Til Death Do Us Part || Tate Langdon

this house

      "This isn't funny Tate," your face contorted with disgust. "Don't joke like that."

   "I'm not joking," he yanked his sleeve back down quickly and brought his hands up to his head in frustration.

   You continued staring at him in total bewilderment as he paced the room for a few seconds before you asked, "So, what, do you expect me to believe you're dead right now?"

   "Doesn't that explain why I still look exactly the same?" He came back a few steps closer and spoke with desperation. "I'm still 18. We're the same age."

   You looked him up and down skeptically, "You... said you don't go out much."

   "Yeah," he chuckled. "Cause I can't. Once you die in this house you don't get to leave."

   "But, you said your mom was--"

   "I lied," he interrupted. "I was gonna tell you but then I was too chicken shit. I thought it'd scare you away, but you don't even believe me."

   You stood silently and watched him hopelessly search for the words to convince you. This wasn't some easy little thing to believe if it even was true, and if not, why was he pushing so hard for a prank so dark? You walked over to him suddenly, and he relaxed when you brushed a tear streak from his face. You looked in his eyes a moment before kissing him softly on the lips, and he pulled you gently to him with his hand on the small of your back.

   When you two parted, you said, "See? You're real, you're here. I can touch you and feel you."

   "And as much as I love that," he closed his eyes again and his pout returned, "Sit with me." He led you a few steps over to the couch. 

   "The day in your junior year that I asked you to have lunch with me one more time," he raised his eyebrows waiting for your nod to signal you knew when he was referring to. "That was supposed to be my goodbye. I gave you the false hope of 'tomorrow' so you wouldn't be on to me. I did it that day."

A lump formed in your throat.

   "That's why I missed my graduation, and more regrettably yours," he explained, and sounded genuine. "I couldn't take it anymore. I had no one, nothing. You left me, my mom killed my dad, I was depressed as fuck and developing an addiction.. I wanted out."

   Whether the point of all this was true or not, your eyes welled with tears. You knew that last sentence was accurate, and felt overwhelming commiseration for him. You placed your hand on top of his and let him continue.

   "That's why my mom was pissed that you saw me at that office party," he finally admitted. "Halloween's the only day of the year I can leave the house; which is why I couldn't go to the bonfire with you."

   Everything was clicking into place, this seemed to make sense in every way except rationality. You shook your head and stood immediately, heading for the door. Tate stood a second after you, "Where are you going?"

   "You almost had me convinced," you said angrily. "But this isn't some Goosebumps episode, Tate. You can't fuck with people like this. If you wanted to disappear from school and not talk to me or anybody anymore that's fine, but this? This is what you come up with?"

   You had your hand on the door's handle when he started panicking again, "Please, please I wouldn't lie about this. How can I convince you?"

   "You can't," you opened the door, but heard him yank open the end table drawer behind you. You shouldn't have turned around, but you did. Your heart dropped when you saw him standing with a handgun pointed toward himself, right over his own heart.

   You slowly raised your hands and turned to face him, "Tate, put that down."

   He shook his head, "This is the only way I can convince you."

   "Listen, I can believe you, just, l-let's sit back down and talk," your voice was shaking and you took a small step forward.

   "You're tough. You can handle it," he told you with a small smile, then without a second thought, pulled the trigger.

   "Tate!" you shrieked, every part of you shaken and horrified. You stumbled over and collapsed next to his now motionless body, still wailing in despair. Blood pooled around him. Everything moved in slow motion. Your stomach turned and bile rose in your throat as your vision began tunneling. You could already barely see through all your tears; they poured from your eyes and drenched your face.

   "Wha- why, no no no," you  propped his head up on your lap and applied pressure to bullet wound in his chest. His blood flowed through and stained your fingers, his open wound making awful squishing noises beneath your hands. "Please Tate," you continued sobbing. "We have to take you somewhere, please, get up!"

   But you knew it was too late. The gunshot was fatal, he'd pulled the trigger and crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Right in front of your face.

   "I just got you back, please Tate," you wept, cradling his upper body the best you could as you rocked helplessly back and forth. A short but seemingly immeasurable amount of time later, a small wheeze from the departed boy in your lap silenced you. You sat up and pulled away from him quickly, and what you saw was beyond comprehension. Your chest caved and you froze.

   Tate, bullet wound and all, sat fully upright, and looked at you with the most innocent, care-free smile on his still blood-splattered face. You couldn't have stopped a scream from ripping its way out of your throat if you tried. You threw yourself off of him and crawled backward, keeping your eyes on him as he stood.

   "Y/N, look," he rose slowly with his palms facing you. "I'm okay, see?"

   "G-Get away from me!" you shouted, then managed to scramble to your feet and out the door.

Once you were outside, cars seemed to blur on the street, your ears were ringing and the world was spinning. You looked around hopelessly, and with almost no warning, puked on the lawn. Tate's voice called for you from behind, and what you'd just seen flashed in your mind seemingly 100 more times before you fell to your knees and everything went black.