Born to Die
Feet don't fail me now/ take me to the finish line

The first time Tate walks in on her cutting herself -You're doing it wrong. If you're trying to kill yourself cut vertically. They can't stitch that up. If you're trying to kill yourself, you might also try locking the door. - was not the first time she thought about dying. No, not dying. Killing herself.

It was long before they moved into the Murder House, before her father cheated, before her mother lost the baby. They were still a happy, normal family. She was eleven, maybe twelve, and just starting to see the world for what it really was: vast and dark and cruel. To escape this newly discovered reality, she would climb up to the roof of their house. Her room - a converted attic space - had a very small window,barely large enough for a small, skinny girl to wriggle through. Just under her window was a teensy ledge that she could balance on if she stood all the way on her tippy toes. She was pleased that the years of ballet her mother had forced her into (that she secretly loved, but she would never admit that out loud, not to anyone, not ever) had come on handy in the real world. From the ledge, the lip of the roof was only just reachable if she stretched her hands up as far as she could. Sometimes, she had to do a very careful, very practiced little hop to grab it, and then she would be able to pull herself up enough to swing a leg over. She always remembered to lock her door, but leave the window open so that she could hear if anyone happened to call her from inside.

Some days she'd bring a book and a snack, or her homework, but mostly she just liked to sit and watch and think. It was quiet up there, and she liked to look out over the hundreds of identical houses that made up the gates community they lived in. It made her think that the world couldn't possibly be as enormous as they all said it was. Surely it ended where she stopped seeing the land laid out.

She often thought about what would happen if she fell off. But she'd never fall off, no. She was too careful for that. She'd have to jump. She would picture what her body would look like when she landed - SPLAT! - all twisted and broken. Would her brains be all over the sidewalk? Would her limbs bend at unnatural angles? She had a burning need to find out. Something inside her whispered seductively that she was invincible. It told her that such a little fall couldn't hurt her, much less kill her. Logically, she knew the voice was lying to her, but she felt compelled to do as it said and test the limits of her mortality.

Eventually, the evil little voice triumphed over her common sense. On the day it won, it was sunny, and there was a strong breeze that made her sway and whipped her hair about playfully. She stood from her usual spot and walked to the edge of the roof without realizing she had ever moved. Her toes peeked over into the cool wind, and the rush that gave her seemed only a preview of what was to come.

Someone in the street must have seen her standing up there, because the next thing she remembers is her father struggling out of her tiny window and heaving himself up onto the roof. He crept towards her slowly, a soft stream of gentle words falling from his mouth. "Why don't you come away from there, Vi? Sweetheart, back away from the edge. Just back up slowly, baby. It's okay. I'll get you down. We'll be fine." She rained where she way, letting the wind gently rock her as she stared at the cold gray pavement and the bright green grass.

When her father reached her, he pulled her into his arms like she was a baby. "It's okay. I've got you. You're okay. You're safe now." He began carrying her back across the roof. "I was only looking," she mumbled dazedly.

Later, as her parents questioned her, and her father took the soft approach: "Violet, honey, why were you on the roof?" and her mother the louder, angry one: " What were you thinking? What would have happened if you'd fallen!?" I would have died, she thought. But what she said was "I was only looking" over and over again.

That was the first time that she felt the pull of the darkness, but not the last.