Our Love Is Tainted

Chapter 3: Turning The Back On Love

I haven't been thinking straight, giving up on the simplest tasks, even considering cutting again. I promised Tate that I wouldn't, but he's not here. Is he ever coming back to me? Is he ever going to show his face to me again? I don't want to doubt, but it's difficult, especially at a time like this, nothing is making me feel better. I don't eat anymore, hardly sleep, besides Nora, I don't talk to anyone else, I've given up on a social life. Now it's just me, using YouTube whenever I can, watching the same old shit every day. My mother has tried to make me speak to my father, but of course, being the stubborn teenager that I am, I told her to piss off, in the meanest way anyone could ever say it. Last night's sleep was peaceful, probably the most peaceful I have ever slept in the two months, I don't know why, but it felt so good. I really miss Tate, I know that for a fucking fact. Because if I didn't, I don't why the hell I would be searching the basement for what I think is the fourth time, in a god damn row.

I stare at the familiarity, the now reaping sight I can't seem to leave behind. This was the place Tate hid the first time he didn't want to show his face to me, but that time, was my fault, I'm the one who cast him away that time. But this time, he's the one hiding, if he wanted to, he would have shown his face to me, but he hasn't. Maybe Nora is right, he's hiding out of shame, and worry. Does he think that we all hate him? Is he worried about the way everyone will react to his actions, the actions that were once again not in his control? So I must be crazy, but I feel a connection dragging me to this place, my true-love has to be nearby. If he isn't, am I losing my fucking mind?
"Where are you, baby?" I say to myself.
I stare at the thick concrete walls that surround the room, noticing the dry-looking blood latched onto them. I drag my fingers across the reddish crimson marks, but there's no red on my fingers, it must be dry, and it must be Tate's blood, it has to be. He's been doing it again, punching walls, obviously until his knuckles bled, but to what extent? This whole god damn place, Murder House, I think it's like a hotel for ghosts, and maybe to some, a form of hell. I miss Tate so much, and I can't imagine the things that he's had to deal with while being alone.

I remember the first time I met my Tate, and it happened to be at the worst time ever. I was slitting my wrist, watching the blood ooze from the wound I had created, and being the charming boy that he was, he decided to tell me which way to cut myself if I wanted to die, and to be honest, that made it clear that he had literally no idea as to how to speak to people. But the more I learnt about him, the more I knew why he didn't know how to talk to people, he was dead, and he literally had no idea that he was. Somehow, he knew that he loved me at first sight, and I loved him at first sight. There's was just something about him that drew me, it was a sort of charm that he had, the sort of sexy type of damaged type. The fact that he stopped me from having sex with him on our first date, showed that he was a sort of gentleman, he wanted to wait for the perfect moment, we were both virgins and he wanted it to be special, and he made sure that it was special. That was a year and a bit ago, now we're both broken, dead, both inside and out. The only thing that made us both feel alive was the love we had for each other, but now, we're waiting it out until we get to feel each other's love once again.

I can't remember the last time I brushed his cheeks, saw his dimples, smelt his hair, and it makes me upset. I miss his everything; his protectiveness, his smile, even his anger issues, I'd see literally anything at this point, anything that belongs to him. His chocolate eyes always have a way of piercing straight through me, his body always has a way of making me horny, his smile always has a way to making my spine tingle from within, and that's something I don't think I've experienced in my entire life.
"Tate, if you can hear me, I love you so much!"
Tate Langdon, the angel with no soul, the devil with angelic wings, the saint with a taint of the devil inside of him. He tries to fight his darkness, but his darkness always has a way of consuming him from within, making him lose his control, and his beautiful ways. If I was, to be honest, I swear to god, that sometimes, I can feel his eyes staring at me, from the abyss of the shadows.

There she is, my love, my everything, staring around the basement, looking for a poor soul like me. I'm trying extremely hard not to reveal myself, not to fall back into Violet's sweet, beautiful arms. If I show myself, there's no going back from it, no way of escaping her love, which is something I wouldn't mind, if I wasn't a threat to most of the people in Murder House. She really is an angel that one cannot truly compete against, she's a code that nobody can decipher, a beauty one cannot truly describe, nobody but me. I know her more than anyone else in this world, let alone this house. She's told me her secrets, her favourite things, her fears, everything that she could think of. There are few things that I don't know about her, but the worst part is, there are a few things she doesn't know about me.

Our romance, our relationship, could only be described as a taboo, between good and evil, angel and devil. I'm not sure if Violet's parents like me anymore, they're a puzzle with missing pieces, therefore, hard to put together. The only Harmon I seem to know well, is her, nobody else. God, I miss her, I miss Nora, I miss everyone that stays above the basement floors, but I can't show my face, I won't let myself. As much as I want to leap back into the society of ghosts that exist here, I can't, not while Taint diseases the inside of my mind, until I get rid of that disease, I'm a danger to anyone, even myself in some shape or form. My mind commences itself in the definition of contemplation. What do I do next? What is my next action? Should I wimp and cry back to the whole I came from? Or do I try and make peace with the people I have tortured from the inside out? And that means everyone.

I think hard about this, so hard that I begin to ache inside. My next choice could shape a different future, one full of happiness and joy, or one full of pain and suffering. While I have this thing possessed in my head, the thing that can take control of my entire body, I'm a danger. I'm a menace, a creature that lurks, waiting until it's ready to strike its next victim, and I will not let myself become that creature one-hundred percent, anything more than forty-five, and I'm letting him win, I'm letting Taint be the controller, and me, the controlled. I'm not a fucking puppet, I'm a god damn fighter, I've killed before for fuck sake, said things that even the devil would go "dude". I'm a beast, but not completely evil, I'm a necessity, a special type of evil that the world needs, I'm a-
"Monster."
"No, I'm not a monster."
"You even said so yourself, you miss Violet, go to her! Be her prince, her love, her fucking soul-mate."
"I will not be her downfall, and neither will you."
"YOU WON'T HAVE A CHOICE, TATE!"
"Oh yes, I do!"
I turn my back on love, not because I don't want it, but because he does. He wants me to hurt her, wants me to cause more and more pain, but I will not be manipulated into hurting the people I love most. Please forgive me, Violet, but I need you to be safe. I'm sorry, my love, but I'd rather I suffer than you do.