You're Mine

I'd always thought Halloween was such an overrated holiday before I met Tate. Now it's my favorite day of the year because it's the only day the inhabitants of the Murder House can leave. Just one day a year, Tate and I can be completely alone.

"Everything is so fucked." I breathed, exhaling the smoke from my cigarette as I did so. We were in Tate's favorite spot, a secluded little area of the beach. Tate was sitting crisscross absentmindedly running his fingers through my hair as I lay in his lap.

I flicked the ashes off of my cigarette before taking another drag and continuing. "I wanna go out like you, Tate." I exhaled. "Guns blazing." His fingers stopped and I looked up to see him glaring at me. I had pissed him off, he had a look for nearly every emotion.

"Don't you ever say that again Joseline." I sat up, flicking my cigarette into the ocean.

"You know I hate when you talk to me like that Tate." I snapped, standing up and taking a few steps away from him. I wasn't afraid of Tate, or any one of the many spirits stuck in the Murder House and I wouldn't just sit by and let him chastise me for something that I wanted. It's my life and unless someone else does otherwise, I'll end it how ever I damn well please.

I stood absolutely still, arms crossed, staring out into the vastness of the Pacific. I hated being mad at Tate, but it was an occurrence that happened often as he was short tempered and controlling at times. Yet, everyday for the last three years I would always sneak my way back into Murder House just to spend time with him. Tate Langdon was my salvation. He was everything I wanted and everything I knew was bad for me. I couldn't get enough of him.

"Don't make me say it Jos." I bit my tongue to keep from smirking as I felt Tate's arms wrap around my waist. Turning my head, I could see his sarcastic pout resting on my shoulder and I cracked, shoving him off of me and turning to face him.

He was smirking, that adorable little half smirk and I was done. Tate had won and he always would.

"I don't like it when you talk like that. I don't want you to die, I like you..." Tate grabbed my hands in his own as he thought of the right word. "Alive." I couldn't help but to laugh at how silly it sounded. I rolled my eyes, throwing my arms around his neck.

"Alright then, next item on my to-do list." I whispered leaning up and forward on my toes. He knew what I wanted, it was the same thing I'd been bugging him about for a year.

Tate frowned, gently grabbing my wrists and pulling them from around his shoulders. "Not yet." And as simple as that he was done with the subject and I was mad at him again.

"Well then what the fuck, Tate." I sighed, sitting back down in the sand. He didn't want me to die, yet he didn't want me. I was sixteen now, only a year younger than he was when he died and yet his answer was still, 'Not yet'. I refused to die a virgin, but it had to be Tate. From the moment I saw him, three years ago, Tate Langdon was all I wanted.

"I have a surprise for you." He stated, only I continued pouting and occasionally kicking up clumps of sand until he grabbed my hand and led me home, our home. I didn't speak a word to him the entire walk.

"No peeking!" I scoffed as Tate's hands clasped tightly over my eyes. I reached my hands out in front of me, running my fingers along the door frame as we stepped inside. This wasn't entirely unusual for Tate as he was constantly trying to make me happy with surprises. "Alright, careful down the steps." He cautioned.

I felt the old wood of the floorboards sink slightly from my weight and I knew we were heading into the basement. By the time we had reached the bottom, I heard something. It was almost like a muffled cry, a whimpering. We weren't alone.

"Surprise!" I flinched at the sudden light, though truthfully it wasn't much. Standing before me, bound to the wall and gagged, was my father. Beside him was a tray stocked with various medical supplies that had to belong to Mr. Montgomery by how ancient they looked.

"You see, I was thinking that maybe..." Tate walked over to my father who was still crying, "we could show this fucking piece of shit that it isn't very nice to hit little girls. Is it?" I wanted to laugh out loud as he began furiously shaking his head at Tate. It was incredible, I had always held some part of my dignity as he'd beaten me over the head with a beer bottle. Tate hadn't even touched him yet and he'd just about shit himself.

I walked over to the table, grabbing a scalpel and turning it over a few times as I contemplated where to stick it. He liked grabbing my arms, I suppose that seemed as good a place as any to start.

He screamed as I pushed it deep into the meat. It was so soft, or maybe the blade was just really sharp. Looking into his eyes I felt absolutely no remorse, it felt good. I wonder if this was how he felt.

His muffled shrieks only heightened my excitement and I had to take a step back. I wanted to watch him wallow over this new feeling before I gave him another, probably in the neck next.

"Tate...." I wasn't even sure what to say. No one in the entire world had ever shown any kind of remorse for me, no one cared that I would show up to school beaten and bruised, but Tate cared. He turned, walking over to me and wrapping his arms around my shoulders, pulling me close to him.

"He's never going to hurt you again after tonight Joseline." I watched my father as the blood streaked down his shirt and began dripping into a small puddle on the floor beneath him. "You're mine."

That was the night Timothy Dayton, my father, was dismembered in the basement of the Murder House and I could finally admit something that I guess I've always known really; I was dangerously in love with Tate Langdon.