In the Flower Field

Fourteen: Guns and Blood

As soon as you woke up that morning the sense of dread filled your body. The space next to you in bed was left cold. Lately though that was becoming a common thing. You and Tate seemed to be drifting further and further apart, yet you still held out hope that your Tate would return. Now though you're absolutely positive that Tate is gone.

You could hear Tate moving around on the other side of the room. He didn't see you at first to focus on whatever was in his hands. You couldn't quite tell what he was doing from this angle. When he finally did move your eyes widened in absolute horror, he was doing drugs. You've never seen him nor anyone do drugs before so you were frozen in place. Never did you think Tate would do drugs so bluntly in front of you. He had always been ashamed about this side of him trying to keep you as far as he can away from it. Now though he didn't seem to care if you knew, he didn't seem to care about anything anymore.

Even when he locked eyes with you he didn't show an ounce of remorse. In fact his eyes were void of any emotions they were completely empty. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, no words exchanged. Since the very beginning every time you locked eyes with Tate butterflies would erupt in your stomach, now though there was none. How can these two men be the same? You have so many beautiful memories with Tate but now you're staring at him and it's like he's a complete stranger. Which only leads you to wonder if the Tate from your memories ever existed. Maybe he's been like that from the beginning and you were just so desperate for companionship you pretended he was completely different. It seemed so real though you couldn't have made it up which means a much scarier truth. That even with what the two of you have been through he can just cut you off with no warning that he was just pretending the whole time.

Tate held eye contact with you for a minute but at your silence he turned away. Grabbing the rest of his supplies, stuffing them in his black duffel. Today was the day he was going to end it all.

The sound of his bedroom door closing is what finally pulled you from your thoughts. You weren't going to go after him there was no point he obviously didn't want to talk to you. The sight of a bullet on the ground changed your mind. A bullet plus a teen hopped up on cocaine was never a good combination. You chased after him but he ignored everyone of your calls. Finally you got in front of him pushing him away from the front door. You tried to persuade him into heading upstairs; you didn't want him to do anything he'd regret.

He was too far gone though, and his next actions surprised the both of you. "Go away Y/n" his voice matched his eyes both void of any emotion. You didn't let his words stop you kept trying to convince him. Your words only managed to piss him off. In one swift motion Tate grabbed your arms and shoved you against the wall. His face is only an inch from yours. He said his next words staring right into your eyes "I said FUCKING GO AWAY Y/N"

He left the house leaving you completely useless in preventing whatever he was planning on doing. You knew whatever it was is going to be horrible and you can't help but already feel guilty. This is your fault. It's happening all over again and once again you're completely useless. You made yourself a promise all those years ago after the incident you were never going to be useless again. Now here you are letting Tate go off to harm people. It's like you're doomed to repeat yourself.

You paced around the Tates room for hours waiting for him to come back. So you can know exactly what you helped him do. He came home early which in itself was a bad sign. He went straight to his room with the same void look on his face as the one he was wearing when he left this morning. You kept hidden watching him from a distance. You could tell he was waiting for something to catch up with him so you waited too.

It happened so fast yet the memory plays in slow-mo in your head on repeat. Swat stormed Tates house busting through his bedroom door. Little red dots covered his chest yet he still wore that void look this time it was occupied by a smirk. He made a gun gesture with his hand before reaching for the real one under his pillow. He didn't even get a chance to touch it before bullets ripped through his skin. Blood splattered all over the room. Another reminder of the past.

That was the end of Tate Langdon. He died at the young age of seventeen, a flower picked too soon. He was supposed to have a long life. One where he got out of this cursed house and had a beautiful fulfilling life. Instead he got himself shot. That selfish asshole made you care for him, made you love him and then got himself killed. FUCK TATE LANGDON. You hate him...