evan peters + ahs imagines

tate langdon: hiding the hurt

"why the fuck are you always so negative all the time?" tate snapped.

"i'm not. you just refuse to see things how they are."

"no, i don't."

"yeah the fuck you do." i yelled, "stop pretending everything is so happy and fun. it's fucking annoying."

"what is your problem lately?"

"i don't have a problem." i said.

"then why are you so fucking negative. everytime i try and be positive or am happy about something you shut me down." he expressed to me.

i didn't like hearing that, so i just got even more mad. "well i'm sorry you feel that way."

"seriously?" he scolded at me, kind of hurt.

"just go away." i said, "you're being super fucking annoying."

"you're just a bitch." he said, leaving. he was mad, but not as mad as he was hurt. he felt like i didn't care about his feelings or happiness.

tate went on a walk through our neighborhood to try and cool off. he hated being mad at the one person he loved, but he had a pretty good reason to be mad.

the hard part was, he was still having to stay at my house cause of problems he was having a with his family (mostly his mom).

he waited hours until dark to go inside, that way he wouldn't have to see me.

meanwhile, i felt kind of guilty for being so mean to tate lately but i really did not want to admit to him or apologize because i didn't want to be wrong.

while tate was waiting to go inside, a group of teenage boys came up to him.

"what are you doing outside so late gayass?" one laughed at him.

tate got up, "what are you doing here?"

"are those...tears? hah! blondie was crying??"

"i wasnt fucking crying. get off of my yard."

"last time i checked...your house was over there." one of them pointed at his mothers house across the street.

tate started to walk away and inside, but he was grabbed by the back of his shirt. they were refusing to let him walk away.

"fuck off guys." he yelled at them.

"what did you just say to us?" they pushed him to the ground and pinned him down.

"get off of me, what the fuck??"

one of the boys punched him in the face, making him bleed. they all laughed an ran off, leaving tate laying on the sidewalk with a pounding headache and a terribly bloody face.

he sat there for a few seconds trying to come to terms with what just happened to him. he sat up, feeling dizzy. his head hurt and so did the rest of his body. blood was on his hands, shirt, and of course his face.

"shit." he whispered to himself.

he trampled over to the back door and snuck into the house, he wasn't sure what to do. he wasn't even sure if i was awake.

tate went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror.

he spit up all the blood in his mouth into the sink. it hurt really bad, and he was really anxious. he just wanted to die right there and then.

he sobbed quietly for a few seconds and then tried to pull himself together so he could get up to his bedroom in the attic without me hearing.

gently and quickly, he made his way up to the attic and climbed into his bed. the second his head hit the pillow, he started to cry and he kept crying for over an hour. once that hour passed, the crying became too much and it started to hurt. he wanted to stop.