Panic Room ▶ AHS

Feeling

Many of the days in Violet's life were boring and like an endless void.  This wasn't because there was nothing to do.  It was because whatever she did, she wouldn't feel anything.  Not even music could keep her thoughts at bay.  They just kept coming and going in one ear and out the other. That's why she turned to music. The words from the troubled souls of those singers would go through her ears instead of her own woes and pain. She'd lay upside down on her bed with a pair of earbuds in and just stare at the plain wall; imagining the lyrics across it. The house had its own sort of music in a way- even more than just the noises from the poltergeist-like activity. Sure, the place was fucking creepy, but something about it was appealing to her.  The cold spots in the basement were like the pause before the next set of lyrics, the big chestnut door that led into the place was like a way into the chorus, the gentle voice breaks were the stained glass window that had been cracked from neighborhood kids throwing rocks at the "Murder House". Violet didn't care what they called the house.  So it was the Murder House to everyone.  It was flawed. She was flawed. Everyone was flawed. Why should she care?

But not caring wasn't the same as not feeling. Violet felt a lot of things- very deeply. Trapped; like the time her mother wanted to take her and move to her aunt's place as if Violet were a child with no say in the matter. Stupid; like how her parents kept so much about her father's affair away from her without knowing that she knew more than they had let on. (Listening through doors isn't that hard; especially if they're in an old house). Besides her music, (maybe even more) something- or someone in this house made her feel something real. This feeling was more than putting her headphones on to tune out her parents' screaming from the other room.  More than 'writing her feelings' like her father told her to do as if she were one of his patients instead of his own flesh and blood (she hated that enough).  It wasn't a feeling of being whole. She knew she'd never truly get that feeling. But it was enough.

Kissing him was like being on fire and stuck in a blizzard at the same time.  Each touch from him ignited a new fire in her body and sent chills up her spine at the same time.  His smooth lips tasted like the old cigarette they had shared that day as they now pressed against hers slowly. Her feelings and her mind would disconnect like a smartphone and it felt wonderful. It was enough to make her mind go fuzzy and to forget about everything.

School.
Fathers.
Life.

It all seemed to go out the window when she was kissing him.  He was a better drug than any that was secretly passed through the school, and she was addicted.  He seemed to have more nicotine in him than in any cigarette she'd smoked before.  His cheekbones were smooth to the touch and she'd feel him shiver under her nimble fingertips when she'd trace from his ear along his cheek. His black eyes showed more soul than the house itself.  His blonde and messy hair becoming more tangled between her fingers with each desperate kiss. His arms never leaving her. Something stable in her life. Something that gave her feeling.

Her mind was the same way when she took the bottle of pills.  But it was fuzzy in a different way; like a television gone static. The words were quiet but the noise was loud.

School.
Fathers.
Life.

The words were like needles popping balloons; each sound louder and ricocheting inside her head until she couldn't hear one thought to the next.  Everything began to sound the same. The feeling wasn't just numb but a kind of pain. It was like she just wanted an off button to her mind. She wanted to scream, to cry, to pull her hair out. She wanted to get a break from it; to not hear the voices of the house, of her, and only hear the music of it. Her head pounded from the inside out as if she were screaming at herself to let her out of the darkness.  She didn't know what compelled her to do it.  What unseeable force had nearly twisted off the cap from the tacky orange bottle for her.  She didn't remember hazily curling back up on the bed when the pills were gone or the harsh drowsiness that overtook her before her eyelids slipped shut and both the world and her mind went quiet.  The only thing she truly remembers is waking up in his arms in the bathtub with cold water from the shower head above raining down on them; sticking her hair to her face and mixing her tears with water droplets as she choked out sobs.  Tate's arms were around her, gentle yet firm; holding her back against him.  He was shaking just as much as she was; trembling in fear as well as the water. She weakly turn her head to see his gaze intensely on her; tears falling rapidly down his cheeks just as fast as they were falling down hers.

Violet Harmon said she never feared anything.  That nothing could scare her.  But it wasn't true.  It was a facade.  She wasn't scared of the physical world- she was scared of the mental one.

His lips pressed to her head as he kissed her. . . Once. . . Twice.  He stroked her hair and whispered calming words in her ear; his voice cracking and shaking.  She was still crying; mumbling incoherent words and apologies.  Was she apologizing to herself? Her parents? Him? She didn't know.  She didn't care.  She leaned her head back; taking gasping breaths for air that shuddered against her ribcage.  Air. . . Oxygen. . . a feeling. . .

Alive.

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soooooo that was my first little ahs oneshot(?)/drabble(?)/story(?).  i've really gotten into this show and it's very intriguing.  violet instantly became my favorite character (I love zoe as well. . . Basically I just love taissa i mean she's amazing)

anywho, hope you liked it i guess?😂

later,

- ky