Unthinkable (Tate Langdon)

012

October 31st, 1993.

Had Evangeline been in a more festive mood, she might have enjoyed seeing the neighborhood lined with pumpkins, the yards dressed up in seasonal spookiness.

But while the rest of the block contemplated their evening's fun, Eve thought about her own plans with dread.

She had to face Tate for the talk she bad promised him and still had no idea as to where to begin.

The image of him down on one knee and then suddenly turning cold and angry played through her mind on loop like a bad reel of film stuck on the same scene.

She had been so frightened of him and yet so pitying of him at the same time, all of her feelings crashing into one another in a mashup that still made no sense.

She sighed at her reflection in the mirror as she went about putting the finishing touches on her exaggerated eye makeup, having chosen to just layer on dark shadow and liner rather than go full costume.

She tossed her smokes into her purse and headed out the door with a frown; getting into the Halloween spirit had been stupid, she realized, knowing there was every chance she'd cry the makeup off before the night was over.

She waited for nearly an hour alone in the woods with her thoughts, no sign of Tate to be seen. She'd smoked cigarette after cigarette until her throat was dry and scratchy, the wind through the trees causing her to shiver.

Where was he?

At last, she heard a stirring from the direction of the path. Sure enough, a blonde head of hair surfaced from between the trees.

"Jesus, Tate," she hissed as she stood on her feet, "I thought you'd never get here."

"I almost didn't come," he admitted, sniffing and pawing slightly at his nose.

She stepped closer to him, eyebrows furrowed. There was something off about his demeanor, something puzzling that she couldn't put her finger on.

When she caught his face in the moonlight, the odd look in his eyes, it dawned on her swiftly and sickeningly. She had seen that look in the faces of losers she'd hung around with, before.

"Are you... Tate, are you high right now?" she asked. She didn't bother to hide the disgust in her voice.

"Just say what you need to say and we can both go home," he instructed her numbly. "Tell me it's over, tell me that you're done, and let's get it over with."

She was shocked to the bone, and had half a mind to slap him across the face.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked heatedly. "I didn't just wake up and decide I hate you or something, I just said no when you asked me to marry you."

"Exactly," he countered. He didn't even meet her eyes. "You said no. So, go ahead. Finish it."

"If you keep pulling shit like this, I'll have to," she snapped back. "You need help, Tate. I love you, you know that I love you, but you need help."

He looked shocked at her words. She didn't know what was surprising to him - being reminded that she did indeed love him or being told he needed help.

"I've done everything I can to show you that this is how things are supposed to be. You and me, always," he spoke as though he were speaking aloud only to himself.

"You can see that, can't you, Eve?" he added, his eyes pleading with her to believe him.

"What I can see is that you've been through a lot. Your dad, the shit at school, your mom, your brother..." she shook her head at the sheer magnitude of everything on his shoulders.