InsaneJournal

Who: Tate and Violet.
What: Tate apologizes for running.
When: Wednesday, 4/24, evening.
Where: The beach.
Rating: R for language and mentioning of teenage drinking.
Status: Complete!



The sun was going down over the ocean when Tate got to the beach. It took awhile to shoulder tap for some beer, and by the time that he’d found someone to do that, he decided that beer wasn’t going to cut it. That meant a detour to his mom’s place. Luckily, she was busy with one of her boy toys half her age, and he was able to get in and out with a bottle of Maker’s Mark and Cuervo, and a hundred bucks he snagged out of her purse. Thanks Constance Cocksucker.

He sat down in the sand, not caring if it worked it’s way into the holes in his jeans, his cardigan hanging off one shoulder, and let the wind ruffle his hair as he took a long drink of tequila, chasing it with a can of beer. All he needed now, was a good buzz, and to talk about that mess of a dream with Violet - face to face - when she showed up.

She showed up not long after he’d gotten halfway into his beer, saying nothing, just sitting next to him. Violet’s feet were bare, and she dug them into the cooling sand. “Hey.”

"Hey you," he mumbled, staring out at the water. It was a full minute before he glanced over at her, leaning over just enough to bump his shoulder against her's. And when he looked at her, it was like everything else in the world ceased to exist around them. "You want something to drink?"

“I’m good.” She met his eyes, and suddenly the tears she’d swore she wouldn’t cry, the ones she’d been holding back, started to flow over. “You left,” she whispered.

"I dreamed you...that you made me go away, Violet," he was saying back to her, his own voice breaking, and tears welling in his eyes. He angrily rubbed them away with the back of one hand, swiped across his face, which made him seem more like a lost child, than someone who was eighteen years old. "I didn't understand all of it, but you did it anyway...even when...you are all I want...or need."

“Because in the dreams you raped my mom, Tate!” Violet’s lower lip wobbled as they spoke, and she covered her hands with her face. “That’s all I want too, to be with you, but you haven’t done any of that here, I wouldn’t make you go away.”

"I wasn't with you at the time, though! You changed me! You made me want to be better!" He grabbed at his hair, his fingers clamping down on the strands, and pulled on them as his face contorted into a horrible wince. It was almost like he was back there, living it, all over again. The irony being living since the most alive he'd ever felt was with Violet, and that was when he was dead. "Why wouldn't you listen? If I did something bad now, you might send me away without letting me explain. How am I supposed to know that you wouldn't do that all over again?"

He let go of his hair, angry tears hot on his face as he threw the beer out toward the water, as far as he could throw it without standing up.
“What are you going to do?” She stood up and looked down at him. “Part of getting better is not worrying about all of the bad things you might do and just living your life, Tate. I won’t leave you if you don’t leave me first.” He was the one who’d left, why was she being punished for it?

"What?" He looked up at her, like what she said wasn't processing. And part of it wasn't, since he'd stopped taking his meds after falling into one of those pitfalls of 'why bother?' The other part was that he couldn't ever imagine leaving her, which was why he tried to explain, "I was hurt. I needed to think, Violet, but I was going to come home!"

He stood up too and tried to take hold of one her hands, if she would let him.

"I don't know what I might do. I don't want to do anything to hurt anyone," he whispered, his breath racing as he tried to get the words out as quickly as possible. "I just don't know if you were right, that I was capable of scaring you, if I could be that person in my dreams...I have to worry about that, Violet. Or it might happen all over again and people might get hurt."

“How was I supposed to know that?” She burst into tears against his chest, wrapping her arms around him, fisting his shirt between her fingers. “I don’t think you could be that person, I don’t. You try, you do, you’re seeing someone and you take your medicine and you’re better, you are.” She wiped her eyes. “We already got away from our parents, that has to mean something.”

This was one of those moments where Tate wished he was a bird and he could fly away, only he wished the same for Violet, too. So maybe they could go somewhere, far away. Together.

He stared out at the sea before his arms wrapped around her so he could hold her tight against him, reluctant to admit to her that he stopped taking his meds, and he missed his appointment with the therapist the day before. "Yeah, it means something. I don't want to fuck up again, and I'm afraid that...if I do...you'll dump me. I don't want to be that person, but I might be. Even if I'm trying not to be."

Or only half-assed trying, because he didn't want to be on the meds sometimes, and there were days when he didn't want to go into therapy, so he wandered around people watching or hanging out in a library to read books, instead.

“I won’t leave you.” She looked up at him, shaking her head. “If you start to be that person, I’ll try to stop you, easy as that.”

He wanted to say that she couldn't stop him before, but instead, he tilted his head down and looked into her eyes. His expression was as though he was apologizing without words, all while openly crying. He never had to worry about crying, not in front of Violet.

The rest of the world? It could go fuck itself. He wouldn't shed a tear over it, or any other living being, for that matter.

"...all right," he finally said, wanting to believe her. Still, deep down, he was hesitant. That dream was too real and too fresh in his mind. He wanted to drink himself into a stupor and hold onto her as he passed out, then deal with whatever, tomorrow or the next day or the next day. "Easy as that."

“If you and I end up having to burn the whole world down to stay together, that’s all I care about. You and me.” She wiped his cheeks with her thumbs, biting her lip. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

"I made you cry too," was all Tate could say for a long moment, before he smiled past the tears, and held onto her like she was the only safe harbor in the midst of a ongoing storm, that he had ever known. "I'm sorry and I do love you. Can we go home now?"

Home wasn't home unless it was the house, but he'd look for that later. And he'd help her burn down the whole world in order to stay together, without a second thought. He already thought about that, anyway.

She looked up at him, her brow furrowing. “We can go home, wherever you want. And I cry a lot. I’m kind of a bitch that way.” She smiled, tiptoeing up to kiss him.

"It's okay, I'm a rotten fucker," he admitted, before kissing her, both arms around her waist, lifting her up in his arms for a moment. He put her down, without breaking the kiss.

And that just made her melt. “But you’re my rotten fucker,” Violet sighed. She licked her lips, reaching up to run her fingers through Tate’s hair. “Is there anything I can do to make you worry less about me leaving?”

"I don't know." He was being honest, even as her asking him that made him melt a little bit. He tipped his face down to touch his forehead against hers, resting there as he closed his eyes. "I'm tired. Let's go home, drink, and hold each other. Or whatever else happens, happens."

Violet nodded. “Okay.” She hugged him tightly again, not caring too much about being clingy. She’d fucking earned it.