Guess you could say I acted out.

[If that's what you call shooting up a high school, eventually. Along with a myriad of crimes post-death of which there really hasn't yet been a total and succinct tally. Tate keeps spinning the ring on his finger, slow turns, before he flips his hand over to bare his wrist - moving aside his sleeve to briefly show a faded set of scars. Then he looks to her face to gauge her reaction.]

Hurt myself and maybe others. Once it's bottled up it like that, it has to come out - right?