Tate Langdon hated this place, he had been here about two weeks now and he still could smell the musty rotting stench of this place through his nostrils. He had searched through corridors for endless hours, looking for a way out of this hell hole and to find the love of his life, Violet Harmon. The seventeen year old knew they were keeping her away from him and he wasn't too pleased. When he was with Violet, he was a completely different person, she was the light that brightened his darken soul. Without her, he felt, hollow inside and he felt trapped.
This place was hell and inside Tate was screaming out in agnozing torture, on the outside he was cool and collected. The world was a filthy god damn horror show, it had it's little projections of perfection, cleaniness but Tate knew the truth. These people that surrounded him could eat up this fake little perfect projection with fucking forks for all he cared, the world was a god damn horror show, everyone had their secrets and a little bit of blood on their hands. Maybe some more blood than others but it was there and it was very real. He should know, he had the habit of killing people that he liked.
Tate clenched his hands into a tight fist as he made his way down the corridors and towards his room, it was all too familiar, it reminded him of his past. Walking down the school's hallway, no one could of stopped him. He knew their secrets, he knew what was coming. He was powerful, impulsive and no one was there to stop him. The teenager remembered it like it was yesterday, storming into the library, looking at the ones who had projected perfection, people he liked, raising his gun up and bang dead. All that blood on his hands.. It was no wonder he was here, he was complete psychopath and they had caged him from committing any other crimes like setting his stepfather on fire, the smell of burning flesh, his screams of pain, he had deserved it of course.
The world was like a stage and Tate was standing right in the middle of the stage as the lead player. His hand grasped on the door knob, turning it and entering his prison, his own personal hell. He took a good look around the room and saw him, his roommate Damien Thorn, sitting on his bed and reading a book in his hand, a history book.
Tate glanced at the pile of books beside Damien and small smile formed on his face, this roomie of him had some serious style and he knew they were going to get along quite famously. "Don't mind the intrusion, I came here to finally take a look at that unfamiliar face with the name Damien and I like what I see."he replied as he walked over to his own unmade bed plopped down on it and picked up his favorite collection of poems by Edgar Allen Poe. The poems EP wrote were dark, grim and very insightful, there was nothing more calming about reading a nice book that showed the world in it's true colors.