The Suffering Of Tate Langdon

Chapter 4: Waking Up To Pain

Tate's POV

I wake up in soaked clothes and a bloody but healed wrist. The rain has stopped, but it's still night, the perfect time to sit down for a bit more. I feel the fatigue rush over me, enough to send me trembling to my knees. Fuck. My hand is healed as well, looking as new as if I went to a plastic surgeon and got it fixed. I find my way back to the gazebo and notice something. Either it's my fatigue or I'm not fucking stupid, but the razor is gone from my bloody pocket, and the matches are gone from the gazebo. I'm too tired so it doesn't bother me too much. I begin to lay down when someone startles me with their sudden presence. Of course, it's her, it has to be her.

"Hello, handsome," the snarky woman says.
I look up to see the smiling Hayden. "Hi."
"You don't seem happy to see me?" she says, pulling off a hurt face.
"There's a reason I slept in the rain," I say sarcastically.
"Care to share?" she sits beside me. "I love stories."
"No, not really."
She starts putting her arms around me. "Oh, c'mon handsome."

I spring up to my feet, grabbing the handgun on the counter.
"Fuck off," I say, tightly holding the handle of the weapon I've killed with.
She doesn't seem shocked, instead, she smiles at me.
"Funny, Tate," she laughs again, making my mood worse. "But I'm sure you'd rather save those bullets for yourself. You've only got nine"
She knows about me and shits going on? Fucking hell. That's the last thing I need.
"Nine bullets?" I think, remembering the one bullet Ben used to shoot Vivien and scare off the people who moved in before.

Hayden just laughs at me, she knows the pain I'm putting myself into, and she intends in making it worse to make herself feel better. I just laugh with her, because I have a much simple idea up my sleeve.
"Hey, Hayden? Wanna' play a game?" I smirk sarcastically, not like I can properly smile anymore.
"Yeah sure."
"It's a riddle; two words can make someone disappear. What are they?"
Silence hits the whole backyard, but then again, it was three in the morning most probably. She looks like she's thinking hard, but I doubt she'll get it. It's just the introduction to get her to piss off anyway.
"No idea." she laughs.
I look at her blankly. "Go away."

The silence becomes so sudden and feels amazing. It's never felt like that before. I first week of being alone destroyed me, I know because I counted the days, the hours, the minutes. It was torturous and disturbing for me. Having to hold me from rushing to Violet's room and drowning her with apologies and hugs and kisses, it fucking sucked. I drop the gun back on the counter and cross my arms before slowly placing my head on them. I can feel myself slowly drifting off to sleep, I think of Violet with her gorgeous hazel eyes, smiling at me. And next thing I knew, I was gone.

Violet's POV

There he was again. There wasn't a minute I wasn't watching him, making sure he wasn't going to try and do it again. But then again, I'm not sure if I'd have the courage to jump in and stop him. I did this to him, and I'm not sure if I can bring him out of it. It was bullshit and I knew it; the shit I've brought him in. He looks comfortable sleeping under the gazebo out of the rain, but that doesn't change what he did to himself. I hate him more for doing that and what made me tell him to go away in the first place, I don't want him doing that, I love him, but I don't love the person he is right now.

"How is he?" a male voice says from behind me.
I turn to see my father standing in the doorway, arms crossed.
"Who?"I say dumbly, trying to ignore the topic. It's a lot easier talking to mom than dad.
"Don't play dumb with me, Violet. Your mother told me about the little monster's actions."
I snap at him. "Don't call him that, asshole!"
"Don't call me an asshole, Violet." His voice turns from curious to vexed, I'm in serious trouble.

He closes the door quietly and stands at the door.
"You know what he d-"
"Of course I do, Dad. But that doesn't mean he has to be killing himself from the inside out."
"Maybe it does?" he adds, staring me in the eye.
"You may want him to suffer, but," I pause.
"But?" he asks, sounding even more curious than previously encountered.
"I love him, Dad."
He shrieks in agony. "No."

"Yes, Ben." My mother says, appearing behind him.
My father looks at my mother in a disgusting look, you could tell he hated Tate but my mother objected my father's joy in seeing him suffer.
"She can't be with him, Vivien. He's dangerous and just-"
"You can't tell my daughter who she can and can't be with. They're not together anyway."
Hearing my mother state my relationship status hurt me a bit, it was true. Since I sent Tate away. I can't take anymore.
"Mom, Dad, shut up! This is my life and I want to be happy and have what I want. I'm merely keeping an eye on him, fuck, I can't even do that! Go away and argue somewhere else.

And like that, they were again, probably arguing somewhere quiet. My mom somewhat trusts him, with me at least. My dad, not so much; he wants him to suffer a cruel fate, one that involves not being able to touch me again. I go back to the window again and give one last look at him, he's still peacefully resting from this hell of a night. I notice the weapon sitting beside him, and the noose further up. I have to do something about those, I already got rid of the matches and razor and threw them in the trash. He doesn't know it, but I'm helping him. But it feels like the gun and noose are going to be harder to get. Unless.

I appear in the backyard, using my new 'dead' ability I've found myself fond over. I sit beside him, observing the look on his face; the emotionless look of his sleeping face. It was cute but at the same time upsetting to me. How could I let him go? How could I make him feel like this? I can feel tears slowly drift their way down my face. Me being in his presence for the second time in one night, it was so surreal. I place my hand on the side of his cheek, brushing it gently. This was one of the happiest moments in a long time being in this house after the tragedy with my mother, even if it was his fault. I smiled at my sleeping love, trying hard to not wake him up. I look over at the gun, sitting innocently on the counter, waiting to be used. I desperately want to take it and crush it into smaller pieces with a hammer, but I think. No doubt he'll think of crueller ways to punish himself if I take it. But the noose, on the other hand, I need to take that, he'll just die over and over, and I won't have that.

I sit quietly next to him, watching him as he snores peacefully in his slumber. I take the noose from the counter and hold onto it, growing more teary-eyed as I picture my Tate using it. The thought crushes me like a boulder, on an ant. I would tear my own heart out to stop him from doing anything more, but I know I don't have the courage to do it. I kiss him on the head and disappear back into the house, eyes not leaving him.
"I'm sorry, Tate. I love you."