It was different. Usually what happened first was the static, like an idle channel's white noise on an old television screen. But this time, I felt nothing physical. Not the convulsions. Not even Tate's hands clasped around my neck.

But at the same time, I felt everything. I felt raw emotions, thoughts, and in such a whirlwind that it was hard to distinguish what was mine and what was his. Nothing had constricted and engulfed my body stronger than the pure emotion I was entangled within. But the most prominent was the fear. Mainly because it was such a new, terrifying addition to my "affliction" that I had no idea how to handle it, or myself.

All I heard was Tate. I felt his pain, his angst, his longing, his rejection. All in the palm of his vice like grip. I heard the screams of hatred for his mother, his father, and most importantly, himself. Even in the moment, I heard the internal fight he had to stop and let go, but the inability to overcome the darkness that so often consumed him.

Then I heard her. First, it was like a tiny ringing in the back of my head. I thought it was a sign of the end, the ringing of life being wrung out of me. But I slowly became more conscious of the physical again, and of Tate's hands around me. The ringing became a scream. And it was her.

Violet screamed. She screamed his name. She screamed for mercy. The ringing came back, this time deafeningly, but all I could do was stare at the black depths of Tate's emotionless eyes.

Then I dropped to the ground, gasping for air.

"Violet, I-"

"I thought you changed, Tate. But you're the same sick sociopath you were ten years ago."

And just like that, I lost myself in the darkness.

Honestly, I hadn't passed out so many times in the past two years alone as much as I had in the past two months of living in the Murder House. But then again, when had I ever been so closely surrounded by this many souls since my parents?

I woke up in bed and Tate was still there, sitting beside me and staring at a single dandelion as if it were the most pitiful thing he'd seen.

"You're gonna burn a hole into that flower," is what I had meant to say. What had really come out was a slightly croaked sound before a fit of coughs.

The first thing I noticed when he handed me the water was his eyes. In my sleep, the darkness that had been in them haunted me. It was nothing but dead, cold, pitch black. Now, I could feel the warmth and concern emanating from his brown-eyed stare.

"Claire, I don't even know where to begin," he stumbled over his words, struggling to find the right way to approach it, "I'm sorry. I can't believe... I just let myself lose control. I took it out on you. I know it's not an excuse. It's just that it's been over ten years since I saw that bitch and in that time, she took my kid, murdered-"

I opened my mouth to reassure him but ended up coughing again. Moira came in this time, probably having suspecting my consciousness from downstairs, with a bowl of clam chowder and another glass of water. She regarded Tate with a withering look of disapproval before addressing me.

"Claire, would you like to be alone?" She gave a pointed look toward Tate, who didn't acknowledge her jab other than looking at me with nothing but fear. I could feel his anxiety swelling up as if it were my own, seizing up until I felt paralyzed. The fear of rejection. You're all I have in this godforsaken house.

I turned toward Moira, who in this moment took mainly on her older form, smiled slightly and shook my head. She responded with a look of weariness and unease, but nodded in understanding before reminding me that Aunt Cyn wouldn't be home till midnight.

When she left, Tate turned to me again, giving me a sheepish smile before extending the small flower to me. "I couldn't really get you a bouquet of roses or anything special like that, but I found this dandelion and hoped you'd appreciate the thought?"

I couldn't help the grin that stretched across my lips at the look of pure anxiousness that came across the face of this boy that nearly murdered me.

A/N: So uh... hey hi hello. I'm terrible. I know. I'm sorry. What can I say? Life's kicked me in the ass, and my junior year of high school came and went before I knew it.
I hope I'll be back soon though, lovelies. I say that every time, but I'm cooking up something for this plot.

Till next time, stay happy