Violet Harmon likes the darkness. (takeeverything) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-11-04 20:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, tate langdon, violet harmon |
Who: Violet and Tate.
What: Picking him up after this series of texts.
When: Sunday evening.
Where: The street outside Tate's house.
Rating: PG-13 for mentioning of sexytiems but then handwaving them.
Status: Complete!
Violet guided the Prius to the designated meeting place that was a few blocks away from Tate’s house. She grinned when she saw him standing under a streetlamp, stopping just near him and unlocking the doors. Every time she so much as looked at him she could feel her heart beat doubletime.
The racing heart sensation was a shared sensation, because he had the same thing happen the moment he saw her. His hair looked like he’d slept on it, damp, and his clothes were wrinkled like they’d been thrown on, so he had the look of some homeless street kid. And while he had been waiting with one of those thousand yard stares like he was in another time and place, entirely, Tate smiled the instant he noticed the car and who was driving it.
Once he was in the car, he leaned over and kissed Violet like they’d been separated for weeks or even months, although it was barely even forty-eight hours.
“...I missed you,” he murmured in mid-kiss. Get a room you two. Oh, wait, they already did that....
She wanted to take him in, to rescue him, and since her parents never checked her room, ever, she had a genius idea that wasn’t even the genius idea she’d come to get him for. “Come spend the night with me after this. My parents won’t notice.” She’d slept terribly since they’d had to separate; it was like his slow breathing had been a queue that she could sleep too.
Her arms wrapped around him and she pulled him closer, kissing him harder, all but whimpering from want. “Stay?”
He had slept terribly once he was in his own room and in his own bed. Not only because he wanted to fall asleep - as well as wake up - with her by his side, but because of the dream he had. Tate was pretty sure that Mr. Harmon the therapist was Mr. Harmon, Violet's dad. But it was only one dream and not enough for him to bother mentioning. Or it wasn't worth mentioning right now, because she was asking him to stay the night with her. The look on his face plainly said yes, before he even bothered to nod his head in the affirmative.
"Yes, I’ll stay. I can sneak out every night, and it's not that far." It also kept him away from Constance, because lately, he entertained a few thoughts about stabbing her repeatedly so she'd shut the fuck up and leave him and Addie alone. "I can go home after school to change clothes and stuff. She never checks on me at night, anyway. She's too busy getting boned by boyfriends half her age. It's sick."
Tate reached up to rest his hand on the side of Violet's face, saying softly, "Anything you want, I'd do it for you. Anything. Because you're all that matters. All you have to do is tell me."
“Ew.” Violet was glad that her parents just ignored her. The deadbolt in her room had never been questioned like it would have been by parents that were truly worried about their child. Her parents either just didn’t give a shit or were totally mired in denial. Either way, it worked out well for her - she was able to do basically whatever she wanted. She thought it was a testament to how well adjusted she was that she still usually went to school, had a 4.3 GPA, and wasn’t addicted to any drugs. Until recently she hadn’t been addicted to anything; now she was just addicted to Tate.
Her eyes closed when Tate touched her face and she rocked her head into his touch. “I won’t ask you to do anything unreasonable, I just … I sleep better without you. I’ve had these hinky dreams lately,” she murmured. Kissing him again, she leaned back and started to drive away from his house.
It was a fully mutual addiction, that was more like an obsession. He thought about her all of the time when he wasn't with her. When he was, it was as though nothing else mattered, everything was reduced to a peripheral state that was easily forgotten.
However, when she mentioned dreams and kissed him, Tate had frozen up a little inside, waiting until the car was rolling and sitting in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, his chin tipped down and his eyebrows lowered, giving him a moody and deeply pensive expression.
"...Violet," he said, so softly, that it was probably difficult to hear, "what sort of dreams were they?"
She looked over at him and noticed how upset he looked. “Just fucked up. I lived in Boston and my dad was even more of a dick than he is now. He cheated on my mom and she was going to leave him, so they decided to move to LA. I had a dog, too. Why?” She reached out for his hand, kissing his knuckles as she drove.
Even though Tate's lips were parted, he didn't reply. He almost didn't seem like he was going to react at all, until his fingers moved against her lips. Even then, he wasn't looking at her. He was still staring straight ahead. In fact, his dark eyes had a thousand yard stare to them, almost as if he was in another time and place.
"...I had a dream," he finally said, still softly spoken. "Where your dad was a therapist, and I was his patient. I kept talking about all sorts of crazy things. Killing people I liked, how I couldn't be stopped, and I couldn't stop myself. I was seeing things. It was just...blood. Running down. I don't know, it wasn't...it didn't feel right. Something was wrong, but I don't know what."
Violet heard him, but she didn’t say anything for a few moments. She found a parking lot that was abandoned and dark and turned into it, parking. Shutting off the car, Vi swung her legs over to straddle Tate, cupping his cheeks and making him meet her eyes. “I don’t care,” she murmured. “Whatever you dream, I don’t care. They’re just dreams.” She closed her eyes and kissed him firmly on the mouth, hoping he felt reassured, hoping he felt as loved as he really was.
There were so many things he wanted to say but was unable to. That it didn't feel like just some stupid dream that one would wake up from and rub the sleep out of their eyes and forget about it, in an hour. Or a day. It was muddled up and confusing, but so vivid that he couldn't ignore it entirely. It made him think of her more, and of her dad, and he knew that Constance made him go into therapy again, which pissed him off but wasn't surprising. Ultimately, it felt real. He could feel what he was sitting on, he knew the way the light fell in the room, the smell, the temperature, and even the way he spoke so that it sounded like the words were coming from some other person's mouth that wasn't his own. Not until he was done, and focused again, and asking if he was crazy.
And that...person standing there. It was wrong. It was all wrong.
The only thing right was Violet. She was all he cared about, which was why he held onto her like she was his anchor, his rock, a port in a storm. Or, perhaps, Violet was the only safe and sure thing he ever knew or would know. So when he kissed her, it was as if he were saying all those things without saying them. It was almost desperate, like someone sinking and knowing they were in danger of drowning.
The desperation was a palpable, tangible thing, and Violet wrapped her arms tighter around Tate to keep his lungs from filling up with it. “I’m here, Tate, nothing’s going to happen to you, I promise.” She figured maybe he’d dream less if she was with him, and was doubly glad that she’d asked him to spend the night. “You’re spending the night with me from now on.” He’d go home after school, and she’d swing by to get him around eight. “What spooked you so much?” She bit her lower lip, leaning back and frowning.
"...I...I don't know," he said, which was a half lie. Half because he wasn't sure what he saw in that room when he was talking to her dad, and half because he didn't want to tell her what he saw, standing there, staring back at him. "I want to stay with you. I do. Maybe it was just some stupid dream because we watched Hostel part two the other night."
Both of his hands were on her waist, and he didn't look at her face at all, but at a spot that was right between her collarbones, at that little hollow at the bottom of her throat. If he stared long enough, he could see the twitch of her pulse beneath her skin.
"...there was something wrong about it, that's all," he said in a whisper. "It'll get better, if I'm with you." Then he blinked himself back into focus, his eyes darting upward, so he could look at her with greater clarity again. "You said you had plans. Was that it, asking me to pretty much move in with you every night?"
She assumed he was looking at the bite he’d inflicted on her neck. To her it was a badge of honor, it was something that she pressed her fingers into every day just to feel the sting. But she didn’t like the way he was looking through her, the way he didn’t notice her because he was so mired in his anxiety. “Tate, Tate, whatever it is, it’s not that bad if we’re together, please.” She whispered in return, biting her lower lip and trying to meet his eyes. “It has to get better. Even if we have to stay awake all night and just pass out from exhaustion.”
When asked about her plans, her eyes lit up and she grinned. “Want to get a tattoo?”
For a few seconds there, Tate felt comfortably numb simply looking at Violet. He was tempted to ask if her dad was a shrink, but that thought passed when her question sunk in and was fully realized. Then his lips pulled into a smile that seemed to gather some strength as time stretched onward.
"Yeah, that'd be cool. I'll get a tattoo with you," was his reply, his eyes lighting up a bit too, since he thought that was a great idea. "But I don't think I want to do the whole Nightmare on Elm Street no sleep thing. I want to wake up with you, again."
“I was going to get your name,” she murmured, tapping her left hand ring finger. “I’m going to get it right there, so I’ll always think of you whenever I look down.” Smiling, she kissed him, scared to death of what his dreams were doing to him.
“I just want you to be happy,” she murmured. “You are whatever you want to be. Dreams are just that. And even if it’s what you were before, or what you’re going to be - we’ll figure it out. We’ll get through it.”
Seeing him so upset sent tears to her eyes that she stubbornly blinked back, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t like you so scared.”
"That's so cool. It's like we're wearing rings all the time," replied Tate, looking much more himself again while he thought about it. Of course, he wasn't thinking that there would be any potential for breakups and that tattoos were permanent unless laser removed. That was the furthest thing from his mind, while she was right there in front of him. Saying things like that, to him.
"Don't cry. It'll be all right. You make me happy," he was saying, taking hold of her hand and then rubbing his lips over the back, where she'd wiped the tears away. His tongue even darted out for a moment, so he could taste the salt of her tears. "I didn't want to freak you out. It was some stupid weird dream and it's not like your dad is my shrink or anything. So it was...it's nothing. Let's get those tattoos."
Tate didn't want to see her cry or be the cause of her crying. For any reason. So maybe it was better to just try to tough it out if it did happen again.
“My dad would be a terrible shrink anyway.” She smiled at him, biting her lip and shivering when his tongue touched her skin. “Not right now. Right now I’m going to kiss you again because you’re upset and it’s the only thing I can think to do to cheer you up.”
He had turned her hand over and was gazing up at her while pressing his lips to her inner wrist, against the scars from countless times before when she had cut herself. It didn't seem like he was opposed at all to the prospect of kissing. No one needed to hold a gun to his head, to get him to say yes to that.
"...wanna climb in the backseat?" he asked, his lips moving against her wrist as he spoke.
She nodded, taking her shirt off before climbing into the backseat and sprawling out on the bench. She grinned at him, hoping he’d cheer up, at least a little bit. Besides, her hormones were raging now that he’d unplugged the proverbial dam.
The proverbial dam's about to get plugged, because Tate clamored into the backseat, on top of her. Teen hormones were in full overload, and it wasn't like he was thinking about precautions either. Because one they started kissing again and hands started roaming and fondling, there was no stopping. It was him, her, and some very fogged up windows.
If the car's rockin', don't bother knockin'. Occupants are bizzay.
She’d always heard that boys weren’t attentive to the needs of their partners and that sex was boring and not worth the trouble. Clearly, everyone who’d ever told her that was doing it wrong. Sex with Tate was intense to say the least; it left her knees wobbling and her breath shaky for hours afterward. Of course, just Tate looking at her a certain way could do the same thing, but sometimes when he was between her legs, looking down at her with a hand around her throat, she felt so happy she could die.