and i love her ▸ tate langdon ✓

03. doll parts

He only loves those things
Because he loves to see them break

-

Tate leans back in his bed, his chest heaving as he grabs a tissue from his nightstand to wipe his hand off.

He was absolutely transfixed with Marceline. He had no clue what it was about the girl that made her hard to get out of his mind. Tate thought about her all the time. All the time. No matter what he did, she was on his mind.

Her pretty eyes, her beautiful hair, the way she smiles. Everything about her was gorgeous.

Getting up from his bed and adjusting the waistband of his pants, he leaves his room and carefully walks downstairs, not wanting to run into his mother or her recent man, Larry. They were both a nightmare come true.

The floorboard on the very last step would squeak so he purposely skipped the last step, going from the penultimate step to the floor in one stride.

Keeping his steps light, he walks into the kitchen and pries open the fridge where he grabs a bottle of water. Turning to leave, he gets stopped in his tracks by Constance, his mother, who held a glass of wine with only a small amount left.

"Now, what do you think you're doing?" she asks him, her southern drawl like poison to Tate's ears. "Getting water," he answers flatly, his head lowered slightly. Constance was clearly wine-drunk already and it was only six in the evening.

"Have you done that... homework of yours?" she asks but not sincerely. She only asked because she felt like she had to, given Tate is her son.

"Why do you care?" Tate shoots back, causing Constance to freeze. Her expression changes to anger as she huffs in irritation. "I am your mother and I will be addressed as such," she warns, her voice lowered with threat.

Tate stares blankly at her, his eyes holding a level of anger that people would think was abnormal. He rolls his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. Constance stumbles past him in a drunken stupor, pouring out the rest of the wine in the bottle into her glass.

With a groan, she turns to her son. "Do me a favor and run down to the Korean and get me some cigarettes and that wine I like, would you?" Constance phrases her words as if it were an option but Tate knew better than anyone that Constance never asks; she just demands nicely.

He nods begrudgingly, moving to leave the kitchen. "Take the money out of my purse!" she calls out as he exits the room. He grabs some money from her wallet and continues out of the house, walking into the fading day.

The bottom of his shoes scrape the sidewalk he walks on, his head hung low as he guides himself by memory to the Korean. Walking into the building, he grabbed his mom's wine and went to the counter.

The man who stood there knew Tate and more specifically, knew the Langdon's in general. The man knew Tate was a good kid and that he was getting the wine and cigarettes for his mother.

Purchasing the items, Tate mumbles a quiet "Thank you," before heading back out of the shop. The sun was even further set behind the houses that line the street, the sky illuminating a vivid orange instead of its usual blue.

Walking back down the street his house was on, his eyes linger on Marceline's house. He sees her sitting on the steps of her porch, a cigarette between her lip as she looks out at the houses. She notices Tate and smiles, waving subtly.

He smiles in return, his lips pressed together in an awkward fashion. Marceline had to appreciate his awkwardness. She thought it was cute and charming.