Til Death Do Us Part || Tate Langdon

sanity

      When you woke, sunlight shone through the unfamiliar window; you'd been out all night. You looked around frantically wondering where you were, whose couch you were sleeping on: the décor and photos on the wall gave Constance away.

   "She lives," the woman murmured from her kitchen table, signature cigarette in hand.

You blinked rapidly and put a hand over your throat, your mouth was dry and tasted gross. When you sat up and let your feet hit the floor, your head pounded, and you remembered all at once what had happened last night.

   "Where... why am I here?" you finally asked.

   "By the looks of it last night you didn't want to be anywhere near that dear boy of mine," she replied calmly.

   You looked over at her, your heart rate picking up at the mention of Tate. "S-So.. you must know?"

   "Know?" She let out a rueful chuckle. "I'm the one who found him the day he did it."

It felt more real coming from her. That combined with watching Tate die then stand right back up means everything he'd said was without a doubt true. You shook your head slowly and stared blankly at the rug beneath your feet, "Am I going crazy?"

   "I questioned my sanity when I first found out. But that house..." she shook her head and took a drag. "That house will make you a believer."

A moment of silence later, she asked if you wanted fresh clothes. You looked down at yourself finally, and realized you were still splattered with Tate's blood. It was even still noticeable in the details of your hands and nails. You swallowed hard and gagged, and Constance stood quickly.

   "Not on my nice furniture, girl," she pointed down the hall. "Bathroom's that way if you must."

   You fought the urge, but headed to the bathroom anyway to change, "I think I'm good." You lifted the clothes pile to her, "Thanks."

Once you'd changed into Constance's old dress and cardigan she'd given you, you came back out to sit with her in at the small round table in her kitchen. When she asked what you wanted her to do with your old outfit, you told her to just toss it. You could never wear it again even if all the blood stains miraculously came out.

   "Can I ask what you thought we were talking about last night?" She finally said, and pushed the glass of water she'd gotten you a couple inches closer.

   "What?" you were rightly out of it, and couldn't place what she was talking about.

   "I'd thought we were talking about Tate being... well, whatever he is. Then you said he had it coming. What did you think we were talking about?"

   "Oh," you were nervous for a second, but answered truthfully anyway. "Hugo. Tate told me what happened."

   Her eyes flashed surprise, "And it doesn't bother you?"

   "Like I said," you took a sip. "He had it coming."

She breathed a laugh from her nose and smiled approvingly at you. You stared into your glass and thought of Tate. He really was dead. He really was still 18. And he really was stuck in that house forever, for whatever reason.

   "What do I do now?" you asked helplessly.

   "I moved out of that house after I found out the horrid thing he'd done, and what he'd become," Constance began, but you had heard otherwise and needed the whole truth.

   "Tate told me you moved out when you killed Hugo," you said, then realization set in. "Does that mean he's over there too?"

   Her brows knitted, and she waved you off, "He must've had his reasons but that's not what happened. I found Hugo and our maid at our previous house.. took care of him there; that's why we moved. When Tate did what he did, I left our second house."

   You nodded understandingly, and was thankful you wouldn't be running into her late ex-husband.

   "Anyway," she continued, and stirred the contents of her mug. "I was away from him for a while. But... I found myself missing him, and realizing I still loved him. What you do now, is decide if you do too."

*****

      A little over an hour later, you finally pulled into yours and your aunt's driveway. You made sure to take deep breaths and fully collect yourself before walking through the door.

   "You're back earlier that normal," she commented when you walked in. You didn't speak, only nodded. "Who the hell's clothes are those?" she pestered.

   "Remi's," you lied quickly. Remi was bigger than you and Delaney, so the loose fitting clothes made sense. "I spilled Pepsi all over my old clothes and she gave me an extra dress she had."

   Aunt Thea narrowed her eyes at you and looked you up and down, "I don't know how or why, but you're a lying little bitch." Her words finally had no affect on you; your face didn't budge a bit. This irritated her, and she went on. "I'll catch you, believe that," she threateningly said. "You're not slick. Don't let me find out you're at that crackhead boy's house."

   You clenched your jaw at her talking about Tate like that, but headed up to your room without a word.

      More than a week went by, and you were convinced you were going totally insane. You had nightmares about Tate killing himself, you saw it every time you blinked. Delaney began worrying when you missed a Friday sleepover, and she kept trying to plan a GNO, but you kept rejecting her. You couldn't tell her, or anyone what had happened. You'd told Aunt Thea you and Del were arguing, that's why you hadn't gone that week. She didn't believe you; she hated you more every day.

A few more days went by, and you couldn't take it anymore. You had to see the one person you could talk to about this and who could make you feel better. You missed Tate, you wanted to touch him and kiss him and hold his hand. You wanted to be held by him and lay together again. You crept downstairs around 8pm, prepared to tell Aunt Thea that you were going out with Remi, but to your pleasant surprise, she was nowhere to be seen. Even her car was gone from out front. You thanked your lucky stars you could avoid the situation, and headed over to see Tate for the first time since the incident.