You'll Be The Death Of Me

Violet

I wake up to the bed cold and empty except for me lying there.

The soft, buttery-coloured rays shine on my dark purple sheets. Was it a dream? Was Tate really there with me, kissing and hugging me? Did I ... tell him?

My head pounds from a serious hangover. I regretfully look over at the half empty tequila bottle, the shot glass beside it. Urgh, shit. Mum's going to kill me.

I slap my forehead. Mum has gone away for the weekend. God, I'm seriously considering that I might have short-term memory loss.

I get up groggily, groaning and splashing my face with cold, harsh water from the tap. Downstairs, I hear and smell the sizzling of bacon. Who's down there?

I run silently down the stairs, into the kitchen, and see Tate singing along to the radio, in the clothes from Friday, serving up bacon sandwhiches with the golden light trickling through his blonde curls.

"Oh hey." I say, chuckling and walking over. I pretend not to notice his arm snake around my waist. "I smell bacon."

"That's because..." He cuts the sandwhich in half and puts it under my nose, eyes catching mine. "I've made some."

"Mm, this looks so good. You should've slept round ages ago if it meant you cook bacon." I bite into it, smiling.

He chuckles and sits next to me. A strand of her falls into my face and I feel his cold fingers brush it back very gently. I look down at his hand, which has lingered at my check. My gaze follows up his arms, over his cheekbones and into his eyes.

I drop the sandwhich on the plate and we both lean in, kissing slowly, kissing lovingly. I let go and breath in, opening my eyes.

"I don't know what this is." I say, quietly. "I don't know what we are right now; but I like it."

Tate smiles warmly. "I do, too."

We kiss again, and my ears open to the chirping of birds and the slight whistle of a breeze. My eyes flit across the world, shining in rich colours, and I take in my surroundings, for the first time, in adoration and love.

Tate is brushing his pale fingers over the palm of my hand. I snuggle into him, smelling his musky fragrance and feeling his soft jumper on my skin.

"I like this type of life." I say into the silence.

I hear Tate chuckle slightly.

"Me, too. It's much better than therapy and the shitty people at school." Tate says.

I look up at him.

"Therapy?" I question.

"Oh, yes. I, dear Violet, am a mad man."

I let this sink in, knowing he may be crazy, but certainly is not a mad man, whether those words were a joke or not. Mad men laugh creepily and creep people out with their creepy ways and looks.

Tate is nothing like a mad man. His sanity may just be hard to find.

"Say something, Violet." Tate mumbles.

"I think I like you way more than I should." I breathe truthfully.

He pauses."Why's that?" Tate's voice breaks as if holding back his emotions.

"Because I'm a little insane, too." My gaze returns to his. "And knowing I'm not alone has to be the best feeling right now."

A/n
Very short, but necessary in some ways
<3