"Bet they serve better shit in prison," Tate muttered underneath his breath as he poked at the basically inedible slop that was piled onto his tray. After a few minutes of jabbing what was said to be meatloaf with the plastic spork, he pushed the tray away from his line of vision.
Since he sat alone in a secluded part of the lunchroom, he decided to kick back in his own little domain at the table. He slouched back sloppily in the chair while his boot clad feet rested on top of the table. Out of sheer boredom, he pulled out his favorite lighter from the inside of his jacket’s pocket and began to flick the flames on and off until a soft voice rang through his ears. Before he could respond with an overly acidic response to whoever was calling him, he saw that it was her.
The Bonnie to his Clyde, the Mallory to his Mickey, his fucking girl. You see? She came to him. “Greeting and salutations, Violet Harmon. Whoa, it’s kind of a trip to see you all by yourself and not surrounded by your pack of whores. I mean, Heathers,” Tate chuckled darkly to himself as he removed a curly blond lock from his face.
He continued to rest in his position, not wanting to give Violet the satisfaction of seeing him get all proper and shit now that she was in front of him. He wasn’t going to bend over fucking backwards for her. It didn’t work like that. It wasn’t apart of his plan. “So, what’s the question, huh? Yeah, I’ve only been here for four days and I know all about your retarded social experiment. Thought you only talked to the rich snobs but hey, guess this means I’m a very special boy today, right?”
One of Violet’s eyebrows quirked upwards as she observed Tate’s poor posture, though there was something about his apathetic attitude that she admired. However, she didn’t let this show, especially when he opened his mouth to speak; in fact, she only responded by narrowing her eyes. “And it’s kind of a trip to see you all by yourself and not surrounded by a cloud of cigarette smoke,” she retorted.
Keeping the same uninterested expression on her face, Violet listened to him talk, though she couldn’t help but allow the corner of her lips to quirk up at his comment. “I wouldn’t consider yourself special,” she muttered, before moving to fix the notebook currently being held against her chest. “And, as for the question: it’s incredibly stupid,” she warned, only then allowing anything other than apathy to cross over her features.
Sighing, clicked her pen and held it against the paper, preparing to jot down Tate’s answer to the ridiculous question she was about to ask him. “Okay,” she said, with a small sigh, “if you were given five billion dollars two days before aliens were going to destroy the world, what would you do with it?”
She nearly cringed from merely speaking the words; how the hell did Heather even come up with these questions? They always managed to be completely absurd and pointless. Sure, she could put up with merely staying with the group as they went from lunch table to lunch table, but she absolutely despised actually having to ask the questions. She hated belittling her IQ to something as stupid as this.
"Westfield High: Home of the Wolverines!" More like “Westfield High: Home of the Narcissistic Jackasses who think that they’re better than everyone because Mommy and Daddy have enough money to bail them out of anything.” The first week of school wasn’t even finished yet and Tate could spot out the scum that he would eliminate first.
There were the plastic Barbie’s that probably did a line of coke every day before school on the dashboard of their new Mercedes Benz that Daddy bought for them in exchange for the false reassurance that his precious little angel wasn’t a dirty, cocksucking slut behind closed doors. They weren’t all that bad to look at and if offered, he’d sure as hell let them blow him, but that was all they could do for him before he blew their fucking brains out (literally).
After the Barbie’s came their retarded jock boyfriends. These pricks were so fucking stupid that it physically pained Tate to even look at them during class. Every time they opened their humongous, neanderthal mouths he swore he lost about ten precious brain cells. After class they were even worse. Their sad attempts at belittling him on his first day were so horrendous that it was laughable. "Hey, faggot! Halloween hasn’t come yet, Marilyn Manson! Emo fag!" Like honestly, were these guys still in fucking middle school? If only they knew how fucking quick he could have them with their necks slit open and their warm blood gushing onto his hands. But not today. Not yet.
The rest of the school was divided into the typical social cliques such as the band geeks, stoners, wannabees, etc. But out of all the piss and the shit and the vomit that Westfield had to offer as their student body, there was one girl that had intrigued Tate since he laid eyes on her. Her name was Violet Harmon and she usually hung around with the cokehead Barbies for whatever fucking reason.
She was different. She didn’t dress like a goddamn slut that was just begging to be bent over and fucked until she screams so loud her fucking vocal chords break. Violet seemed to have an actual mind of her own unlike the garbage she surrounded herself with. He knew that once he had a chance to spark up an actual conversation with her, he would be hooked on her like heroin. But he wasn’t some fucking sap and he was still superior to her in every way, shape, and form. She would come to him first and that was it. She had stolen a few glances at him during their shared free period so he knew that she was as intrigued by him as he was with her.
It was weird for Tate to view someone without wondering how satisfying it must be to watch their body turn lifeless in his own hands. He had a vision for him and Violet. They would blow off this fucking town, live on the run and kill off anyone who would get in their way. He’d only just saw this girl on Monday morning and he has this whole plan for the two of them. It was fucking weird but it was going to happen one way or another.
During lunch, he would fixate on the fantasy of going around the entire school, cigarette hanging from his lips and firearms in both hands as he eliminated another waste of space from the earth one by one. But instead of him being by himself, his girl was right beside him, handing him ammo and even taking a shot or two for herself. That whole Bonnie and Clyde type of shit was their future even if Violet didn’t know about it yet.
Violet couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she listened to Heather (which one was honestly irrelevant to her) drone on about what the next lunchtime poll was going to be. Why she hung out with these people, she didn’t know; though she hated to admit it, maybe deep down inside of her, part of her did enjoy the additional popularity that came with her new “friendship.” That, or she was merely interested on what exactly went on in a triangle completely formed of gossip and brainless chatter.
The poll had something to do with money and aliens and some shit like that, and honestly, Violet was completely uninterested. She had no idea what any of this was even about, or why the hell the Heathers even did this. When it was announced that it was “officially” time to take the poll, a heavy sigh left Violet, but she forced herself to stand up anyway. As she did, however, she felt strange-yet-familiar eyes staring holes into her back.
Strange as it might sound, she already knew who they belonged to. His name was Tate Langdon, or something like that, and though the two had never spoken, Violet found herself fascinated by him. Perhaps it was the way she always found herself catching his line of vision, or how whenever he looked at her there was this peculiar, far-off twinkle in his eye, but either way, she wanted to to know more about him.
She was pulled from her thoughts as a hand wrapped around her arm and tugged her, telling her to “get a move on.” “Give me a minute, Jesus,” she muttered, shrugging away from the girl who had grabbed her. If there was anything the Heathers were, it was fucking impatient.
With a harsh, heavy sigh, Violet followed the three women around, practically tuning out everything going on around her. She didn’t give a shit what anyone would do with five billion dollars two days before an alien apocalypse. In the back of her mind, she willed an apocalypse to take place then and there. She’d be fine with the world ending; it’s not like she really cared about anyone in it, anyway.
Just when she thought they were finished, she felt a nudge at her back, one only the bony elbow of one of the Heathers could deal. She turned her head, only to see a smirk written across Heather’s lips and one of her nearly-nonexistent eyebrows quirked up expectantly. Turning her head once again, she looked to see what the other girl was nudging her towards; Tate.
Though she wasn’t too keen on admitting it, she knew it was fairly obvious she was interested in the man. The three girls had caught her looking his direction more than once, and it seemed as if their puny little brain had finally put two and two together and realized just why that was happening. She supposed she was going to have to talk to Tate one day or another, so with a heaving sigh, she silently walked away from the small group and headed towards the boy, chin jutted out confidently and hands clutching the notebook she was holding.
She approached him swiftly where he sat, and without a waver to her voice, she began their first conversation. “Hello, Tate Langdon.”