Chapter 10 - Witching Hour -

Sick isn't the word.

It's a kind she's never felt, one that presses a clawed finger against her heart ripping under it's thud, tight, tight. She passed it off as an illusion at first, how her blood had pounded in her ears and her face flamed with heat, fingers gripping the photograph taken in the basement, unable to make it any further through the rest of the pile of birthday adventures, which she shoves the paper envelope in a distant drawer and carries on with her day.

It's the simplicity of it that's most unnerving, it's almost a pencil etched cartoon neat, yet in proportion with its surroundings.

The eyes, or lack of, too pale, too bald, too infant...

It's grin.

...What is she doing with that knife?

"Violet?"

Nothing.

"Violet?"

"huh?"

"There's bedsheets drying out on the line in the yard I want you to take inside later." Vivien informs Violet who is lazily lounging on her front in her bedroom ankles crossed and elevated, toes bobbing to a somber guitar riff on the radio.

"Yep." She narrows her eyes onto the opening chapter at hand.

Where does the blood on her skirt come from?

Engrossed in the works of Suskind's Perfume, Violet's attention is sparingly captured by the clack of her mother's heels on the hardwood floor in the landing. Violet's inclined to at least get through a third of her newly acquired reading material this Friday night when you've had nothing better to do...

Earlier this week Ben had bought (out of pity no doubt and to get her out of the house for a while...) Violet and himself two tickets to visit California's own Huntington Library. Much to Violet's dismay, simple plebeians like themselves were not authorized to borrow any of the ancient smelling rarities.

Apparently her father's PhD from Harvard didn't qualify worthy as a scholar on a Friday afternoon, Tate being the contrary shithead he was, had told her it wasn't worth the twenty bucks he payed to visit once before. With a soon to hear "told ya so" from her sweet male companion, Violet and Ben took an awkward walk around the Botanical Gardens and had an iced mocha at a simple cafe, before Ben offered to drive Violet's disappointed ass first to the camera store to get a roll of film developed then to Riordan central in downtown Los Angeles where she did manage to take out a hefty stack of books sporting mildew smelling fun. Fun only your average sixteen year old recluse would enjoy.

Some classics, old magazines, an epistolary account of the Black Dahlia's fantastic murder and another on the history of old LA mansions, a purchase she was quick to hide from her Dad for some reason, it's sitting at the bottom of the pile closest to her floor under the bed, currently.

...She stands up, tosses the knife aside, and walks off to wash.

"And Violet please don't forget, I have a feeling it's going to rain later."

Ben and Vivien were currently heading out for the night to catch a late night movie showing in The Plaza Theatre downtown, some new Meg Ryan film Vivien was dead set on seeing. Naturally they had asked Violet along and she contemplated sitting in a movie theatre with over priced popcorn on one side and her parents phoney marriage on the other. Naturally, she said no thank you, the homework excuse coming in as a godsend.

"Yeah sure mom."

...And then, unexpectedly, the infant under the gutting table begins to squall. They have a look, and beneath a swarm of flies and amid the offal and fish heads they discover the newborn-...

"You sure you don't wanna come? I hate the thought of leaving you on your own." Vivien presses from the master bedroom en suite.

"Ah mom I'm not five, I'm fine honestly, enjoy yourself..." There were times when Violet would dote upon watching her mother get ready to go out, perched in front of her vanity, Violet once remembers as a kid being fascinated with the workings of make up and jewelry.

...They pull it out.

"We wont be back too late, anyway..."

"Mhmm."

...As prescribed by law, they give it to a wet nurse and arrest the mother. And since she confesses, openly admitting that she would definitely have let the thing perish, just as she had with those other four by the way, she is tried, found guilty of multiple infanticide, and a few weeks laterdecapitated at the place de Greve. By that time the child had already changed wet nurses three times. No one wanted to keep it for more than a couple of days. It was too gree...-

"What's the alarm code?" Vivien's suddenly at the door of her bedroom.

"Huh?"

"Alarm code, you'll need to put it back on when you take the sheets in..."

"78793" Violet rolls her eyes. Vivien smiles brightly.

"Well were off, call if you need anything okay?" Vivien insists drumming her red painted manicure on the door frame.

Violet nods once.

"I love you."

"Love you too mom."

... greedy they said, sucked as much as two babies, deprived the other sucklings of milk and them, the wet nurses, of their livelihood, for it was impossible to make a living nursing just one baby..

Briefly she hears her dad call good bye and Violet sighs when she hears hears the hall door close finally.

The police officer in charge, a man named La Fosse, instantly wearied of the matter and wanted to have the child sent to-...

Briefly she glances at the clock,

9:35 pm.

11:45 pm and the sheets still hang silently in the night air of the back yard.

Twenty chapters in her eyes are strained in the dim light, she wishes her Wonder Woman lamp was closer, bigger, brighter not a shitty red tinted sixty watt crap that kids love.

"Motherfucker..." she curses, closing over her book, she always remembers the page number but never to do laundry...

Rain.

Anemic but there, tapping at her window like small bitty fingers of milli-something creature, a rarity for SoCal to get so hot it breaks a misty sweat. It's never even proper rain, just warm spits of carbonic tasting smog.

It's black outside.

Emerging from the nest of comforters on her bed she heads out into the empty landing, every door insight is closed, bar the bathroom. It's wide open and misty in the dark, night sky is visible through the smaller window.

All appears quiet outside her bedroom when she listens again, only to the soft rain outside that scratches at the skylight glass above her head like tiny pebbles, she looks up in that direction, slowly. Violet moves down the stairs palm running along the smooth pine banister slowly walking off the delayed tickling onset of pins and needles worth two hours of sitting cross legged on her feet, elbows having added all the more pressure.

She flicks on the hall light even though the best part of the hall is illuminated by the kitchen and living room light.

The tiles are cool and shiver inducing on the balls of her feet.

Trudging, she almost stands on her mom's dog slumbering in it's donut shaped bed in the center of the floor. With a polite but mild repulsion she shifts the annoying replacement baby towards the wall with a lilac stocking clad foot and walks on towards the light of the lounge.

scrape scrape

She looks back once to catch the dog staring at the front door, in silence.

scrape

She knows the TV has been on because it shuts itself off after a while, the afterglow crackles and drones, she plugs it out form the socket.

Silence.

11:54 pm and her thoughts run rampant.

The gurgle of hot water boiling rumbles loudly through the kitchen, the idea of a cup of raspberry tea sounds good while Violet gazes out the window into the darkness of their back yard contemplating venturing out in the dark rain to retrieve the bed sheets, they're white forms ghost gently in the mild breeze and rain, rippling and moving as thogh hands were running along the back of them.

She heads into the utility room, sliping on an old pair of ripped Converse her mom insisted be left out for the trash, Violet likes the charming brown shade the white ones always get from wear. Wrapping her fingers around the key, the venetian blinds swish as she unocks the back door with a click, laundry basket under arm.

She stops aruptly. The alarm is still on, if it goes off it'll be loud and annoying...

She ventures back into the hall and beeps in the code on the old device on the wall.

scrape

Again. Too real to pretend to ignore this time. Her eyes catch the back of the dog's head still gazing at the front door, whining now somewhat.

She stands there too for a moment, gazing in silence, waiting, nothing.

11:56 pm.

It's not cold outside and the rain is merely a drizzle.

The sheets make zips and scrappy noises as they rub friction against the thin rope of the washing line as she tugs them off roughly, stuffing them into the plastic basket, the breeze blows hair in her eyes and nips at her tiny frame through her clothes.

It's cliche to say you get have the feeling someone's watching you, yet you still do and skepticism always evaporates when fear rears it's ugly end, shakes the bones in your fingers from under the tip of a razor blade.

Two more sheets left, she stands in between them, like she's in a tent with no roof, can't see the yard just pale white cotton, rippling under her fingers.

He's in her head among all other things scary not as much of a comfort as she thought. Having went to his house earlier to ask him if he wanted to hang out at hers tonight, Constance had told her he hadn't been home all week. It wasn't unusual of Tate to disappear, although it annoyed her somewhat, she did wish however he was here with her now...

The photograph taken in the basement still playing on her mind.

She hurries her task sliding the basket along the grass with her foot, bunching and folding material collecting clothes pegs, flushing thoughts of hands grabbing her through the maze of sheets, ignoring the fact that the back door is wide open, perhaps further than she left it, it's windy. She hurries along up the patio, slamming the door behind her and dropping the baskets of sheets beside the washing machine, she'll fold them later when she locates her nerves.

Violet then goes about closing the wooden venetian blinds that cover the back door and similarly the window over the sink, returns to the counter, rubbing the back of her calf with her opposing foot she fingers the remote on the counter flicking on the small television on a wall bracket to a channel showing reruns of Law and Order.

Glass doesn't scrape.

It's a habitual rejection of the silent loneliness that's followed her forever, has been strong enough to eat around her parent's arguements until the silence becomes loud and her parent's are the muted. The latter is more convincing she thinks, she's not scared of anything except being lonley and how much she like's being alone, it can't be healthy...

Be careful what you wish for it just might devour you.

A bang. Loud and clear this time not feeble and quiet and scratching at her brain. Glass doesn't knock.

The dog stirs and begins to bark, growling, making it's way towards the noise it sniffs under the door and snarls. Violet watches from the kitchen door armed with a vessel of skin scalding liquid, it's something at least.

It's too early for her parents, too late for neighbours in need and too rainy for pranksters, she doesn't know if she should be alarmed.

BANG

It might be Tate messing with her, running his fingers along the sheets out back, making ripples just to scare her but it would be out of character even for him, he wouldn't scare her like that.

BANG

He's not even around so that rules him out.

BANG

BANG

Knocking on someone's door when it's raining and dark is just creepy...

BANG

TWANG

Someones clearly come for a midnight visit.

the clock strikes twelve with an unnerving twang she knows lasts for fifteen seconds.

TWANG

BANG

BANG

TWANG

The dog's barking manically, snarling, nose under the door.

She almost forgets to look through the peep hole first when her hand lands on the cold brass latch of the door. Her palm recoils. She rolls her eyes, berates herself over the fact that she was about to actually open the door, it's only her subconscious though. You hear a knock, you open the door. Reaching up on her toes she peeks out of the spy hole in the wood and sees nothing except the night, the porch light is on, the porch empty.

No sign of her boyfriend in a ski mask or worse someone who isn't her boyfriend in a ski mask, not like she'd be able to tell...Some people would probably find that shit erotic, stranger or not.

It appears then.

Her stomach drops at the sight of its black mass like a bowling pin, it's presence devours the lens of the peep hole, she staggers back from the door, heart pounding against her rib cage, now she's hallucinating, please be a dream. She doesn't go about quietening the dog who's frantic now, she feels the same way, the same terror.

Placing her ear against the wood she waits quietly in the silence immediately realizing it was a stupid idea when the knock comes again and nearly deafens her.

BANG

"Shit"

She staggers back from the door, clasping her ears, Hallie growls again.

BANG

BANG

"Shush." Violet hisses in a flustered state of ear pain, the dog's shrieking only makes worse. Her pulse is frantic now, her ears hot and it takes all the will power she has to bring her eye back to the peep hole.

Silence...

She sits on the bottom step of the staircase for a further minute eyes glued to the hall door, hot liquid in hand she sets it down on the hall table.

Silence...

When the dog settles eventually Violet does too heading back into the light of the kitchen and the comforting sound of the TV.

The sound of her mug crashing to the tiles spilling hot liquid around her toes doesn't scathe her, eyes wide she can't move as she gazes at the hooded thing sitting at her kitchen table, it appears to be shivering or shaking. It gazes up at her slowly, looking less bald, less pallid less infant and more like that nosy fucking goth girl from her chemistry class...

Anger.

"Hello Violet."

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

"What?"

"How the fuck did you get in my kitchen?"

"The backdoor was unlocked..." She smiles.

"Okay, why the fuck are you in my kitchen?"

"No one was answering at the front! I needed to, shit I'm sorry..." Stephanie's eyes widen, she pulls strings of wet blonde hair behind her ears, her eyeliner is sumdged and running down her rosy tinted white cheeks.

"What the fuck Stephanie...?"

"I was coming home from somewhere and some creep was following me I ran to the nearest house, which turns out to be yours I guess..." She offers Violet a weak smile, runny like rice pudding, a smile Violet doesn't return.

"You don't look out of breath..."

She laughs awkwardly. "You don't believe me I'm telling the truth Violet..." As much as the girl's clandestine demeanor unnerves Violet she can hardly turn her away.

"Are they still out there?"

"I don't know..."

"Well do you know what they looked like?"

Stephanie shakes her head and rubs her arms, eyes wandering around the kitchen.

"Can I use your telephone to call home?"

"Uhmm okay..."

"Oh right yeah thanks...So this is your house?" Stephanie ponders telephone in hand.

"Well yeah obviously..."

"Alright grumpy." She sighs.

"Uhmm phone's in the hall..."

Stephanie passes by Violet put into the hall, Violet bends down to pick up the shanks of ceramic lying in puddles of pink liquid that's now cooled on the tiles, throwing them in the bin she grabs some paper towel and mops it up, locking the fucking back door this time on her way over to the trash bin. Still doesn't explain the scrape...

"I can't get through, the lines bad...It's a good thing I'm not a serial killer otherwise you'd have no 911 to call..." Stephanie smirks appearing in the kitchen doorway awkwardly.

Violet ignores that for her own sake...

"My parents should be back soon I'm sure my mom or dad won't mind driving you home. Do you live around here?"

"Yeah fifteen minutes away...I might just try the phone again in a bit." She informs Violet seating herself back down at the table, making herself at fucking home.

"Fuck sake I thought you were some psycho who's come to kill me and gut my mom's dog..." Violet deadpans with a weak smirk somewhat.

"Sorry to disappoint you, your house looks really inviting from the outside by the way. The lights feel as warm as they look from the outside..."

"That's a good thing?" Violet asks somewhat sarcastic.

"It is if you like strangers showing up at your door I guess..."

Turns out Stephanie Boggs was a salvia smoking wiccan originally from Silver Lake with a fetish for Nine Inch Nails, occultism and Doreen Valiente...

The kind of girl Violet would be no more inclined to befriend than the cocaine snorting rich girls who run the hallways. Girls like Stephanie are girls Violet knows all too well. They're the kind of people you get conned into befriending before you're taken advantage of in many shapes and forms while also being subdued to the wrath of these people's sharp tongues that abandon any admirable qualities they might of appeared to have had for a glorious sip of that altkid Kool-Aid, a snipe at someone else's expense, someone else who's a lot less interested in conforming than said person.

"Can I smoke in here?"

"Not in here..."

Violet leads them into the utility room where they both make themselves comfortable on the floor amongst the scent of water vapor and detergent, piles of clean laundry and white sheets. Violet unlocks the doggy flap attached to the backdoor in the small square room and insists Stephanie smoke through it so as not to get the stench of whatever the fuck she's smoking in the house...

People like Stephanie have never been ostracized in their lives, not really, they just slap on an exterior abnormality and self proclaim pretension, in Stephanie case it's an upside down crucifix on a chain sitting between her breasts. Violet and Tate sport a similar perspective although at least they can admit and laugh quietly together at the fact that they're just as cool for making fun of cool people...

"That's not tobacco..." Violet comments, getting a whiff of the sweeter-smelling smoke compared to tobacco.

"Want some?"

"Who the fuck gets high with their burglar?"

"You didn't call the police did you?" Stephanie chuckles.

"Not yet." Violet smirks, reaching for an ashtray off the kitchen counter and passing it to Stephanie.

"Sorry about your tea." Stephanie apologizes for the remains of mug and fruity liquid caked in the bin.

"It's okay."

"So you live on the murder house street...?" Stephanie breaks the silence.

"Yep." Violet purses her lips.

"I've been on the tour but it was shit..." She informs Violet inhaling the smoking herb.

"Yeah it's pretty shit...The house is pretty cool inside."

"You've been in it? How?" Stephanie sits forward attentively.

"Yeah, ehm a friend took me, private tour I guess."

"Thats cool...Who show'd you the house, could they take me?"

Violet really doesn't want to mention Tate for fear of Stephanie's smile eating up her face.

"What's it like inside?"

"Dusty, smelly, dirty."

"Scary?"

"The basement is kinda scary I guess."

"You've been in the basement! The haunted basement?" Stephanie flicks a head of ash into a nearby ash tray, eyes wide.

"It's not haunted." Violet rolls her eyes. "The scariest thing down there I've seen is a dead cat..."

"You know apparently the black Dahlia was murdered in there..." Stephanie crosses her legs.

"That's just a rumor they found her body nearby but it could have been any house, any street..."

"Could have been the Montgomery house though..." Stephanie adds gleefully like the thought of it excites her. "Was it really an abortion clinic?"

"Yeah there's some counters and a surgery chair down there, Tate found a baby's head in a jar..." Violet laughs but instantly regrets the slip.

"Seriously?" Stephanie scoffs "...Awesome."

"I know right."

"Wait so you went with Tate?"

"Yeah.." Violet swallows.

"Was it like a date? Shit that's romantic." The statement instant surprising coming from a girl like Stephanie.

Violet shrugs and glances at the clock it's after twelve.

"Witching hour..."

"What?"

"Witching hour, you know when the spirit world barrier thins..."

"That's bullshit." Violet quips.

"Is it?" Stephanie challenges.

"..."

Violet contemplates for a moment, her parents wont be back for at least another half hour...

"Can I show you something Stephanie?"

Twenty minutes and two salvia joints later Violet's nerves are shot, smoking one of Stephanie's home made rollies

"Damn, Nora Montgomery was pretty..." Stephanie comments sifting through the section dedicated to the murder house in Violet's borrowed book.

"Yeah."

"What did you wanna show me?"

Violet doesn't have to sift through the pile and risk seeing it's grin, she knows exactly where she placed said picture, on the bottom she passes it to Stephanie face down who passes Violet over the book she was reading.

Violet briefly casts her gaze out the doggy flap door into the night, flicks aimlessly through the book she borrowed on old LA mansions avoiding said section while Stephanie smokes and observes the photograph at hand.

"It kinda looks like..."

"Kinda looks like what?" Violet hurries her syllables foot tapping the tiles she dabs out the roach butt.

"Like it's staring at the camera..."

"Or what's behind it?"

"Yeah..." Stephanie's buzzed.

"Me..." Violet's buzzed.

"Yeah..."

"It's probably nothing, my mom's friend had this husband who-"

"had?"

"He died..."

"Oh."

"Yeah anyway, his wife used to be into photography, like crowd shots and cities. She went to Mongolia a while after he died. She went on this bus journey and started taking random pictures of the people in this old village they stopped at. I'm talking a really really secluded area, miles from anywhere. Anyway she was filming shots of these people just going about their everyday work in the main square or whatever, there was a market on it was flooded with people. They kept staring at her like they were hungry to eat her. Although it was probably cause they've never seen a white person before..."

"Stephanie where are you going with this?"

"I'm getting there! Anyway yeah the people there we're really creepy and while she was photographing them her camera broke..."

"Broke?"

"Someone knocked into her as she was pressing the shutter button and knocked it out of her hand, it cracked on the ground. Anyway, that's not the important part, the camera was fine and she went about taking her picture. It was when she came home and got the role of film developed the pictures she noticed something wierd in one of them..."

"Her husband?"

"Yeah, in the doorway of a cottage in the background looking out at her smiling..."

"It was probably a mistake, like an overlap from the previous film?"

"Yeah she went to see a man about it but he said there's no way it was, the transparency was the same, solid I dunno much about photos but I know there's a difference in an overlap..."

"Is that supposed to creep me out?"

"It's just a story." Stephanie smiles wildly...

"Seriously chill, it's probably a dust follicle stuck on the lens..."

"Yeah..."

"If it's bugging you that much I'll hang onto that one for you if you want, we can have a chat about it on Monday or something..."

Violet likes the idea, it'll get the photograph out of her house for a bit at least, remove the problem, at least physically...

Ben and Vivien arrive home a while later and Stephanie apologizes for the inconvenience and Ben insists it's fine and that he'll drive the girl home.

The car journey is silent for the most part, Violet who's seated in the front of her dad's Mercedes asks her father how the movie was and catches Stephanie's smile several times in the rear view mirror, the passing street lights casting an orange glow on her pale skin. Violet smiles back. Ben asks Stephanie about herself and Violet listens intently at how ordinary a life the average adolescent Californian wiccan lives. It's more visiting her dad's in Ohio during holidays or her love of painting and drama and less cloaked circles in forests with upside down crucifixes, sacrificing kiddies and having gang bangs.

Violet tries with all her might not to smile when Stephanie asks Ben what happened to his hand.

Stephanie's house is pretty ordinary, three up three down, suburban car in the drive way, nice garden. They wait till she's a far bit up her driveway and out of site before Ben turns the car and drives home.

"She's a nice girl." Ben comments.

"Yeah..."

Violet lies awake that night, restless. Now that the rain has ceased there's nothing to focus on but the silent darkness that floods the room. The photograph replays in her mind over and over as inanimate objects in the room that reflect little light become tight black eyes and unnatural bald scalps and alligator grins.

A sickness in her tummy stirs like acid reflux, mouth dry from the salvia she contemplates the state of her sobriety and dreads falling asleep in fear of what torment her dreams will bring her.

She lies flat, sweats a bit afraid to move and feeling childish but she really doubts if she can, thinks she might be on the verge of a kind of lucid sleep paralysis, that's the scary part, you can't stop it and she wont tell him about it despite his prodding concern and warm brown eyes, she can't because it's him he brings familiar smells and sensations when he touches her that send her spiraling into nightmares.

She dozes briefly, eyes sticky and sore before what seems like only moments later to movement in her bedroom.

It's brighter, closer to morning but the night isn't the only thing that's moving.

Her curtains are moving, expanding outward like there's a breeze bloating their bellies, a sickness she cant move.

She mutters a curse word when his blonde curls appear in the blue dark of the morning.

He lands with a dense thump and mutters the word shit.

"Tate?"

"You should really lock you're windows Vi..."

The sound of his voice is suddenly the best fucking sound in the world as she watches him reset her curtains neatly. His voice is hoarse and familiar and warm, comforting she's not scared anymore.

She's already flipping off her duvet and crossing the room to meet him she wraps her arms around his waist.

"It's just you, thank God..." She is thankful, delighted.

"Course, who else would it be?" He chuckles, wrapping his arms around her tightly, breath tickling her hair.

She pulls away after a moment when she composes her breath somewhat, his presence brings a whole new kind of thumb to her chest less of fear and more of warm fuzz.

"Where are you going? I didn't mean to wake you up sorry..."

"Stay here, I'll be back in a second..." She insists heading out the door and straight to the bathroom.

Once inside she closes the door and turns on the tap splashing her face with cold water, she grips the sink basin and breathes in and out for seven, rinsing her mouth and the back of her neck with the cold water.

Upon returning Tate's leaning against her dressing table, arms folded, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Nice legs."

She almost dies on the spot forgetting she's in her underwear and a t-shirt, grateful of it's length and ability to hide the purple unicorns on her asexual cotton briefs...

"Don't expect me to have clothes on when you spontaneously show up in my room." She sasses in an attempt to hide her blush she climbs back into her bed pulling the duvet over her.

"I'm not complaining." He simpers.

"Those dimples kinda look like ass cheeks."

"I like Unicorns."

"Shut up."

Her eyes widen when she watches him take his jeans off, he notices.

"Have you ever tried to sleep in jeans? It's itchy." He hitches an eyebrow amused because her face is all flushed rosy.

She smiles and scoots over so he can get into the bed with her, pulling the duvet over them he shifts so he's facing her and she shifts upwards a bit so she's not looking at his neck. His eyes are big and brown and she's molten all around him.

"I missed you." She murmurs finding his hand to lace her fingers into and play with, resting them on her hip, he strokes the inlet of her waist with his index finger.

"Yeah, I'd miss me too..." He teases and she pushes herself away from him.

"Asshat. You smell like shrubbery." She grins picking a piece of green something out of his soft locks.

"Your mom has plastic lattices, very deceiving, I ended up having to climb the drain pipe like a pole." He informs her pulling her back towards him by the legs gently.

"Kinky. "

"Prickly..."

"They're my dad's roses actually, he's the green fingered one." She informs him in a quiet voice tracing the line of his jaw with her finger.

"Sly old Doctor Harmon." He mutters amused and she chuckles into his chest.

"It's a precaution against boys with bad intentions sneaking into his daughter's window don'tcha know?...Right now my dad's sitting in the lounge twirling his mustache."

"Better be quiet then." He laughs and leans his head down but her hands and mouth are already waiting for his.

Her inner thighs become a bag of nerves and sensitivity when he moves over her and all she can do is sink into the bed beneath his mass. He moves his lips to her neck and sucks on the skin softly, with his lips breathing in her sheets, puffs of her gentle sighs and mewls falling from her lips send them both to sleep. It's a little after 4 am and she feels safe for the first time all night.

One of few good things about Violet's bedroom apart from it getting the most light in the morning is the high window that opens as a door onto the tiniest french balcony or extended window sill for lack of a better word.

This morning however it's not the light that penetrates the sleep it's his smile there to greet her from across the room in an antique arm chair her grandma gave her.

"Morning sleepy."

"What time is it?" Violet smiles with a groggy voice, rubbing her eyes clean with a palm because it's the only way to downplay that familiar thud, that clammy flutter in her stomach excited at the sight of him there and the memory of him climbing in her bedroom window at the crack of dawn.

"little after 8 am." She feels the mattress dip when he comes to sits down opposite her, hand sneaking under the bed to play with her foot, she jerks her foot away.

"How long you been awake?" She's a little disappointed because she always wondered how it'd fell to wake up in his arms.

"Since seven, bit before maybe..." He shrugs and she notices he's reading the book she was reading last night before shit went down and she nearly wet herself on several occasions. Stephanie and the murder house are a distant thought, still there but barely she's more focused on how the sun light catches his curls perfectly and how she knows his hair is always curliest after he washes it.

"Is that tea?" She tilts her head eyeing the steam coming from the cup on her dresser.

"Yeah raspberry..." he informs her reaching over for the mug. "Your parents sleep like fucking logs I was able to go down and make it, I remember you said it was your favourite."

"Thanks." She smiles taking the mug and drinking a pleasant hot sip of red sweetness.

"Sure." He says simply, messing with her foot again.

"No eggs?" She smirks pulling her foot away again from his curious fingers.

"You don't eat eggs..."

"I'm kidding."

"One usually cooks eggs for females the morning after sex..."

She swallows a hot sup of tea that burns in an effort to stop her from spitting it out, he said that on purpose and now he's smiling like a bastard.

"Kidding."

"It's Saturday, Tate why are we even awake?" She sighs setting the mug down on her bedside locker and lying back down on the pillows.

"I'm an early riser, I prefer power naps you know. I'd feel vulnerable if I slept for more than two hour straight."

"You'd make a good father." She says it without really realizing what she's said, what it implies what his face probably looks like now. Slyly Violet buries her head under the duvet.

"Violet?"

"What?" She mumbles under the layers of blankets.

"I've thought about it once before too it's okay."

She resurfaces to look at him "Really?"

He nods.

"I hate kids."

"Same."

They chuckle, she's a vision of beauty to him in the morning light, eyes sleepy and wide, brown and watery hair messy, split untidy. Cheeks marked with the faint lining of a crease in her pillow.

"Violet?" Vivien's knock comes on the door with a quick rasp ruining the moment and Violet freaks out for a second, Tate's eyes widen.

"Err naked!"

She doesn't even have to look at Tate to know he's smiling so she flips him the bird and tells him he better get out of her room and he does, kisses her on the lips softly before exiting the way he came in through the window casting one last look at her smiling bed head under the covers.

He wants to be the only person in the world who gets to see her, this vulnerable first thing in the morning when she's half naked and without her armour, without her her guard up she doesn't think like she usually does before she says things that make her blush and hide from him.

It's how he often imagines she'll look the morning after they have sex and he wont get up, she wont wake up cold, he'll be there for her to wake up in his arms with his cum still caked into the creases where her thighs knit with her groin, sated and knowing how much of a fucking angel she is in this inferno.

His dick twitches, stroking the soft peach fuzz baby fluff she leaves on his monster's skin warmed up like a beautiful disease, it gyrates in his brain in slow waltzing circles.

A perfection that isn't blood on his hands.