Do People Ever Change? •A Tate And Violet Fan Fiction• [COMPLETED]

Chapter one - Blades

Violet's POV
I let out a sigh of relief as I flopped on my bed. My head hit the pillow and I let myself continue the fiction I had of still being alive. I was nodding my head to my music. Lying in bed, bored, like every other teenager. School was tomorrow, and I could just do the usual. Like every other teenager. I was alive. There weren't ghosts in my basement. There weren't any pains and constant glooms of death surrounding me. In my mind I am free, and normal. It was oddly comforting, even though when I was alive 'normal' was a big insult. Of course, I knew that I would never have school again, and I am more dead than alive, but it's always been that way really.
I let my fingers run over the scars on my left arm.
"Promise me that you'll never cut yourself again." His soothing voice said in my memory. I had managed to keep that promise so far, but could I keep it much longer? I thought of the cold hard edge against my wrist, the relief when it tore open my sky and let the miserable rain pour out.
"No." I said aloud. "I mustn't mutilate my self." I continued, quoting Tate. But I longed for my blades so much.
I turned my music up louder, not considering anyone else in the house, and lay there for what felt like hours, doing nothing. Bliss.
Tate's POV
I sat on her desk, just watching her wander around her room. I wasn't spying on her. She probably knew I was here anyway. Violet is smart like that. I'd just rather she didn't see me. She suddenly fell on her bed, and it scared me for a second, but I realised she was just lying down. She had Kurt Cobain on, turing it to full volume, I remembered the first day I decided to talk to her, and I asked her play his music. Maybe she remembered that too. Maybe she was thinking of me. Then Violet rolled up her sleeve and touched her scars. Seeing them made me flinch as if I was repeatedly being slapped. "No" she said, making me jump as I thought she had seen me, as if I'd forgotten to stay invisible to her. "I mustn't mutilate myself." And I understood that she was talking to her self. The image of me making her promise not to cut herself ever again filled my mind. I remember cleaning the blood off of her arm by licking it. She said it was gross, but in truth it tasted good. Sweet and smooth. I watched her for a very long time, and I thought she'd fallen asleep. But then she shifted and sat up; wide awake. And then, my lovely Violet began to cry. I wanted to ask why, comfort her, lay next to her and tell her it was going to be ok. But I knew if I appeared it would only hurt her more. But then she said it.
Violets POV
"Tate!" I gasped between sobs. I had suddenly been overwhelmed by memories of him. "Tate!" I wailed again, forgetting that he was in the house and probably listening. Dirty blond hair in his dark brown eyes. His sad smile. The knowing glint in his eyes. The cheeky smirk that spread across his face. "Tate!" I wanted him to appear. I wanted him to lie down next to me and hug me. I wanted to feel his plump lips on my skin. I wanted him. "Tate!" I cried and cried until I fell asleep. Sleep isn't the same when you're a meaningless spirit. It's kind of a black void of nothingness. Not quite sleep. Not quite consciousness. But it was peaceful. Quiet. Empty. Thoughtless. Meaningless. And I'd rather be there than screaming about Tate on my bed.
I was quite sure I fell asleep on top of my duvet, with discs and tissues and other random junk on my bed. But when I woke up, my pillow case was different. It had been washed and it was crisp and white, rather than soggy and grey. The things on my bed were neatly piled on the floor, the rubbish in the bin. I was tucked up tight and warm in my bed. It was unusual because my room was usually cold. Right next to me there was another warm patch on the mattress, as if a body had been laying there until seconds ago. Puzzled, I crossed out who it could have been. In the end I decided it must have been my Mum, Vivian. She probably heard me last night crying about Tate, -
'Tate.' Said the voice in my head.
My jaw hangs there in an awkward stiff way. Did he really tuck me up? I would have thought that he would hate to be anywhere near me, after what I did to him. I told him to go away. I remember shouting it. He screamed back "You're all I want! You're all I have!" And the image of sheer pain in his face was so vivid in my mind that I just wanted to break down again. But he did bad things too.
'Tate.' It said again.