Tate Langdon (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} normanbatesjr) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} wariscoming,@ 2012-02-08 18:09:00 |
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What: Truth telling
When: Evening
Where: The Complex lobby
Warnings TBA
If he could dream, he would have written this off as a nightmare. But the dead couldn't dream. All they had was reality, and if this was his new reality, he was torn between wanting to go home, and wanting to embrace this... whatever this was supposed to be. Maybe it was the freedom, which seemed brand new to him, or maybe it was Violet, who didn't know the full extent of what he had done. Maybe it was not living in a house that was a giant cage full of people who hated him, with walls like iron bars and windows that let him look out to see his mother and that baby who always turned his head back to look up at him.
It was cold in Kansas, colder than he could remember California ever being, but Tate didn't feel the change in weather, not like the living would feel it. There was only the breeze in his face and the silence of his footsteps and the soft whishing of cars whose passengers didn't see him. They didn't see him on purpose. They didn't see him because he didn't want them to see him. Being invisible was so much easier. Nobody could look at you and see things that you didn't want them to see. Tate wished his kid was invisible too. Just so he didn't have to gaze out a window and accidentally catch a glimpse of the child's eyes.
Doing this all over again was torture. The first time around had been a disaster and this time around couldn't possibly be any different. That woman who had typed out his secrets and sent them to Violet, that woman made his chest hurt and his hands shake, and if this had been three years ago, Tate thought he'd probably have wanted to gut her. Now, however, he just wanted her to go away. Crawling into a dark corner sounded like a good idea. But there was Violet to think about, and he couldn't leave her wondering.
Tate had not arrived wearing a jacket, but there was a jacket that he didn't need on him now. There was no appearing behind her like he'd always been there, no coming through a wall, no coming out of nowhere. He pulled the door open, stepped inside and waited for her to come to him first.
It was cold in Kansas, colder than he could remember California ever being, but Tate didn't feel the change in weather, not like the living would feel it. There was only the breeze in his face and the silence of his footsteps and the soft whishing of cars whose passengers didn't see him. They didn't see him on purpose. They didn't see him because he didn't want them to see him. Being invisible was so much easier. Nobody could look at you and see things that you didn't want them to see. Tate wished his kid was invisible too. Just so he didn't have to gaze out a window and accidentally catch a glimpse of the child's eyes.
Doing this all over again was torture. The first time around had been a disaster and this time around couldn't possibly be any different. That woman who had typed out his secrets and sent them to Violet, that woman made his chest hurt and his hands shake, and if this had been three years ago, Tate thought he'd probably have wanted to gut her. Now, however, he just wanted her to go away. Crawling into a dark corner sounded like a good idea. But there was Violet to think about, and he couldn't leave her wondering.
Tate had not arrived wearing a jacket, but there was a jacket that he didn't need on him now. There was no appearing behind her like he'd always been there, no coming through a wall, no coming out of nowhere. He pulled the door open, stepped inside and waited for her to come to him first.