Tate Langdon X OC/ In Bloom A AHS Murder House Fic)

Melodies over memories

I lay on my bed in the darkness of night. My arms held little scars from before my move here. I used to cut myself but I decided it was irrational. Sometimes there was a longing to do it again but I wouldn't let myself. I promised my brother, Mark, never again. I never break a promise.
The moonlight shone through the ancient windows of my room as I simply sat in silence. My mind was completely focused on Tate. On his soft smile, his enchanting brown orbs. I just couldn't stop thinking about him. It was four in the morning now. In a few hours I was going to be starting my new school. Yay me.
When I was a kid, I'd just go to whichever school my brother went to. He got scholarship after scholarship so it was mostly just private schools. God I hated it there. Everyone was just so fake. When I was twelve, I started going to normal ass school. They were still fake assholes.
I walked over to my phone and turned on my music, not giving a shit who I woke up. Maybe my lack of caring was why I was 16 and my only friend was my 22 year old brother.
I began getting dressed. Another day of tedious school. Learning the same unnecessary shit with the same boring douchebags. How fun.

I walked outside. The sun shone over the tall brick building, the windows glimmered in its morning light. My heart sunk as I began making my way off the property. If I could, I'd just stay there forever. I never wanted to leave.

I sat outside, simply listening to Garbage on full blast through my headphones. I mean, it wasn't too shit here so long as nobody spoke to me. I just wanted to keep to myself and get this year over and done with as soon as physically possible. No drama, no bitches, no being stuck in boring "friendships" with narcissistic teenagers. Just me, my music and hopefully something interesting to occupy my brain with during lessons.
I got the stares, the idiotic boys coming over to take the piss out of me but, thankfully, I was majoratively left alone. I enjoyed keeping to myself. I can be loud and obnoxious at home, why waste my energy here?

I made my way back home after a long day of teachers droning on and kids being douchebags. It was, honestly, the greatest feeling in the world to approach my house again.

All day with my new classmates asking me things like "Are you British?" "do you know the Queen?" "do you have tea in your bottle?" "what part of London are you from?" was exasperating. To clarify, I moved to LA from the English Midlands... That being nowhere near fucking London. But sure America. I'm from London.
I slammed the door open with an almighty sigh and rolled onto the floor
"FREEDOM!" I yelled as I rolled inside. My leg pushed the door closed as I continued to lie on the floor. "ah what sweet relief death would be right now" I rolled my eyes not wishing to let this moment end. My heart pounded as I heard the creak of a floorboard and a, now, familiar voice.
"having fun there?" I heard Tate ask from the edge of the room.
I rolled over to look up at him with a shy smile.
"it's bliss. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a fuck load of depressing songs to write." I grinned, standing up and half sliding up the stairs.
As much as I enjoyed Tate's company, I just wanted to sleep at present. I flopped onto the soft embrace of my bed, letting out a short hum of relief.
"rOsE gET hErE NoW!" My mother screeched from the floor below. My heart sunk as I slid off my bed and onto the cold hard floor. Ain't no rest for the wicked.

After hours of listening to my mother talk about irrelevant bullshit, I finally found my escape. I rushed up to my room, slamming my door behind me and sliding down it to hit the wooden floorboards beneath me. My eyes closed as I breathed out peacefully.
"nice songs. You should release these." a voice spoke from my bed. My eyes shot open with a crimson glow appearing on my nervous face.
"What the fuck, Tate?! Did you read my songs??" I ran over and grabbed the notebook of songs and poems out from his grip. He simply shrugged in response, as if it wasn't a big deal.
"If you don't want anyone to see them, why do you write them?" He asked with a certain wisdom.
"I'm just not ready to show people. Besides, I mostly just write them for me. It's like a form of therapy. Instead if turning my arms into paper machete like I used to, I write songs and stab coke cans. It's a perfectly healthy way of dealing with things... " I finish with what's once again, a sarcastic comment.
"I'm glad you don't cut yourself anymore... I wouldn't want to see you hurting yourself like that" his words were almost comforting. I didn't know this guy and if anyone else had said that to me, I would've laughed or punched them... But something about him just made me want to fall on the floor and cry every time I looked at him.
It was like I was going crazy.