Violet knew that she should feel shaken but she wasn't. In fact it was the first time she actually felt like she belonged in this house. She could have died tonight. Her mom keeps checking up on her, worrying that she's scared but she really isn't. When she thinks about her mother being attacked she's angry. When she thinks about how she head butted that bitch she felt proud. When she thought about Tate rescuing them she felt… happy to have a reason not to be mad at him.

The only thing that Violet felt hadn't sunk in was the fact that it was Tate that came to their rescue. She just kept thinking the same thing, If he hadn't been there me and my mom would be dead. That was a fact but she wasn't sure what she was supposed to feel. She knew it was true and she was grateful but beyond that she didn't know what to think.

She remembered how she felt after he had scared her and Leah. She was angry and afraid but almost instantly she started trying to rationalize what had happened.

She looked at her chalkboard. Taint had remained on there for a few days after he wrote it. She left it there but she wouldn't consciously admit that it was because he had written it that she wanted it there. That would have made her feel too… trivial. Violet wouldn't even look at it but when Tate scared her and Leah It was the first thing she ran to in her room. She wiped it off with one angry swoop but it only smeared it.

She sat with her feet hanging off the bed and stared at the smeared word for the first time since he wrote it. It was warped.

Tate wasn't like everyone else. That was another fact. Violet couldn't figure him out. And that was funny because he seemed to say exactly what he was thinking. As blunt as a word written on a black chalkboard. He was raw and honest to an intimidating degree but she still felt like he was harder than anyone else to read. She thought of when he had caught her listening in on the session with her father. The way his dark enigmatic eyes went straight to her.

She didn't like the way her heart beat irradically when she pictured his dark eyes. She knew what she was feeling because they were all things that she had scoffed at when she heard them described. The heat in your face, the shortness of breath, it was cliche. But at the risk of being mediocre she indulged herself.

Violet stared at the floorboards below her feet until her vision blurred. She breathed softly and relived him confidently taking her arm and brushing her opened wound. She played scenarios of what would happen if he came in her room then. Maybe he would come in to see how she was coping and he'd touch her gently.

It was too hard to play out in her mind. Violet couldn't remain calm enough to keep any one train of thought. It was all just spinning in her mind as a feeling and not one clear thought. She just felt this demanding wanting and confusion with images of his dark eyes. She felt herself slipping into some dark undertow where it was just Tate Tate Tate, pounding around her brain and she felt like she couldn't shut it off. Shut him out.

No. That's why she didn't indulge. Violet put her headphones on and turned the volume up as loud as it would go. She didn't care what was on as long as it was loud and it wasn't Nirvana.