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mikavlcs · 1 year

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Purity Weeps

Pairing: Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: You don’t talk about home very often and Tara finds out why.

Warnings: violence, gore, murder, domestic abuse, manipulation, tara is a terrible person, bad parents, repeated words and phrases

Word count: 7.7k (god...)

Notes: this is a request, i changed it up a bit so it could fit with the first part but the general gist is there. i also wrote like half of this with food poisoning so sorry in advance...

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

One thing Tara noticed about you was that you never talked about home.

You had no problem talking about yourself—your various likes and dislikes were something Tara had memorized within weeks of your arrival to Woodsboro—but you never talked about your family.

She only knew the most basic details. You lived with your parents. You had no siblings despite your longing for one. Your house was exactly six and a half blocks away from hers. And recently, you told her that your parents were getting divorced, something you seemed almost relieved about.

That was it. Even her knowledge about your parents was equivocal.

Your mother she’d met a handful of times when she picked you up from school before Tara designated herself your personal chauffeur. A polite woman, if a bit aloof. Never quite meeting Tara’s eyes when she talked, but she liked her well enough.

Your father, on the other hand, remained an enigma to her.

The only time she’d ever seen him was on your first day off school when he dropped you off. In the time since, he hadn’t been present for any school events with you and your mother. Not even a picture. He remained but a silhouette in her memory, and that made the situation all the eerier to her.

And you barely spoke a word about him either, only bringing him up when it was getting late, and you wanted Tara to take you home.

“My dad wants me home by eight,” you’d say and when Tara hesitated, wanting more time alone with you, you would follow it up with a quiet, “Please, Tara, I can’t be late.”

No matter how Tara felt about you having to leave, the tremble in your voice would have her grabbing her keys within seconds.

She always saw the way you shuffled in your seat when you were cutting it just a bit too close, sending anxious glances toward the clock.

There were even times, back when Tara wasn’t taking the situation quite as seriously as she should have been, when you would get out of the car without a goodbye, practically running into your house.

It angered Tara initially, that you had such strict rules being placed on you that were visibly afraid to break them, but with time that anger gave way to concern.

Your overly timid mannerisms when she brought up your family, the tight leash your father had on you, the anxiousness on display when you tugged a little too hard on that leash—it all painted a rather grim picture.

Her concern hit its peak when, after being together for a few months and friends for even longer, Tara realized that she had never been inside your house. She had seen the outside of it countless times when she picked you up and dropped you off throughout the week, but she had never seen the interior.

Why that specific revelation unsettled her so much, she wasn’t sure but it stuck with her.

Tara was used to being able to see her enemies. Amber, Daniel, Rowan, and Jason were all people she knew, people she saw eyeing you in a way they shouldn’t have been, touching you when you weren’t theirs.

Your father was something different. A man she had never once met or seen. Someone she was almost sure was hurting you in some way but without proof, she wasn’t able to confidently act.

This wasn’t a problem she could just stab to death. At least, not without having potentially catastrophic effects on you and your mental health.

So she was going to try something different. She began making plans but every idea she came up with ended up being scrapped. Nothing she came up with felt right.

Tara did not at all care for rules and boundaries. Made up guidelines that served no purpose other than to irritate her. Imaginary lines in the sand that were made to be crossed. She permanently left those behind the moment she donned the Ghostface mase. But when it came to you, she took them very seriously.

The thought of breaking your heart and trust is what made her once again adhere to the made-up rules, what kept her feet firmly planted on the right side of the line in the sand.

It’s what kept her from breaking into your house and surveilling you and your family. What held her back from slitting the elusive man’s throat with no remorse. She couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you or driving you away from her.

But the idea of doing nothing didn’t sit well with her either.

Other, non-violent plans took form. She tried to be more direct, asking you about your father, what he was like, how close the two of you were.

You didn’t shy away from her questions but the answers you gave were always vague. Just enough to qualify as an answer, but not enough to give Tara any real information to work with.

When she realized she wasn’t getting results, she pivoted and decided to put more emphasis on being supportive. Reiterating how she would always be there for you and that if needed, you could tell her anything.

But no matter what she did, the curfew never budged and your avoidant attitude about your home life never changed. It was starting to get to Tara.

She wanted to believe that you trusted her enough to tell her if something was going on at home. But at the same time, if her suspicions were correct, there was much more to it than simply trust.

Sam would likely tell her to call the police, and that might be an option Tara considered if she had a modicum of trust in the Woodsboro police force to handle the situation correctly. But she didn’t. Law enforcement in Woodsboro had become a joke ever since Dewey stepped down as sheriff.

And she knew that if this situation didn’t get handled correctly, then whatever possible abuse you were enduring would get worse in the aftermath.

For the first time in her life, Tara was stuck. She had no idea what to do.

She was frozen in place, stuck in an endless loop of watching and waiting. Watching and waiting. Watching and waiting.

It was maddening.

Part of her, Ghostface she supposed, wanted to just gut him and get it over with. Like she’d done to everyone else that had been in this position. But if she was wrong,

So she was stuck. Suspended in time and space, unable to do anything but her set routine.

Watch and wait.

Until something, or someone, broke the cycle.

Today wasn’t a great day for Tara.

It started it off well enough. You stayed glued to her side all day, your attention completely on her just as she liked it. She didn’t catch anyone staring at you or trying to talk to you.

Hell, not even Wes tried to bug you throughout the day like he usually did.

It really was going so well.

But then at the last second, you canceled your usual Friday movie date with Tara, citing an urgent family issue. She had driven you home after school without complaint because she knew it wasn’t your fault, and you looked just as upset about it as she did, but she was still bitter.

She needed her time alone with you. You were an addiction that she could hardly keep at bay. Withdrawal symptoms began to set in before you were even gone.

Those symptoms were raging within her now, hours later. It was somewhere around midnight. Sam left only a few hours prior because she liked working night shifts for some reason, so Tara took the opportunity to have another Stab marathon.

She was about halfway through Stab 2 and debating whether or not to just call it a night. It wasn’t like she wasn’t enjoying it—Stab movies never got old to Tara, but the fact that you were supposed to be there with her taunted her, sucking the excitement out of her.

At some point near the third act, she allowed her thoughts to stay on you, disregarding the film entirely.

Lately, she hadn’t been able to spend too much time alone with you after school. The newly finalized divorce was your ongoing reasoning. Your father was moving out and you were helping him pack his things.

You seemed both relieved and conflicted but Tara, of course, was overjoyed about this development. The cycle she was in was being broken without her needing to intervene. Soon, both you and her would be free of this.

And once he was gone, you could spend as much time with Tara as you wanted. That was something she needed to constantly remind herself of when you canceled plans because she missed you.

Hopefully whatever issues you were dealing with (having something to do with your father, no doubt) didn’t take all weekend.

If it did, this would be one of the first weekends you spent without her since Amber’s untimely death. And if she missed you now, she couldn’t imagine how much worse it would get over the coming days.

Her rambling thoughts were interrupted by your familiar ringtone.

She hurried to pick up her phone. Maybe she had caught a break. Maybe your family issue wasn’t urgent after all.

She brought the phone up to her ear and answered with her usual, “Hey, baby.”

But instead of being greeted by your sweet “hellos” or melodic laughter, she was met with what sounded like frantic sobbing.

Immediately, Tara was on her feet, searching for her keys while she tried to figure out what was happening.

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?!”

You tried to blubber out an answer, but it wasn’t anything she could remotely begin to decipher. Snatching her keys off the kitchen counter, she tried to ask again. “Take a deep breath. Can you repeat that for me?”

She heard you take in and release a shaky breath. “T-Tara, I…i-it’s my dad, he’s…” More cries echoed from the phone speakers, urging Tara to move faster. “Please, I don’t-I didn’t mean to.”

That set off alarm bells in Tara’s head. What did you mean?

“Just stay on the phone with me, ok? Don’t hang up. I’m on my way,” she hurried out as she stepped into her shoes, not even bothering to tie the laces. She was out the door and in the car in seconds, her raw panic nearly driving her to hysteria.

The call dropped as she backed out of her driveway, cutting you off mid-sentence. Tara’s heart stopped and only restarted when she noticed that her phone was dead. She took her own advice and took a deep breath.

She needed to get to you. Now.

Tara made it to your house in record time. She left her keys in the ignition, barely remembering to close the car door before she was running up to the door, grabbing the spare key she knew your mother kept under the potted plant by the doormat, and unlocking it.

The moment she stepped inside she froze.

Whatever she was expecting paled in the face of what she was met with on the other side of your door.

A man, presumably your father, lay limp on the floor. The back of his skull was caved in against the edge of the glass coffee table in front of the couch, staining the table and the carpet beneath it an achingly familiar shade of crimson.

After getting over the shock, Tara’s eyes were drawn to you standing a few feet away, looking unsteady on your feet.

Shamefully, her first thought was how amazing you looked with someone else’s blood on you. A depraved part of her was excited by the sight.

But that excitement was quickly drowned out by her concern at your state. To put it simply, you looked forlorn. Tears cascaded down your face in seemingly endless waves. Your eyes were flitting between your father’s body and your blood-stained hands, breaths coming in short, panicked bursts. You were shaking so vigorously that Tara was afraid your legs would give out, finally prompting her to move.

Slowly, Tara stepped inside and softly closed the door behind her. The sound of it, though quiet, still made you flinch. Your head turned, and once your eyes met hers, she saw some awareness creep back in.

“T-Tara,” you sputtered. She smiled sweetly and cautiously approached you, putting her body between you and your father’s corpse.

From this close, she could see the beginnings of large bruises blooming across your neck and upon closer inspection, she saw how heavily the outlines of the darkening marks resembled fingers.

Red clouded Tara’s vision. The familiar burn of her rage rose within her, but she forced her voice to be soft and soothing. The last thing you needed right now was her anger.

“Hi, sweetheart. Can you tell me what happened?”

“He-he tried to…” Your words broke off into choked sobs. But you didn’t need to finish. The bruises on your neck told her everything she needed to know.

“He-I wanted him off. So I pushed him and h-he…He tripped and…” You trailed off, eyes refocusing on the body over her shoulder. She saw the anguish rising and put a stop to it.

“Hey, no. Don’t look at that.” She brought you into her arms, guiding your face to her neck. You nestled into her instantly, clutching onto her like a lifeline as you wept once more. The blood on your hands was staining her shirt, something she took note of while she wrapped her arms around you.

Tara held you close, softly running one hand up and down your back while the other held your head. On the outside, she made sure she appeared calm and comforting, but on the inside, she was anything but.

Pure, unadulterated fury surged through her. Usually, Tara loved being proven right, loved the satisfaction and vindication that came with it. But this time she could feel nothing but malignancy because he tried to strangle you.

And the fact that you had to be the one to kill him deeply infuriated her.

A death at the hands of an angel was far, far better than he ever deserved.

She wished his heart would somehow restart, just so she could have the pleasure of making his last breath as painful as it should have been.

Better yet, she wished she could have gotten to him before he laid his hands on you.

Tara allowed herself, briefly, to daydream about what she would’ve done. A man like that didn’t even deserve the time it took to plan an intricate murder, so she would have kept it simple. Slow, excruciating exsanguination. Death by a thousand torturously shallow cuts as she forced him to keep his eyes open, so the tears could flow unimpeded. So she could watch the life slowly drain from his eyes.

So she could see the terror on his face when, instead of an angel, he spent his last fleeting moments staring into the eyes of the devil.

Your voice broke her out of her fantasies.

“What am I gonna do, Tara?” you sobbed into her neck. “I-I…he’s dead. And I did that.”

Tara hugged you closer and let you cry for a few minutes. It was painful to listen to, but she needed to put her focus on formulating a plan. Plus, it was probably good for you to let it out anyways.

While you wept, Tara took stock of the situation.

There was one body. Cause of death was a fatal head wound which meant there was lots of blood to clean. Luckily, you had a carpet to soak it up. A quick glance told her that nothing else appeared to have any blood splatter, significantly lessening the amount of cleaning she would need to do.

But even with all that in mind, she still had to find a way to get rid of the body. And that would be a tall task to undertake on her own.

There was also the matter of your mother’s whereabouts. Her car was in the driveway. Tara’s car was parked right beside it, so she had to be around here somewhere.

She decided to concentrate on locating her first. Both to make sure she wasn’t informing anyone else about the situation and because, as much as Tara hated to admit it, she would need help with disposing of the body in a timely manner.

Your father could wait a bit. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere anytime soon anyways.

With her mind made up, Tara gently pulled you back and cradled your face between your hands. “Do you know where your mother is, sweetheart?”

You blinked then looked away, biting your lip in concentration as you thought about the question. A smile pulled at Tara’s lips at the sight. Even now, you managed to be cute. You looked back a moment later, shaking your head shamefully. Tara just gave you an encouraging smile.

“That’s ok. I’ll find her,” she assured, wiping your tears with her thumbs.

You sniffed. “You will?”

“Yeah.” She looked around, eyes landing on the couch. Gently, she brought you to the back of it, guiding you to sit with your back against it. “Wait here for me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

A nod, and you were burying your face in your knees, your shoulders starting to shake again. Tara wanted to comfort you but there was work that needed to be done, so she set her mind to the task at hand and began her search.

It didn’t take very long.

She found your mother in the kitchen, only a room over from where you were. The woman was curled into a ball by the stove, blank eyes staring out into space.

Tara’s brows shot up. Had she been there the entire time?

“Hey,” she called out, staying a healthy distance away.

No reaction. Tara sighed, looked at the clock on the stove.

12:17 a.m.

There was no time for this. Tara knelt down before the woman, getting directly in her line of sight. That worked and her gaze slowly drifted to Tara’s.

“Are you hearing me?” she asked.

Her inquiry was met with a languid nod. Good, Tara thought. She decided to ask her most pressing question next.

“Did you call anyone?”

Sluggishly, the woman shook her head. Tara let out a silent sigh of relief. Not having to worry about police made this a bit easier, but getting rid of a body on such short notice was still going to be a challenge.

“You were in here the entire time?” She couldn’t resist asking, needing to know if your own mother just sat by and listened while you were being attacked.

She averted her eyes away from Tara’s, choosing not to respond. But the silence itself was an answer, and not one that Tara liked. Her muscles tensed instinctively, fingers curling into fists, but she forced herself to relax.

After a breath, she asked, “Are you hurt?”

Another silent shake of her head and Tara had enough of this conversation.

“Then you are going to get up and help me help your daughter. Do you understand?” she gritted out, colder than she probably should have been.

For a long moment, your mother said nothing. The silence made Tara’s jaw clench painfully. Eventually, she gave another painstakingly slow nod, but the tension within Tara still remained.

Realistically, she knew your mother wasn’t entirely to blame for this situation, likely being a victim herself, but she had knowingly allowed you to get hurt. And there was no forgiveness for that. Not for Tara.

Still, she needed the woman’s help right now if she wanted everything taken care of in a timely manner, so she relaxed her jaw and scrubbed away the impatience in her tone.

“Good. Stay here, I need to take care of something real quick.”

Tara was striding out of the room before she had the chance to respond. Rounding the couch, she found you again. You had your knees pressed to your chest, mirroring your mother’s position.

With a sweet smile, she crouched down in front of you.

“Hey, I found your mom.”

Your eyes widened. “Is she ok?”

“Yeah, she’s fine,” she affirmed, bringing a hand up to your shoulder. “I need you to listen to me carefully, ok?”

“Ok,” you mumbled.

“Go upstairs and take a shower. Put these clothes in a plastic bag and leave the bag in the bathroom. Then you can go lay down in your bed and rest. I’ll come up when I’m finished.”

“What are you gonna do?” You sounded scared, she wanted to alleviate that fear.

“Your mom and I are going to take care of your dad.”

You still looked hesitant. Tara brought her hand up to trace your jaw, stared deep into your eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered immediately, making Tara smile.

“Then I need you to do as I say right now. Everything is going to be ok.”

“Promise?” you whispered. Your red eyes and quivering form made for a truly heartbreaking sight. One that Tara hoped she would never have to see again.

With a tender smile, she said, “Yeah, baby, I promise.”

She planted a kiss on your forehead then pulled you to your feet. You lingered for a fleeting moment before following Tara’s orders and heading up to the bathroom. Once Tara heard your footsteps upstairs, she went back to the kitchen.

Your mother was exactly where Tara left her. The smaller girl barely spared her a glance as she spoke.

“Alright, I’m going to need you to gather some things for me.”

Finally, she spoke up for the first time, feeble and low. “You have a…plan?”

At the question, the younger girl paused. She definitely didn’t, but she needed to come up with something, and quickly. She began brainstorming.

She had neither the time nor the tools to try the more elaborate methods of disposal that she’d seen in movies over the years. Things like cutting the body up and hiding the pieces, or melting the body with chemicals were off the table.

So she went with the easiest, least time-consuming plan that came to mind.

Turning, she said, “I need the largest bag you have, a shovel, a sheet, a hat, a bandana, a shirt, a pair of gloves, and your car keys.”

Your mother’s brows raised in disbelief. “My car keys?”

“Yes,” Tara answered, an equal amount of disbelief in her tone. There was no way she was going to potentially get your father’s DNA in her car. She wasn’t stupid. “Do you need me to write all of that down for you?”

She stared at Tara with that disconcerting look again before shaking her head and leaving to gather the items Tara asked for. While she was gone, Tara ventured to the kitchen, searching all of the cabinets until she found plastic wrap.

Returning to the body, Tara lifted your dad’s head off the carpet, careful to get as little blood on her as possible, and began wrapping the plastic around it. Layer after layer of plastic wrap was wound around his head as tightly as Tara could make it, using the entire roll to be safe.

She was just finishing up when your mother returned, the various things Tara requested in her arms. All but the shovel, Tara noticed. A large duffel bag was set down beside her, and Tara glanced up just in time to see her still.

“What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing Tara with a queasy look. Tara’s fist clenched. She hated being interrupted while working.

“I’m wrapping his head so his brains don’t leak out inside of your car,” she explained flatly, shifting briefly to give the woman an annoyed look. “Unless you want that in your trunk?”

She paled, shaking her head vigorously. Her complexion was looking a bit green by the time she regained her train of thought. “The uh, t-the shovel is in the basement.”

Tara blinked. “Then go get it.”

A hurried nod and your mother was practically running to the basement. Tara rolled her eyes.

She took a long look at the bag beside her. It was a bit smaller than she would’ve liked, but it could work with the right positioning.

Taking advantage of your mother’s absence, Tara stripped her bloodied shirt off and shrugged the new one on. It was a simple t-shirt, solid black thankfully with no designs. Perfect for what she was going to be doing.

She dropped the bloodied shirt onto the carpet so it could be disposed of along with it and began unfolding the sheet on the floor next to your father. Very carefully, she rolled him over onto the sheet then did it again and again until he was completely wrapped inside of it like a burrito.

Once he was fully wrapped, she slid the hat over her head, tucking her hair up into it, and tied the bandana over the bottom half of her face.

Just as she was slipping the gloves on, footsteps sounded from the basement stairs and her accomplice appeared at the top of the steps, shovel in hand.

“Put that by the door, I need your help with this,” Tara gestured to the wrapped corpse.

Her eyes widened, noticeably avoiding looking at the body Tara was referring to.

“Y-you want me to help with…that?”

Tara bit back the scathing retort on her tongue and took on a pleading tone instead.

“Yes. Please,” she tried, “I can’t lift him into the bag by myself.”

Conflict flashed in her eyes. She swallowed roughly, still unmoving. Tara was about to give up and try putting him in by herself when she finally moved to where the smaller girl was.

Tara opened the duffel bag, and with some initial struggle, they maneuvered him onto his side, pushing his knees to his chest so he could just fit inside. It was a tighter fit than anticipated but they made it work.

Together, they lifted the bag and walked it to the car, placing it in the trunk alongside the shovel. Tara grabbed your mother’s arm before she could go back inside.

“Listen,” she spoke lowly, “while I’m gone, you’re gonna roll up the carpet and burn it in the firepit out back. Get the clothes from the bathroom and burn them as well. If there’s anything else that got blood or DNA on it, then throw that in too. Understand?”

A timid nod was the only response she got from the woman before she walked back toward the house.

“Oh, and clean the table too,” Tara called out as she reached for her own keys in her pocket and popped the trunk.

She was suddenly very thankful that she kept her platforms in her trunk for… spontaneous occasions.

With a practiced ease, she tied the shoes on and unlocked your mother’s car, quietly slipping into the driver’s seat. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel and she found that her body was more tense than usual.

The next part of the plan relied entirely on luck, something Tara didn’t particularly like. But she had no choice.

Turning the key in the ignition, Tara pulled out of your driveway and began the drive across town.

Woodsboro was a sleepy little town. Very few were out and about after 10 p.m. and even less were out now, well after midnight. But still, she needed to be as careful as possible.

She drove slow, headlights off, taking as many backroads as possible to avoid any cameras and the sightlines of any major streets or apartment buildings in case anyone was awake and watching.

After about twenty minutes of driving, Tara pulled into one of the two cemeteries in Woodsboro. A slow ten-minute circuit around the place told her that there was nothing of use there. It disheartened her a bit, but she couldn’t give up, so she set off to her next destination.

Thankfully, luck seemed to be on her side because a few minutes into her drive around the second cemetery, she found exactly what she was looking for.

A freshly dug grave.

It had been a real gamble. But considering most funerals were held on Saturday’s and it was a Friday night (or early Saturday morning, now), there was a chance she would find one.

Tara quickly got out and opened the trunk. She grabbed the shovel with one hand and the bag with the other, almost falling over as she tried to lift it out of the car.

Very quickly, she gave up trying to carry the duffel bag and settled for pulling it along by the bag strap with both hands.

“Heavy sack of shit,” she mumbled as she dragged the bag across the grass.

She lugged him over, grumbling, and set him down by the hole. Tara noted the dirt piled around the dug out grave. At least she wouldn’t need to worry about making a mess.

When she checked the time before getting out of the car it was already 12:47.

She had to get this done so she could get back to your house. Back to you.

With a sigh, Tara grabbed the shovel, jumped into the grave, and got to work.

Digging was an arduous process. Aside from how taxing it was on the arms, Tara had no real way of knowing how far down she was digging, so she had to just trust her instincts. She only stopped when she confidently estimated she had dug around two feet down.

Getting back out was a challenge even with platforms on to accentuate her height. Being short was a curse, Tara was convinced. But after a few attempts (and a lot of embarrassment) she managed to haul herself out with the shovel in tow.

Once back on her feet, Tara roughly kicked the duffel bag into the hole and started covering it with dirt.

Trying to gauge how much dirt she was putting in while also attempting to make it perfectly even to not arouse suspicion was difficult with the limited moonlight. She could have used her phone flashlight, but she wasn’t trying to draw any unnecessary attention to herself, so she made it work.

By the time she stumbled back to the car, threw the shovel back in the trunk, and collapsed into the driver’s seat, Tara was exhausted.

Her arms ached with a fierceness and she didn’t even want to think about how they would feel when she woke up in the morning. She sighed.

Why did breaking the law have to be so much goddamn work?

A glance at the clock told her it was 1:56 A.M.

You had probably long since finished your shower by now. She pushed her fatigue aside and got back on the road.

The knowledge that you were waiting for her made her want to slam her foot down on the pedal, but she held back. This was the home stretch, getting caught now would potentially ruin everything.

Tara let out a sigh of relief when she pulled into your driveway. She turned the car off and took the shovel out the trunk, the thought of every step bringing her closer to you driving her forward.

As she stepped inside, she set the shovel by the door and instantly spotted your mother, cleaning the blood off the glass table just as Tara asked. She was also pleasantly surprised to see that the carpet that formerly resided under the table was missing.

It seemed that the feeble woman actually was good for something.

“How is she?” Tara asked while taking the hat and bandana off. Silence followed. Tara threw the garments onto the couch and looked to your mother, who had stopped scrubbing to stare at the floor.

Tara blinked. Hard. Her eyebrows shot up.

“Have you not gone to check on her?” She couldn’t bother to keep her incredulousness in check.

Again, the room lapsed into silence as the older woman kept her head down. Tara couldn’t believe what she was hearing—or rather what she was not hearing.

After sitting by while your own father—her ex-husband was trying to kill you, she couldn’t even be bothered to check in on you. “Angry” didn’t even begin to cover how Tara felt at the flagrant display of cowardice.

She couldn’t help but wonder, was this even the first time something like this happened while your mother hid instead of intervening? Was this the first time she refused to look at you because of her own shame or selfishness or both?

Enough was enough, she decided.

“She’s staying with me.”

That got your mother’s attention. She shot to her feet; eyes trained directly on Tara’s for the first time since she stepped back into the house.

“She absolutely isn’t. Why would you think that?”

“I think it’d be better if she’s away from this house for a while,” Tara gritted out, patience running thin.

“There is still a killer on the loose in this town. I won’t let you take my daughter somewhere where I won’t know if she’s safe or not.”

Indignation burned bright and hot in Tara’s veins. Her lips curled into a distorted smile.

“And you think she’ll be safer here? With you?” she spat, enjoying the way your mother’s eyes widened. “You couldn’t even protect her from your own husband, do you really think you could protect her from a vicious murderer?”

The woman blanched and inched back, but Tara didn’t stop, taking a step into her space as she continued.

“Even tonight, as your husband tried to kill her, what did you do? Did you try to stop him? Or did you cower in the kitchen like you were when I came?”

Tara waited for an answer. None came. She persisted.

“That’s right, you did nothing. You didn’t try to stop him; you didn’t try to save your own child. Hell, you didn’t even try to call the police. Your daughter had to call me for help after he died because you were being too useless to even stand up.”

Your mother had gone completely still, a slight tremble setting in. She was close to crumbling, Tara knew. One more solid push should do it. So Tara leaned in real close, eyes dark, voice but a whisper.

“You couldn’t protect her all these years. What makes you think you can now?”

As predicted, that did it. Tara watched her shatter in one swift motion.

Tears pooled and spilled over as all of the blood drained from her face. The tremble in her limbs became a violent shake, sending her to her knees with a gargled whimper.

Tara just stood, watching the display with distaste. Languidly, she knelt down before your mother and caught her teary gaze.

“If anyone asks where your ex-husband is, you tell them that he moved out west and cut contact with you. Use the divorce as an excuse,” she instructed slowly. Eyes darkening further, Tara leaned forward, dropping her voice. “You will not speak a word about what happened here tonight to anyone. Your daughter will be staying with me until she’s able to feel safe in her own home again. Do you understand?”

It was a statement more than it was a question, the finality in her tone leaving no room for argument. There was only one acceptable answer for Tara. And it seemed that she understood that. Lips trembling, she gave Tara a shaky nod, making the smaller girl smile.

Satisfied, Tara stood, intending on collecting you and leaving, but your mother apparently wasn’t finished annoying her.

“P-please, please tell her that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” she gasped out between miserable sobs, weakly grabbing Tara’s hand.

Tara’s lips curled with disgust. Even now, after everything that had happened, your own mother couldn’t give you the apology you deserved to your face.

How pathetic.

Snatching her hand from the woman’s frail grasp, she began making her way upstairs, letting the pitiful cries fade with distance.

Tara entered the upstairs hallway, scanning it quickly. There were four doors that branched from the hall. The one all the way at the end was partially open. She made her way to it, taking a peek inside the bathroom along the way, pleased to see that the bag you presumably left on the floor was indeed gone.

At least your mother was good at following orders.

Pushing the door open wider, she was greeted by the unfamiliar sight of your room. It was a surprisingly sparse room for someone with so much personality. If Tara didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t have even guessed it was yours.

The walls were bare, lacking all the decoration that Tara’s had, and the furniture was more of the same. Plain, brown, and devoid of all the emotion and spirit that she envisioned it having. The only sign of life in the room was on your bed, where you laid unnaturally still.

You rested atop your comforter, your damp hair fanned out on the pillow beneath you, gradually soaking it. But you either didn’t notice or didn’t care, staring resolutely out your window. The bruising on your neck was already darker, a nauseating shade of purple that made Tara’s stomach stir.

She approached quietly, not wanting to startle you in your seemingly fragile state, and sat down on the edge of the bed. You didn’t register the shifting of your bed, so Tara tentatively slipped her hand into yours.

Finally, Tara saw you inhale, and your attention shifted from the outside world to her.

“Tara,” you whispered, voice gravelly, “my dad, w-wha-“

“Don’t worry about him, baby. I took care of everything,” she cooed, stroking her thumb over your cheek.

“Did…you call the police?” you asked. The soft furrow of your brows would be adorable if it weren’t for the worry in your eyes that accompanied it.

Tara shook her head. “No. No police.”

“Wh-“ A harsh cough forced its way from your throat, making Tara wince in sympathy. “What’s gonna happen now?”

The fear in your eyes made her chest ache. To combat it, she put a small, comforting smile on her face. “Actually, that’s what I was coming to tell you. I talked it over with your mom we came to an agreement. You’ll be staying with me for the time being.”

She half expected you to say no, to refuse being uprooted from your home so suddenly. Instead, you asked, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude on you or Sam.”

Tara almost sighed. You had a way of constantly making yourself out to be a burden when you were anything but.

“You could never intrude on us. Sam loves you and so do I. More than you could ever know. If you want to stay, you would be more than welcome,” she paused then posed the question. “Do you want to stay with me?”

She tried to brace herself for whatever you would say but your answer, only one small syllable, was said so fast that she didn’t even have time.

“Please.”

The rush of relief she felt was so powerful it almost knocked the air from her lungs.

Tara went over to your closet and started putting clothes into the overnight bag you used when you stayed with her for the weekend, grabbing your favorites first. The bag wasn’t big enough to fit everything, but it didn’t really matter, she could always come back and pick up more if need be.

Or you could wear her clothes. Tara liked that idea much better.

Once it was as full as she could get it, she turned to you and froze. You were sitting up now, brows drawn together as you stared at nothing.

Concerned, Tara dropped the bag and knelt down in front of you, reaching to cradle one of your hands between hers.

“Hey,” she prompted, voice soft, “what’s going through that head of yours?”

Pursing your lips, you tried to look away, but Tara wasn’t letting you get away that easily. She leaned forward, following your eyes. A sigh was expelled through your nose, voice dropping to a grave whisper.

“Do you think I’m a monster, Tara?”

Tara swore she could feel her heart fracture.

“No,” she asserted, shaking her head. “No, look at me.”

You did. She chose her next words very carefully, trying very hard to steer clear of anything resembling “he deserved it” (even if it was true).

“What you did was an accident,” she started, speaking slowly and clearly. “You didn’t want to hurt him, but he was hurting you and you reacted. You couldn’t have known that he would trip. And if you did know, you probably wouldn’t have done it. Why? Because you’re not a monster. You could never be one, not to me anyways.”

There was a brief silence after her small monologue. You took in her words while she watched you, admired you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. She just smiled, placing a feather-light kiss on your lips.

Tara tried not to dwell on how you would view her if you ever found out about the sins she’s committed without remorse.

She stood on unsteady legs. “Are you ready to leave?”

Thankfully you nodded, seeming just as eager as she was to get the hell out of this house.

She grabbed your bag and escorted you out of the house. Tara didn’t miss the way you barely glanced in your mother’s direction as you passed her.

The ride to her house was silent, as expected. You looked on the verge of either falling asleep or breaking down and nothing Tara could say would change that. Still, she reached over to intertwine your fingers with hers at the first red light.

Sam’s car was in the driveway when Tara pulled in, which made her groan. She was hoping she could at least wait until morning to explain the situation to her sister, that would have given her time to come up with a suitably vague excuse for your indefinite stay.

But her sister surprised her.

She stood from the couch as you both entered and took your shoes off, that irritating look on her face that indicated to Tara that an interrogation was imminent, but the minute she saw you, her mouth clamped shut.

The way her wide eyes trailed over the bruises on your neck didn’t escape Tara’s notice, and she was just about to step up and get defensive when Sam wrapped you in a delicate hug and told you that you could stay as long as you needed to.

Tara was shocked. She didn’t think it would be so easy, but she supposed this fell in line with Sam’s newer personality quirks.

Sam had a recent habit of being… protective of the people she cared for. It annoyed the hell out of Tara but, if it could help her get what she wanted, as it did just now, then she would learn to tolerate it.

So she sent her sister a large, grateful smile and pulled you upstairs, making a mental note to find other ways to take advantage of Sam’s overprotective streak in the future.

Tara debated bringing your things into her room, but she figured you deserved a space of your own that could truly feel like it was yours. She led you to the guest room, conveniently right across the hall from her room, and placed your bag on the edge of the bed.

She paused then, finding herself entirely unsure of what to do next. Part of her wanted to invite you to her room like usual, while the other argued that you may want some space to process what happened earlier.

Discordant words interrupted the beginnings of her internal debate.

“Can I sleep with you?” you rasped, sounding shy despite the fact that you’d shared a bed with her dozens of times before. Tara smiled.

“Of course.” She took your hand in hers again and took you across the hall, gesturing for you to lay down while she changed and put her dirty clothes away. She made another mental note to wash those clothes tomorrow. Just in case.

In the few minutes that took, you were already on the verge of falling asleep when she turned back around.

With a small grin, she laid beside you and opened her arms. The tiny smile you gave her in return was blinding. You burrowed into her and buried your face into Tara’s neck like you always did when you slept together. Tara started carding her hand through your hair, knowing it would lull you off faster.

You were asleep within minutes. She couldn’t blame you, it had been an eventful night, and Tara herself should have been passed out instantly with the amount of physical labor she had done not even a few hours prior, but she just couldn’t shut her eyes.

How could she peacefully sleep knowing what she did to you?

This entire situation was her fault. Her inaction led to this moment, her hesitance to possibly hurt you nearly got you killed.

Her hesitance made you kill. That was devastating.

Tara wasn’t oblivious. She wasn’t so naïve as to think that her ultraviolent impulses were normal. No, there was a reason why she hid her true nature.

Whereas she found killing to be exhilarating—as utterly satisfying as scratching an itch you hadn’t been able to reach—you found it to be tormenting. She saw how stricken you were earlier, heard how terribly you thought of yourself for your actions just earlier in your room.

This would torture you. Would be a burden you carried for a long time. Because of her.

Just the thought was agonizing. The knowledge that she had hurt you, intentionally or not, made her want to drive a knife through her own flesh.

It would never happen, that she would make sure of.

With reinvigorated purpose, Tara pulled a blanket over the both of you and pressed a long, firm kiss to the top of your head. A silent promise to do better. A vow that for as long as she had you, she would never let another soul do you harm.

And the next time she even suspected anyone of laying their hands on you, there would no hesitation and absolutely no mercy.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #ghostface!tara #scream #scream vi #jenna ortega #i still don't know what damn tags to use lmao #shoutout to the mutual that informed me about exsanguination #ur a real one!#hope this isn't too disappointing

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