He watched you from the bedroom
door, leaning firmly against the doorframe. You sat cross-legged on his bed,
skimming through the records he cared for more than himself. His arms
unfolded from of his chest as his simple push separated him from the wooden
frame. He watched as you placed a strand of loose hair behind your ear, but not
before quickly playing with the stud earring he had bought for you months
earlier. He watched your head bob to the music that bled through your
headphones, and the luxury you got from it. His shoes quietly clicked against
the wood board until he reached your side. With caution, he tapped your
shoulder, bringing you out of focus. Quickly, you removed your headphones, and
your gaze met his.
“You don’t mind, do you?” You asked, referring to the pile
of records placed on your lap.
He shook his head,
“No, of course not.” He sat in front of you on the bed, his
head rested in his hands while his focus remained on you.
“It’s valentine’s day.” He said quietly, reading the small
subtitles off of his Nirvana album.
Your words, were locked at the tip of your tongue as he
reached under his bed and pulled out a bouquet of roses,
“Happy Valentine’s day, Y/N” His lips formed into a wide grin,
and his dimples sunk deep into his skin.
“Thank you Tate!” You leaned in and placed a small kiss on
“15 Roses, for the 15 months we’ve been together.” Crimson
flushed on his cheeks, knowing how cheesy he sounded. Tate glanced at the bouquet,
“There’s more” He chuckled, pointing to the bottom of the
bundle of roses. You raised an eyebrow, shook your head and dug carefully into
the bouquet. You felt a piece of paper skim past your finger, and carefully
pulled it out. It’s tarnished edges and crumpled center marked it being stuffed
into Tate’s multiple jackets. You read its faded title,
You turned to him,
“What’s this?” You couldn’t help but let a giggle leave your
“A hotel… we’re going on a little weekend vacation” Tate
wiggled his eyebrow, picking nervously at his fingernails.
“Don’t worry, I already talked to our parents, I got a taxi
– everything’s set” Tate pulled your hands from the bouquet and watched it
freely fall onto your lap. He caressed the back of your hands, ending with a
“All you gotta do is say yes, babe.” You didn’t have to
think about it, the answer almost came naturally. You noticed his efforts, and
how much you meant to him,
“Yes, of course!” He smiled, a sigh of relief left his lips
just before they met yours.
“I love you so much.” His sentence muffled in the kiss, yet
sent countless butterflies to flutter in your stomach.
You noticed the bracelet on his wrist, the early Valentine’s
Day present you left in a small box on his nightstand.
“When do we leave?” Pulling away, your eyes locked with his.
“As soon as we pack.” His smile returned, and so did his
lips on yours.
The car ride was long; the air was wrapped in a comfortable
silence as your hand was held in his. Tate voluntarily held your bags as you
both made your way through the lobby.
“What can I do you for?” Said the bartender, as she made her
way to the front desk.
“Yeah, we have reservations?” Tate stated nervously,
“What’s it under?” She asked politely.
“Langdon.” Tate replied.
The lobby sat in silence as she dragged her finger through
the large list in front of her. Finally, she stopped and tapped on the paper
“Here you are – Mr. and Mrs. Langdon. I’m Liz—If you need
any help during your stay” Liz flashed you a fabricated smile before turning to
retrieve a set of keys. The air from the rusty vent whipped at the hem of her
long cape. You turned to Tate, whose cheeks were once again a deep red.
“Mr. and Mrs. Langdon?” Giggling, you kissed his tainted
cheek, watching it flush a deeper red.
Tate’s bottom lip was held between his teeth, stopping the
shy smile that crept on his lips.
“Here you go lovebirds, enjoy your stay at the Hotel Cortez”
Liz waltzed back to the bar, attending to no one but herself, and the half
empty glasses left on the marble surface of the bar.
Tate’s hand snaked around your waist, directing you to the
elevator. Once off, your eye trailed past the patterned walls, an arrangement
of shapes that received your interest but in return gave you a sickening
headache. Tate stopped in front of the room, and pulled out the double set of
“Shit.” He cursed, irritably jamming the key into the lock.
“Looks like Liz
gave us a bad key” Tate sighed, managing to open the door with the working key.
“I’ll go sort it out, unpack while you wait for me” You
said, pecking his lips.
“You sure you’re not gonna get lost?” Tate glanced at you
Nodding, you caressed his cheek before stepping back into
the large hallway.
You continued your way into the mouth of the hotel, turning
at every corner that had an exit sign flashing brightly above it. With no
success, you ended up deeper into the pit of the hotel, an endless labyrinth with
an exit that seemed non-existent. You
halted, deciding on whether to ask for help or to continue to walk down the
patterned halls. With a final sigh, your tense fist knocked quietly on the door
in front of you – room 64. After the third knock, you dug your fists into your
pockets. You lifted your head once you heard the door unlock.
You quickly fixed your slumped posture as a man dressed in
attire made for decades before you opened the door completely.
“Hello, darling.” His accent thick, and his posture was proper,
all behaviours of a man in the early 1930s. His age didn’t fit his personality.
“Hi, I’m sorry for bothering but-“
“No bother,” He interrupted, leaning against the doorframe.
You smiled weakly,
“Could you help me get to the main lobby? I must have turned
a wrong corner”
The man smiled, closing the door behind him and directed you
with the tip of his cane.
“Right this way my dear.”
You quietly followed the man through the empty hall; the
pulsing sound of his cane touching the carpet floor cleared the silent air.
“James, James March.” He spoke abruptly, turning slightly so
you stood in his sight.
“Y/N.” You replied, bringing your gaze back to your shoes.
James began to hum quietly to himself, glancing back at you
once in a while to make sure you were still following. You lifted your gaze
from your shoes and recognized the hallway;
“James, weren’t we just here?” you questioned, just as the
number 64 reached your vision. Without a moment more, James stopped and pulled
you into his chest, covering your mouth quickly.
“Scream and I kill you here,” The words were, of course, not
without threat. Feeling the oxygen lack in your head, James held your limp
body; the pit in your stomach was swallowed by the obscurity.
February 28th 1994
“You know…” His voice trailed off, as his fingers danced
over his variety of knifes,
“I could’ve killed you by now,” His tone still threatening
even though no effort was being used.
“But there’s something about you, maybe it’s your remarks,
beauty, or maybe I’m just feeling generous” He turned to you and gave you
“You boyfriend must be worried sick, gone for 14 days – I
wonder what he’s up to now?”
“Shut up” you spat; your wrists pulsed with pain as the rope
tied around them irritated your delicate skin.
The smile on James’ face faded.
“As you wish, darling.” He tipped his hat and walked out of
the room. You noticed his tense shoulders indicating irritation; he was losing
patience with you.
Hours passed and finally James reappeared, in a more joyful
mood than when he left. He invited you to dinner, the room just across the
hallway. He left a silky cream coloured dress on his bed, with your name
written on the small label just above the shoulder.
Do accompany me to
dinner? - March.
Ms. Evers, who kept you in binds like James ordered,
escorted you. You sat at the end of the table, opposite of James. Dinner began
quietly, and with a silence that was far from comfortable.
“I know you don’t like me, Y/N, I’m a good man, I’ve kept
you alive haven’t I?” James said, breaking the silence.
“Know it’s nothing personal that you’re still in binds,
extra precautions you may call it.” He added. Quietly, you sat on the other
side of the dinner table, tied by the waist to your seat. Ms. Evers, prepared a
meal for both you and James, and watched wistfully as you refused to eat.
“Don’t like it Madame?” Ms. Evers asked, getting up from her
“I can make you something else? Pasta? Meats-“
“That’s enough Ms. Evers,” James interrupted, focusing on
“You’re excused.” Ms. Evers simply nodded and scurried out
of the room.
“You haven’t eaten, what’s on your mind?” James asked,
placing his utensils down.
“Not hungry I guess” You mumbled, mimicking his actions.
The room became silent again, as James clenched his jaw.
“I wrote you a poem? Care to hear it?” He got up from his
seat and retrieved a piece of paper that sat on a separate table.
Your eyes, like stars,
twinkle with serenity,
Your smile, seen as
many times a blue moon yet brighten the darkest room,
Your voice, filled
with anger can sound so soothing, without resistance, an angel on earth.
– James Patrick March
“Short I know, I’m not a poetic man” James said, placing the
paper down on the table and made his way back to his seat.
“Did you like it darling?” He asked, shuffling in his seat.
“I did, thank you James.” Your stomach began to flutter, a
feeling that made you nauseous.
You pushed the new feeling back. Does
James have feelings for you? Moreover do you have feelings for him? The pit in
your stomach grew.
Although during his attempts to frighten you, he has never laid a finger on you
– not after Valentine’s Day. You didn’t have feelings for him, you were scared, desperate.
“James,” you called to him, he gave you a smile.
“Why haven’t you killed me yet? Aren’t you the infamous
James March?” You questioned, seeing James’ head dip slightly.
“I’m not quite sure myself, darling.” He answered
“Maybe because I can’t,”
“Why?” You continued to question.
“I’ve grown very fond of you, Y/N. Killing you is not what I
desire” He replied, he stood up from his seat and cleared his throat.
“I want you to be my wife,”
“And I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Again, the pit in your stomach gnawed at your throat,
fearing the certainty of your approval. You were going to marry James, and there was nothing you could do.
April 16th 1994
“Darling I’m back.” James chimed, placing a kiss on your
“It’s about time,” You smiled, looking up from the
newspaper James got for you,
“I’m still so thrilled you said yes, now look at us,
married, in love, a feeling I missed” James rambled as he placed his hat on the
“Me too” You said shyly, flipping back to the front page. You eyes
fixated on the small subtitle in the corner of the paper;
School Shooting at
Westfield High School, 1994.
Nervously, you flipped through the pages until you faced his
Tate Langdon. Looking into his printed eyes you saw nothing but a
body without life. The colour on his skin was pale, and the dark circles covered
almost down to his cheekbones.
Locals say before Tate
Langdon began shooting, he spoke to the victims. A nearby teacher was able to
get out alive to tell the story,
“He was angry,
screaming about a girl” The teacher said.
“She’s gone, she’s
gone,“ Tate screamed.
“ it’s my fault,
she’s gone because of me…I’ve got nothing anymore.“
“If you love someone
you should never hurt them right? I hurt her… she’s gone because of me!“ That was the last thing
Tate said before he began shooting.
Sources say the teen
was shot in his home, after refusing to cooperate.
You folded the newspaper and placed it aside. Words clogged in your throat and numbed your tongue. You began to wonder why you were still at the hotel. You never loved James, it was out of pure angst, a desperate act to keep your life and to keep the hope of seeing Tate again. You needed to leave.
“Darling?” James called,
Imagine i know FINALLY???? Let me know if y’all liked it, I’m a little rusty from not writing for so long LMAO ;) S/O to @dearlieebeloved for the idea ily bro