The boy stared through the doors, observing how the family decorated their Christmas tree. The evening was cool, yet filled with a small tray of sultriness. The room had a happy atmosphere, a thing that lacked in the house, and the little drummer boy played from an old stereo making the room more cozy.
She was standing on a ladder, hanging carefully every one of the "antique" ornaments. Her long hair fell over her shoulders and the low lighting made it look more ginger than blonde. She was wearing a red dress that hanged gracefully to her hips ending right above the knee. She was beautiful. She was different. And the boy had never felt this way towards anyone, at least not this strong.
Tate was staring intently, his eyes full of love, sadness, anger and resentment at the same time. But love was the most out standing. He really did love her, with all that was left of his heart and soul. He would give anything to have her back for just a second. Anything.
Feeling the weight of his stare, Violet turned around. Her almond eyes gazing at him, and for just a second her eyes softened, and she looked at him the way she used to. But as fast as it appeared it was gone. She turned back around leaving him hanging, waiting for something that would give away that she still had feelings for him.
"Grow a pair, Rimbaud." Hayden-the college girl who had an affair with Dr. Harmon and ended up dead- said. Her voice bitter, as she as well, stared at the cheesy scene, full with jealousy. "She's not into you. You're not getting back into her. She'll never talk to you again,"
Tate analyzed her words, dismissing the thought of never hearing her harmonic voice again.
"I'll wait." he decided, "forever, if I have to."
