.

"Tate?" her breathing is heavy with a sudden sigh, her hands reach out to me.
"Don't," I pull back from her, tasting the sadness and hurt she's feeling.
"I'm sorry, my child," she apologises, before disappearing back upstairs into the main room of the house.
I walk over to the wall, hitting a few more times before sliding my back against it, sitting on the cold concrete ground. "Fuck," I howl, wiping my hand across my forehead, not realising that I'm wiping my own blood on me. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

I grip the wall with my hand and pull myself off the dirty ground, somewhat struggling in the process. Damn this weird ghost fatigue shit. I look at my hand, it's healed? Already? I wish I didn't heal but didn't die. It'd be less effort to just bleed and bleed every day, rather than beat the hell out of the wall like Mike Tyson high on cocaine. I start wandering to the bottom of the stairs when I hear someone coming down. I couldn't care less, so I strut up the stair, barging past whoever was there, not realising it was Patrick.

I'm suddenly gripped by my jacket and thrown back down the basement, sighting glimpses of the blonde hair and thick body of Patrick. I get back on my feet, pissed.
"The fuck, Patrick?!" I growl.
"Oh, c'mon Langdon! Remember when you did that to me, after killing me? It was fun then, wasn't it? When you had your weird undead strength, but guess what? I have that now, and now I'm a lot stronger than you are."
Patrick must've had another spit with Chad, because he's here, and he's never here. He's come looking for me, someone to beat to make him feel better. I guess I'm the target again.
"You here to beat the shit out 'f me I presume?" my voice doesn't crack, doesn't lose tone, nothing. I know I deserve it, she said it, so it must be true.
"Maybe.." he pauses. "You don't seem to care?"
"I don't," I remark, speaking every inch of truth.
Patrick's face isn't filled with joy anymore, he's confused. He wants to hurt me, badly. I'd want to hurt my killer too if I was him; probably kill him instead. Patrick eyes every inch of me down, trying to read me, but he can't. He walks up to me slowly.

I knew this was gonna happen. He's going to hurt me again. But this time, I want him to. I want him to make me suffer.