Late Nights.

Ch.8 ~ Remembrance.

I can't remember the last time I was truly happy. Maybe it was when I met Tate, maybe it was when I last smoked a cigarette, maybe it was as long ago as my ninth birthday. That was the best birthday I had ever witnessed. Simply because I was alone, my parents were away at some random event and had trusted me to stay home by myself. Why? I have no idea, I was only freaking nine. I got the whole house to myself. I ate everything I shouldn't have, I watched multiple movies that I shouldn't have, and I spent the darkest hours of the night listening to music that most nine year olds didn't care about. It was a birthday filled with so much freedom, freedom of which I thrived. I don't know what immense happiness truly feels like but if I could guess then I'd say it would feel like the nine year old me. I suppose I do know the last time I was truly happy. That makes me sad. Throughout my short life I had most likely only been happy a few times. Most of those times I didn't get to share with anybody else. The only exception being Tate. The same Tate that ruined my life and the little I had going for me. The same Tate that makes me cry myself to sleep every night. The same goddamned Tate that I fell in love with. The same Tate that I'm trying to fall out of love with. The same Tate that I can not escape. That also makes me sad.
It was late at night. So dark I could barely make out my fingers but I liked it like that. I decided to crank up my laptop. The laptop I have not opened since I stopped breathing. I wanted to see how much the real world cared about my family and I. Turns out that they cared more than I gave them credit for. I clicked on the first link that came up in the search. It led to a website which contained an article about my family's brutal deaths in the 'Murder House'. After reading through the honestly, boring and vague, article I flicked my eyes to the gallery of photos they had attached. Many of those photos showed a plaque. A plaque that held my name. A plaque in my remembrance that sat directly in front of my schools main entrance. I was shocked to say the least. Alongside the photos was a video. A video in which showed Connie Walker paying tribute to me. Fuck her. Excuse my French but the bitch hated my guts. That fact that she now suddenly respects me makes me sick, yet it also makes me warm inside. The fact that I could even make my enemies cry over me made me proud. Go me. I shut down the laptop and retreated to my bed. I lay down, my head on my lumpy pillow, my plump duvet wrapped tightly around my shoulders, and watched the stars outside my window allowing the moon to drift me off to sleep and decide my dreams. I thought, one day this house will no longer be mine. It will most likely be ridden of my belongings and be replaced by another's. One day I will have to share this room with somebody else. Somebody else that will most likely be deemed with the same fate that I was. I just hope that that somebody else is stronger than I was. I just hope that that somebody else has some form of protection from the conniving ghosts that roam these halls. I just hope that that somebody else has me.