A/N: I just had this idea in my head and since it was a one-shot I wanted to get it out-of-the-way first. Like most of my stories, this is an AU but at least here I'm still playing by the rules of the Murder House. Things are just inverted somewhat. Shakespeare is quoted. Enjoy!

The scars on your skin, post no bills

...

Who you were

Was so beautiful

Remember who…who you were

...

Hide from your family, they won't know you now

...

Who you were

Was so beautiful

-Screenager by Muse

Violet hadn't been dead for long. In fact, her suicide had taken place a mere ten months prior to the arrival of the new family. She wanted to blame her parents for it, but it wasn't their entire fault. She was depressed, lonely and isolated herself. It didn't even take a lot out of her to have taken a shitload of sleeping pills, cut herself deeper than she had before and fell asleep in an ever-growing pool of her own blood. Her mother had been the one to find the body. The screams that erupted from the woman's throat were something that Violet would never forget. She couldn't, after all, show herself to her parents and explain that she was going to be in the house for the rest of eternity. Her parents left shortly after they buried her and she became stuck within the cursed walls. There was nothing to do and no one interested her. Until he arrived.

He was new to the house and he was bound her perfect prey. The house practically vibrated when there were new residents. Especially residents that were more than likely to fall for the devilish manipulations that would lead them to their downfall. But of the four new residents, there was only one that caught Violet's attention. He was a tall and lanky depressed youth. In other words, the guy was right up her alley.

She had a boyfriend once. They hated the world together, smoked together and swapped spit behind the bleachers of the gym. He had grown her out and dumped her after a pretty cheerleader named Chloe decided to fuck him and turn him into a football star.

Tate, the name she had found out he bore, would be different. She had a power over him that she could never have over Kyle. Not to mention that Tate was different. He was seventeen but he dressed like he lived in Seattle in the nineties and listened to the music that fit his wardrobe. He hated his mother but absolutely adored his siblings, he got high on more than one occasion, he ran track and he was a borderline insomniac. And that was just the surface of him.

Violet desperately wanted to talk to him, but she didn't know how she was going to strike up a conversation with him. What would she even say: "Hi, I'm Violet. I'm dead. Wanna hook up?" No, she didn't think so. She had an idea, however.

Tate hated that his mother had forced them all to move to L.A. He loved Boston and everything that came with it. L.A. depressed him. He hated the way the people at Westfield were and he just wanted to run far away. He would do it too, were it not for his siblings. Addie and Beau needed someone to love them and treat them right instead of locking them away and being ashamed of them. He couldn't take them with him but, if he could, he would escape with them in a heartbeat.

He had wanted to escape and then it started happening. He never slept a full eight hours and most nights he fell in and out of sleep. Because of that kind of thing, he was never sure if what he saw at night was a dream or real. He particularly didn't know if the girl he had started seeing when he moved into the house was real. It was always really early in the morning when she appeared or that he dreamt of her…whichever it actually was. She looked at him the first few times. Just looked. In turn, he looked at her. He was pretty sure that she was a figment of his imagination because no one could be that effortlessly beautiful. She had straight brownish blonde hair that hung a few inches past her shoulder, expressive hazel eyes and fleshy, pink lips. On top of that, she dressed in layers…several of them. He loved the way she looked: face, hair, style and body.

At first, he just wanted to talk to her and when he actually spoke to her, she just smiled at him. He loved her smile. She would disappear shortly after. He started going through his days wanting night to arrive, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. It became an obsession. He tried drawing her from his memory but his hands weren't made for art. He could usually write but it wasn't possible to write about her; no, his hands were accustomed to depression, blood and carnage not passion for an imaginary girl.

Things got worse when she did more than look at him. She had started touching him. Sometimes he would open his eyes and see her straddling him. Sometimes she would be pushing strands of his hair out of his face. Sometimes she would be holding his hand and giving it a small peck. His favorite, however, was when he woke up and saw her head gently laying upon his stomach, her face towards him. She looked at him like he was her world and they had never exchanged a single word.

One night, he woke up with his pants down and her hand around his cock. She looked at him while she moved her hand up and down. She had less layers on this time. She wore only leggings and a tank top. He had never noticed what a great rack she had and that just fueled the desire she was creating with her hand. Just as he was about to come, she spoke.

"Violet. My name is Violet."

He came with a shout of her name. She smiled as she licked his cum off and then disappeared. Her name was Violet and she was dangerously close to owning him.

After she had gotten him off, Violet went from occasionally watching the object of her affections to watching him every chance she got. She learned his schedule by heart. He got up early, spent some time with his siblings and then left for school. Four days of the week he would arrive at about six, Friday's he arrived at three. What he did differed but mostly it was between tedious schoolwork, listening to music and writing and drawing something. Whatever he was trying to draw, however, never seemed right because he always ripped the paper to shreds and proceeded to get high. He would fight with his mother, calm his siblings down, eat something and then go to bed. He started going to bed earlier than usual. That was her fault. She knew it and she relished in that fact.

She wanted him so much that the hours that he was away she was moodier and angrier than usual. She'd usually steal some liquor or some cigarettes off his mom and get it over with. Sometimes she lay in his bathtub and tried to recreate her suicide. He had his highs and she had hers.

One afternoon in early November, he came back from school earlier than usual and he was raging. He threw his bag at the wall and his lamp to the floor. Something had happened and she had no means of knowing what it was. He laid on his bed in a huff and closed his eyes. She arched her eyebrows at the awkward behavior. He repeatedly smacked the sides of his face and said:

"Come on, come on, come on."

She had no idea what it was that he was waiting for until he said her name. "Come on, Vi. I need to see you."

Then she smacked herself in the face. Of course, he was trying to knock himself out to see her. If he needed her, she was only too ready to oblige. She climbed onto his bed, trapped the savage hands and said:

"I'm here Tate. Stop hurting yourself."

His eyes widened when he saw her. "Violet."

"Hi."

"You speak."

"Of course I speak. I'm human, you know."

"No you're not. You're a figment of my imagination."

"Am I?"

"Yeah. I have to be asleep right now."

"Is that what you really think?"

"Yes."

"I'm not going to correct you. But tell me, does this feel imaginary?"-She said as she climbed on top of him and ran her hands under his sweater. He said nothing.

"How about this? Does this feel imaginary?"-She kissed his neck and ground herself against his crotch.

"Get out! Get out of my head!"-He said closing his eyes and shaking his head violently.

"I'm not in your head, Tate. I'm here. I'm right here."-This time she was worried. She pressed kisses to his cheeks and lay down to hold him tight.

"Violet, you're dead."

Her eyes widened at his statement and she sat up.

"What are you talking about?"

"This guy caught me drawing you and he said that my drawing looked like his ex girlfriend…a girl named Violet."

She looked down and let him continue his story.

"I became overjoyed. There was a possibility that you weren't imaginary. But when I asked him where his ex was, he said that she was six feet under. I told him that it couldn't be possible because I had seen you. Then he told me that I was batshit crazy and that even if I weren't, you were nothing but a needy bitch. I lost it. I tackled him and I punched his face in about ten times. I ran out after that."

"I'm sorry."-She said.

"Why?"

"Because I haven't been honest with you. And I've never appeared to you during the day and I know you don't sleep well, so I knew you'd think I'm a dream."

"Why would you do that?"

"I couldn't just come up to you and introduce myself. I've been watching you for too long for it to be normal."

"And jerking me off in the middle of the night is normal?"

"No. But I wanted to do that. You were stressed."

"Why do you even care?"

"I like you. I…want you. I've never wanted someone before."

They started talking after Violet fixed his bruised hand. She told him about her depression and isolation. Told him about how she had killed herself in her bed and then become a ghost. They spoke about Kyle and how he had dumped Violet for Chloe and called Violet a needy bitch when she protested. Tate had gotten even madder at Kyle than he already was because of it. Violet shrugged and told him not to fret about it: "After all, I got depressed on my own and I'm sure Chloe is going to dump his ass after high school anyway. She's probably going to move on to some idiot frat boy."

Tate felt like he was losing his mind. He was talking to a dead girl and he was getting along with her really well. Halfway through their conversation, they decided to play Scrabble and he was surprised when he beat her.

"I've never been that good with words."-She said.

"I don't buy that."

"I'm not you, Mr. Poetry. You read Romantic poems all the time."

He stuck his tongue out at her. "You know way too much about me."

"I'm a careful observer and I have a lot of time on my hands."

Hours later, Violet lied in bed next to him and they were holding hands. Just holding hands. Tate's breath slowed down eventually as he fell asleep. She turned to look at him for a second and then disappeared.

She never thought that talking to Tate would go as well as it did. It felt natural and like they'd been doing it for years. He was smart and sarcastically funny and they got on perfectly. Instead of making her happy, however, having such a strong connection to Tate only depressed her.

For one, it made her think that if she hadn't killed herself and waited some more months, she would have someone to complain to that would understand her perfectly. Maybe they could have endured the rest of high school together and then grabbed some money and some giant backpacks and traveled all through Europe. The would have started off in England and kept on to the north of the continent: cold, rainy weather, historic buildings, greyish skies, great music and beautiful parks with a sliver of sunshine. It would've been perfect. It would have been just two young kids exploring the world together. But that would never happen.

Second reason was that she knew she was falling in love with him. Before she had just wanted him. Wanted his company and wanted him for his beauty: to use his body for her own pleasure. Now, it was different. Now, she cared about him. She didn't even know why, but she did. He mattered to her more than anything else...even more than her wants and needs. It was inexplicable but truthful. As such, she knew that she could never condemn Tate to an existence within the Murder House. She accepted that one day he would have to move on with his life. Eventually, Tate would grow up and become an adult. He wouldn't want to stay in this house with his mother just to stay with her. He would leave, he would take his siblings with him and, if she continued things with him, she would gladly let him go at the cost of her own heart.

It was time to make a decision. Would she let herself love him and then have her heart destroyed? Or would she let him live his life without her interruption?

The next morning, Tate woke up and Violet was gone. He called out for her.

"Violet?"

His door opened and Violet came into his room.

"Good morning."

"I thought you were going to say with me."

"I don't sleep and I felt like a stalker when I kept looking at you."

"Why don't you sleep? You can't?"

"I can. I just don't like to."

"Maybe if you tried sleeping with me, you would like it."-He said cockily.

"Maybe."-She smiled. "So, don't you have school?"

"I'm not going today."

"Don't skip on my account."

"I beat someone up, remember?"

"I'm pretty sure they called your mother by now. Or are about to."

"She's not going to care. She's too drunk. So...where are we going today?"

The one thing Violet hadn't told him about was that she couldn't leave the house. He didn't need to know. Not now, anyway. She would distract him for the time being. So when he asked that question, she merely smirked and walked over to him. He was still on the bed, so she did what she had done so many times before and climbed on top of him. She leaned down so their lips were dangerously close and whispered:

"To the stars."

She pressed her lips against his and was surprised by the sheer power of an innocent kiss. It lasted about five seconds and then she pulled away and looked at him. They had both felt it and they didn't know what it was. She licked her lips and kissed him again. He flipped them and pressed his whole body on top of her as they made out. His mother chose that precise moment to knock on the door and all but barge in. Tate looked at the door and then back at Violet. Only, Violet had disappeared again. He plopped down on the bed when his mother barged in.

She yelled at him about what he's done to Kyle and how he's suspended from school all next week. He says that he's sorry and takes the beating she gives him in quiet hopefulness. He wants her to stop so that Violet can come out of hiding. Violet would take care of him. He knew it.

When his mother left him alone, Violet appeared, dragged him to the bathroom and drew a cold bath for him. She helped him get in the water and she got in with him. With all the care of a loving nurse, she cleansed the few bloody wounds and kissed them and the bruises that were sprinkled here and there. He grabbed her face and fiercely kissed her lips. He had needed her kiss and left patience to stronger men. She was everything he could have ever dreamt of and he wasn't ashamed to admit that he was her slave.

Violet broke the kiss and removed her cardigan. It fell with a wet thwack on the linoleum and the sound made her smile. She wanted to hear all of their clothes make that sound. It wasn't even for sexual purposes; she simply wanted to press herself against him in a loving embrace. She took off her sweater next (thwack) and was left in a bra and leggings on top of him. He looked at her in shock and felt unable to move. She rolled her eyes at him and tugged at his sweater, he lifted his arms and let her take it off him (thwack). The remaining pieces of clothing soon found themselves creating a symphony on the bathroom floor.

THWACK.

THWACK.

THWACK.

THWACK.

THWACK.

They were comfortable in their nudity. She got under him and held him. Violet knew what Tate would never admit to himself: that he needed someone to love him. He needed it desperately for fear of falling through the cracks of his darkened mind. She loved him and would continue to love him. She would love him even if it caused her pain, because she wanted to save him.

Tate turned off the water with his foot when it was getting dangerously close to spilling over. Violet was his water nymph as she playfully dripped water on his forehead and giggled when he smiled. She was then his nymphet when she kissed his neck and nibbled on his earlobe in a lascivious manner. Then, when his arousal rose to the occasion, she flitted down like a mermaid and took him in her mouth.

He shut his eyes and held back a moan at the sensation. This wasn't a dream…he was sure of it now. This girl was all but underwater and she was giving him pleasure. And yet, he didn't think it was fair. The feel of her mouth sucking and going up and down on his erection felt good, but he wanted to please her. He wanted her to know that he was her slave. So he grabbed her hands and moved her off him. She seemed surprised when he pulled her up to meet their lips, but she was the happier for it. His kiss was addictive; sweet and sour flavor with passion behind it.

Like before, he overpowered her. He laid his body over hers again, praying that he'd not be interrupted this time around. She panted heavily as he treated her neck to an even greater kindness than the one she had bestowed upon his. And while his mouth and tongue were occupied with thrilling her neck, his hands caressed her thin frame and her subtle curves. Violet felt absolutely weightless under the surface of the water and under the touch of his rough, long-fingered hands. He kissed her and his fingers entered her cunt.

"Fuck."-Tate said, breaking the kiss. "You feel good around my fingers. So tight."

She moved her hips against his intruding digits. "You should know…I'm a virgin."

He looked at her but kept thrusting his fingers inside of her. "You mean to say that your douchebag of an ex…"

"No. Kyle and I never had sex. We never got past second base."

Tate wasn't scared. He wasn't one of those guys that would shy away from a girl he liked only because she was a virgin. Especially when he didn't just like the girl. He was pretty certain that he had fallen completely in love with the broken dead girl beneath him. The fact that she was a virgin only made him smile.

"Are you sure that you want me to be your first?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to. You're smarter than that. Oh!"-She said as he found her g-spot with his fingers. He pulled his fingers out and Violet snapped her eyes open and smack his arm.

"What the fuck, Tate?"

"Do you really want to come around my fingers and not around my cock?"

She gave him a look. It was another stupid question.

She widened her legs a bit more and they kissed as they became one. It was a corny way of thinking about it but, it was the exact phrase both thought of at that very moment.

The new intrusion didn't hurt Violet…on the contrary, she felt a fullness that she had never felt in life. She moaned at the sensation of feeling physically complete. He kept completely quiet; he felt the same as Violet and he savored the moment the most he could. Whatever doubts either of them had, they were expunged in this moment. They belonged to each other. They wrapped their arms around each other's bodies, entwined their legs and dovetailed their heads in each other's necks, as they started moving in tandem. At that point, it was borderline impossible to tell them apart.

They were one wet, passionate unit and, only when they climaxed together, did they untangle themselves from each other. For minutes they just looked at each other as they came down from their highs. Then, inexplicably:

"I love you, Violet."

She was frightened by his utterance. She gave him a weak smile and said: "Um…you too."

"I know this is going really fast. It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; too like the lightning, which doth cease to be ere one can say 'It lightens'."

She laughed. "Are you going to say that I've left you unsatisfied?"

"No. You don't have to say it."

She held his hand. "Be patient and you'll hear it."

"Promise?"

She nodded her head.

They figured that as long as they were in the shower, they might actually do what one was supposed to do in a shower. They drained the tub and had a laugh for about another half hour while they played and scrubbed each other clean. Eventually, Violet told Tate that they were getting pruney and needed to stop messing around. She all but dragged him from the shower and threw a towel at his face. He took the time to lightly dry his hair and when he removed the towel from his face, Violet had again disappeared.

"Violet?"-He called. He noticed that even her wet clothes had disappeared from the floor. He wrapped the towel around himself and went out into the hall.

"Violet?"

He then spotted his sister walking up the stairs.

"Who's Violet?"

"No one, Addie."

"I'm not stupid, you know. Who's Violet?"

"She's a friend."

"A friend that sees you in the bathroom?"-She pointed to his towel.

"She's my girlfriend."

Addie smiled. She always wanted her brother to be happy. "Oh. Does mom know?"

"No. Could you keep this between us?"

Addie nodded and then briskly walked to her bedroom.

Tate huffed. Violet had the nasty habit of disappearing when he didn't want her to. He went back to the bathroom and picked up his mess when he noticed that there was one piece of her clothing left. He grabbed it with a smile and along with his clothes returned to his bedroom.

He was pleasantly surprised to find Violet sprawled on his bed with a book in hand. She was completely dry and wore one of his plaid shirts over her leggings and socks.

"Hi there."-She said without taking her eyes off her book.

"You disappeared on me."

"I did."

"Why?"-He said as he put on his underwear.

She looked at him. "A little fun."

"Your aloofness is going to get me killed someday."

"I hope not. You're too valuable to be stuck in this house."

"Valuable? I'm completely replaceable in this world."

Violet dropped her book completely and walked up to him. She hugged him desperately and said: "You are not replaceable to me…and you're not replaceable to your siblings. They love you."

"I know they do."

"You can't give up for me, then."

"I want to."

"I know you do. But you can't."

"I love you. I want to be with you so badly."

"I know, I know. I, uh…have to go."-She said and gave him a peck.

"Where are you going?"

A few tears escaped her eyes as she said: "Away"

And with that she disappeared again. It was a habit of hers and, though he should've gotten used to it, this time felt different. This time felt like she wouldn't come back. The notion of it frightened him.

His fears were justified. Violet didn't appear to him that night, or any other night for a week. Things started getting worse when his mother moved her new boyfriend into the house. Tate was angry at himself for needing Violet. By the end of the week, he convinced himself that his time with Violet was nothing more than the effects of the combination of drugs he took. He got high again just to see if she would make an appearance again. Nothing happened.

The only good thing that had come out of his week in purgatory was that he slept peacefully. For the first time in years, he slept uninterruptedly for long hours. There was one occasion in which he actually slept for eighteen hours. It was bliss. Unconsciousness provided him with the only shelter for his hell. He didn't think about her in his sleep and, for that, he was grateful.

What Tate wasn't aware of, however, was that he slept with Violet by his side every night. Violet was distraught after he had confessed that he loved her and had all but said that he would gladly die to be with her. My life better ended […] than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. It fit him perfectly. He wanted her so much that he was willing to give everything up…his freedom even, to be with her. She would not allow it. His story must resume and it must resume without her. She felt guilty for the torture that she knew he felt, but she was trying to keep him safe. Keep him separate from her spirit desire. So she went back to his pattern of watching him, and every single time he was conscious, she would do so invisibly. But under the guise of his unconsciousness, she would curl up at his side and kiss his pale cheek, hoping that he would think of her as nothing more than a dream. He had to get out and, if that meant that he would forget her then so be it.

Time passed. Violet still slept with Tate every night he chose to sleep. Sometimes, he would disappear from the house for hours on end during the night and he would come back looking more haggard and high than he had when he had left. Violet hated herself when she saw Tate become the ghost of the boy she had fallen in love with. It was her fault that he was like this. If she had only kept away and never appeared to him, this wouldn't have happened.

She didn't know what to do. She was at her wit's end. She didn't want Tate to become attached to her because she didn't want him to be unable to leave the house, but at the same time, she wanted him to be the guy she knew he was. She wanted him to shine through his flaws like he always had.

Sometime in the early spring, Constance asked her boyfriend Larry to kill her son Beau. Violet had heard the muffled screams in the middle of the night and left Tate's bed for the attic. By the time she got there, it was too late. Beau had passed on. When he woke up dead, it was Violet that comforted him. She played with him and told him nice things. She insisted that they be friends. Violet hated that the house had claimed another victim, especially one so innocent, but she decided that if he was stuck in the house, he at least ought to have some congenial company.

What none of them knew was that, as soon as Violet had left his side, Tate had inexplicably woken up. He had woken up with a feeling of dread and crept out of the room and to the hallway, where he saw Larry descend the stairs from the attic. At the time, Tate had absolutely no idea what was going on. The rest of his night was restless. He could shut his eyes even if he tried. In the morning, he found out Beau was dead. And he knew that Larry had done it.

Violet didn't see much of Tate for the next few days. She had started getting worried. It was time to appear in front of him. She decided that after the night's dinner, she would talk to him. Constance had prepared an actual meal and she had been almost entirely sober when she did it. Violet had to admit that it was beyond the stretch of her infinite imagination. Tate had asked to say grace and Violet snorted at that.

"Dear God, thank you for the salty pig meat we are about to eat, along with the rest of the indigestible swill. And thank you for our new charade of our family. My father ran away when I was only six. If I'd have known any better, I would have joined him. And, also, because she's been trying to keep the house, Lord, a big thank you for blinding the asshole that's doing my mother, so that he can't see what everybody knows…she doesn't really love him."

Addie smiled brightly. "Amen."

Violet had to laugh at that. But all her smiles soon faded when the conversation took a turn for the worst and she saw Tate's anger blow up. She had never seen him that violent before. He knew that it was Larry that had killed his brother and she hadn't even told him yet. Soon he stomped away to his room. Violet followed him. He sat in front of his desk.

She appeared.

"Tate."

He didn't respond. He stared at the wall but his eyes were empty.

"Tate, I'm sorry. For everything."

He still didn't respond.

"Look at me, Tate. I'm right here, I promise. Look at me."- She put her hands on him and his eyes snapped to her.

"Tate, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You left me."

"I'm sorry, Tate."

"You didn't want me. You never loved me."

"No! That's not true. I was trying to protect you!"

He got out of his chair in a huff and yelled: "Protect me how?! By deserting me?! By making me feel like I was crazy?! You didn't protect me, you broke me!"

"You don't understand. Don't you get it? I'm dead! And once you die in this house, you don't get to leave! I don't want that for you!"

"Am I so horrible that you wouldn't want me to stay here with you?"

"That's not it and you know it!"

"I don't want a full life Violet! I could care less."

"Then what do you want?!"-She asked tearful.

"What I wanted was you."-He said, framing her face and gently kissing her lips. "What I want is you. You and me, together for always."

She whined. "I want you to live."

"No."

"Yes. You have to live. I want you to live for me. Do everything that I can't. Finish high school, grow old…" Her voice broke: "Get married, travel, get a job, have kids and a dog. Take Addie from your mom as soon as you can and leave. Leave and never come back. This house is swallowing you up and it will take you whole if you let it."

"I can't, Violet. And besides, I have plans."

"Plans? What plans?"

"Just a little revenge."

"On Larry?"

"Yes."

"Should I be worried?"

"No, of course not."

"That just made me worried."

She sat on the edge of his bed and looked at him. "Do you forgive me?"

"What?"

"Do you forgive me? For abandoning you."

"I don't know yet. I'm just happy that you're here now. Even if you were distant and cold towards me. I mean, I felt like I had done something."

"I thought it was best if I left you alone…but I never asked for your opinion. I should've and I'm sorry."

"Would you have changed your mind?"

"About wanting you to be free? No. But I would have stayed with you."

He sat next to her, but he didn't fall asleep. There was a darkness inside him that had receded only for the duration of his conversation with Violet. The darkness took over when he sat on the bed.

That morning, when Violet saw what he was doing, she tried to stop him.

"Tate, you don't need those guns. Leave them there."

But her calling and pleading fell on deaf ears. Even her touches seemed to do nothing. He was too far-gone. The house had gotten to him and Violet knew it. When he left that morning, Violet wasn't sure if she would ever see him again. A few hours later he came back, he seemed upset and he was carrying all of his guns.

Violet ran to him and hugged him. "What have you done?"

"I couldn't…I just couldn't."

"What are you talking about? Couldn't what?"

"I was going to shoot them. I was going to shoot all of them. They needed to go to a better place."

"Who did?"

"Everyone at Westfield."

"No, Tate. They don't deserve to die."

"I thought about it. Even Kyle and Chloe. But I couldn't. I saw your face this morning. I could set Larry on fire but I couldn't shoot them. I don't know why."

"You set Larry on fire?"

"He killed Beau, he deserved it."

"Tate, they're going to take you away."

"No!"

"They are. You set him on fire."

She held him tight as he cried. She knew he didn't want to go away. He let her go as an idea popped into his head. He had enough drugs to do it. As soon as he pulled out his stash, Violet knew what he was going to do.

"Tate, don't."

"I have to. I'm no good to anyone alive and the rest of my life is going to be spent in prison anyway. But if I have to chose a prison, I will choose a prison where I have the girl I love with me for the rest of time."

She couldn't speak. He was right. Soon enough, the cops would arrive to come get him and he would be in prison for a long time. He sat on his bed and asked her to sit beside him. She did and placed her head on his shoulder. He looked at her; he was a Byronic Romeo:

"Oh my love! My wife! Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou are not conquered. Dear Juliet, why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous, and that the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that I still will stay with thee and never from this pallet of dim night depart again."

Her cries were soft as she kissed him passionately at the end of his speech. She had never told him and now was the perfect time to do so. Before he locked himself up with her. Before everything became permanent. He needed to know.

"My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite. Dear love, adieu."

They kissed again, happily delaying the moment of his death to savor the moment of her loving confession. They broke apart and Violet looked away as he put every bit of drugs that he had into his body. After he was finished, he lay down on the bed.

"Violet, go into my mother's medicine cabinet. Get her pills."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, do it."

Violet brought back everything she could find. One of the prescriptions was one she knew too well. It was the same kind of sleeping pill that she had used to kill herself. She let all the other bottles fall to the ground and gave him those. She hoped that he would fall unconscious as soon as she did. He swallowed all of them dry and looked at her. He felt like he was dying but was centered to the warmth of the hands that held him. His eyes felt heavy and his heart felt rushed. Violet leaned down to kiss his live lips once more.

"A kiss delivers you to death, my fallen angel."

That was the most poetic thing she had ever uttered and it came at the most appropriate time. She saw the horrors that his body went through…the consequence of a cocktail of uppers and downers of every kind. She saw when the police busted into the room only to find him dead in his bed.

But they couldn't see Violet clutching to his body tightly and they couldn't heart her Earth-shattering sobs when they took his body away from her.

She waited for Tate on his bed, breathing in the residue of his smell on the sheets and staring blankly at the wall. She waited. And waited. And waited. It was an eternity before she felt strong arms wrap around her, holding her hand as his smooth voice whisper:

"It's ok. I'm here."

She sighed in relief. Her desire had won after all. Maybe, she thought perversely, that's what the house wanted all along.