Til Death Do Us Part || Tate Langdon

the truth

      Your mouth fell open and your ears rung; every ounce of you wanted to collapse, and it took all your strength not to. Constance's face fell and she let her arms drop from being crossed.

   "What.. the fuck are you talking about?" you demanded in a loud voice, tears already spilling out from your eyes. You began walking slowly backwards while taking deep, panicked breaths.

   "For God's sake you old fool," she mumbled to herself and tapped her palm to her forehead.

   "Tate!" you shouted in the direction of the house.

   "You'd better go on up there," his mother told you, seemingly unbothered.

   You finally turned from her and ran toward the house the fastest you could, but your legs felt a thousand pounds. What horror were you about to witness? Was he still in the house? Why didn't she seem to care? You called Tate's name again and again, until finally that familiar front door swung open and he came bursting from them with the most distraught look on his face.

   "Tate," you said quietly and for the last time as you two collided. You buried your face in his shirt, drenching the spot instantly, and let out sobs of relief.

   "What, what Y/N? What happened, did somebody hurt you?" He asked urgently. You eventually shook your head no. "Tell me what's wrong," he said more gently, and began rubbing your back. "I'm here."

   You were still practically hyperventilating, but you lifted your head to look him in the eye, "Y-Your mom, she..."

   "My mom did this?" He was furious.

   "She said you killed yourself."

   As soon as you spoke the words, Tate's entire face changed. He studied you for a moment, not saying a thing. His expression turned to sorrow then, and all of a sudden you were both crying.

2018, eighth grade

      It'd been a few days since the incident at the pond; you hadn't seen Tate much since then, but that was to be expected seeing as you two were in different classes on different floors. You were in the hall heading back to class after lunch, when a familiar voice spoke your name from behind; you turned around to see Tate.

   His big brown eyes were guilt-ridden, and his hands were tucked nervously into his front pockets.

   "Hi," you said awkwardly. "What are you doing up here?"

   He gestured to the vacant counselor's office and said, "We seriously need to talk. Please?"

   You looked around to be sure no one was paying attention, and quickly slipped into the room with him. He locked the door behind you guys, and you took a seat on the green velvet sofa. The room was a mix of vintage, bohemian, and artsy-English-teacher décor. Tate came over to sit on the recliner opposite you; he spread his legs and rested his elbows on his knees, then laced his fingers together and licked his lips while he thought of what to say.

   You finally broke the awkward silence, "Is this about the other night? At the pond?"

   He looked thankful and nodded, finally looking up at you, then said, "I need you to know how sorry I am."

   "I-It's okay I--"

   "No. It's not," he cut in. "I never want to yell at you or make you cry. I acted like an asshole, and I'm sorry."

   You inhaled deeply, and nodded with a small smile, "Thank you, that means a lot."

   "And I also need you to know what I would never hurt you. Ever," he looked extremely remorseful.

   "I know, Tate," you assured him. "Don't beat yourself up about it. I forgive you."

   "You're safe with me, okay?" he added. "Always. You know that?"

   You swallowed hard, and wondered why you could cry right then if you let yourself. You nodded again.

   "Friends?" He stood, and opened his arms for a hug.

   You stood shyly and accepted, "Friends."

   When you two broke apart, his cheeks were pink with a blush. You found it adorable, and stood on your toes a bit to leave an innocent kiss on his cheek before you two retreated back to your respective classrooms.

DECEMBER 2023

      You and Tate held each other a cried together for a moment, before you finally pulled yourself together and let him go. He didn't look any more soothed or at ease.

   "I'm sorry," you wiped a tear from your nostril and sniffled. "I didn't mean to upset you."

   "It's not that. You didn't do anything..." his bottom lip quivered. "I did."

   "What do you mean?" you nearly laughed through your tears.

   "I think we should go inside," he suggested, and you looked at him in worried confusion. As he led you by your hand, you looked over to where Constance stood just a few minutes ago, but she was gone. You got an uneasy feeling as you entered the house. When you reached the end of his couch, Tate stood next to the end table and dropped your hand, then turned to look at you with tears still streaming down his face.

   "Tate," you said in trepidation. "What is going on? Why would Constance say that?"

   "Because," he refused to look you in the eye. "It's the truth."

   You looked him up and down with narrowed eyes, waiting for him to tell you he was just messing around, but he didn't. What exactly was he trying to pull here? You let out a short, dry laugh and said, "That's sick. Knock it off."

   He shook his head and the inner corners of his brows rose further, "I'm sorry, Y/N."

   You tilted your head and looked at him like he was stupid, and soon his face lit up with an idea. He pulled the long sleeve of his striped shirt up to reveal that long white scar again.

"This wasn't an attempt," he told you dismally, and you winced at the thought of him doing that to himself. "I did it: 2021, my senior year, it worked."