That nihilistic attitude was one he kind of shared, for the most part. He was probably more of a destructionist, where he thought it was better society was broken down to it's base basement bottom setting, and rebuilt from the ground, up. Scarily enough, he wanted to protect her, already. From everyone who ever called her a freak, from her parents, from bulimic bitches who tried to wail on her...from everything. And that was even though he could tell she was still a strong person, and had her own opinions and thoughts, that seemed to match up with his own.
Maybe the network wasn't such a bad thing, after all. But making fun of it wasn't going to stop. Because...reasons. Asshole reasons.
"I don't get that dream stuff," he admitted, under his breath. "If anything's freaky, it's that."
His hand was over her heart and he could feel the beat of it, like a drum, against the palm of his hand. He curled his fingers inward a little, so the tips moved against her chest, between her breasts, and then stared into her eyes. This was all really intense, not to mention sudden. His mind was pretty blown, but in good, unexpected ways. In ways where he could tell her that sometimes, he fantasized about waiting until his mom was asleep, taking Addie, barricading his mom in her room, and setting the house on fire. You know, typical teenage stuff. He could watch it burn, from the front lawn, and make up an appropriate story to get away with it.
"I have the perfect place to go," Tate said. "Let's build a bonfire and eat tacos on the beach."