t a t e "There's a new family moving in, you know." Tate ignored his mother and stared out of the window. He was sitting on the window seat with arms wrapped around his knees, his head turned away from the door, where Constance Langdon stood, watching him. Tate was attracted to this room for two reasons; it had been Violet's room, and the room in which he had died. It had a lot of sentimental value, to say the least. "Tate? Don't ignore your mother." "A new family?" Tate drawled, slowly turning to face the withered Southern Belle. "Great. How long before you and Hayden try and suck off the dad?" Constance glared at her son. Tate knew she didn't hate him -- she loved all her children, and he was her only physically normal child, after all. But her only physically normal child was the most mentally disturbed. What had Constance done so terribly in a past life to deserve that karma? "I hear --" "Meaning you eavesdropped on their meeting with the realtor." "-- that they have a teenaged daughter." Constance ignored Tate's snarky remarks. She always had. Maybe the neglect was what had messed Tate up so much, even after his death. Maybe if Constance had have been a better mother the entire Vivien debacle would never have occured. And he wouldn't have lost Violet. "Stay away from her. I don't want another Violet situation." Tate's eyes grew dark and he stood up. He faced his mother, his fists clenched, the nails cutting into his palms. She knew what to say to set him off, and she played with it like it was a toy. Tate didn't hate his mother, but he wanted to kill her in that moment. "There's never going to be another Violet," he said in an emotionally void voice. Tate pushed past Constance and made his way down the stairs. He opened the front door, sat on the low stone wall that bordered the verandah, and waited for the new family.