“So buy me a fucking card! I am not your whore!” she shouted.
“I never said you were. I have never treated you like one, not since Boston,” he pointed out, staring down at her, his eyes alive with anger. She didn't care. Time was up. She was finally, completely, unraveled.
“You do treat me like one! Like some stupid whore you can just yank around whenever you want! Push and pull, beck and call! Why would you buy me a present like that!? You don't care! You don't care!” Tate yelled at him. Jameson stood close to her, bringing his face down near to hers.
“I wanted to buy it to show you I remembered. To show you I do care,” he hissed.
Liar.
She shrieked and smacked him across the face. Jameson let her hit him in the chest a couple more times, but when she slapped him again, he grabbed her by the wrists. Twisted her around and pulled her back into his chest. She struggled against his hold, so he pinned her wrists to her chest. Leaned forward, causing her to bend in half.
Tate kept trying to yell at him, but she was choking on sobs. Jameson's arms around her grew softer. Not restricting. Holding. She was aware that he was swaying lightly. Rocking her. She turned her head to the side, away from him, and just cried. For her lost heart. For her broken soul. For her weak spirit.
“Why!? Why did you bring her home? Why did you do that? How could you be with her? After everything. You promised. Why did you do that to me!? How could you be with her!? How could you do that to me!?” she sobbed, over and over again. His lips pressed to her ear, and it was a while before she could tell what he was saying.
“I'm sorry, Tatum. I'm really, truly sorry.”
“You're not. You're not sorry. You treated me like nothing. I'm nothing to you,” she cried.
“It was only ever you,” Jameson whispered. “Two weeks ago, four months ago, seven years ago. This whole time. Always you.”
She cried harder.
~12~
“I'm mad at you.”
“I know.”
“I don't know if I'll ever stop being mad.”
“I know.”
“Why do you want to deal with that?”
He pulled her out of the car.
“Because I want to.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It's the only one you're getting.”
“That's not fair.”
“Life isn't fair, baby girl.”
He pulled her out of the elevator.
“You owe me.”
“Tatum, I don't think I'll ever stop owing you.”
“But you never pay up.”
“I don't think I'll ever stop paying.”
He pulled her down the hall.
“Why did you do it?”
“I was angry. Mad. Hurt.”
“Why didn't you just talk to me?”
“Because I thought you hurt me on purpose. I wanted to hurt you back.”
“I didn't even know I could hurt you.”
“You're actually very good at it.”
He pulled her into the hotel room.
“You scare me.”
“I am aware of this. You're still crying.”
“You love tears.”
“They're not as fun as they used to be.”
He pulled her into the bedroom.
“I don't want this. I don't want to be ..., part of this.”
“I don't think you have a choice.”
“I know.”
“So why fight it?”
“Because ..., I don't want to end up in that pool again.”
“I won't let you.”
He pulled her jacket off.
“I don't trust you.”
“We'll work on that.”
“Sometimes, I think I hate you.”
“Sometimes, hmmm. And other times?”
“Other times, I ..., I think I ...,”
He pulled his jacket off.
“See, it's those other times. I only pay attention to those times.”
“Works out awfully well for you.”
“Only sometimes.”
“Jameson. This isn't a game. This is my life. I don't want you playing with it.”
“Baby girl, sometimes I wonder if it was ever a game.”
Oh, Satan. You get me every time.
~13~
Tatum snuck downstairs. It was about three in the afternoon. She wanted to collapse. She wanted to fall into a coma for a hundred years. She wanted everything to be still, and quiet. Last time she'd had thoughts like that, things hadn't ended so well for her.
After her mental breakdown in the alley, Jameson had the car pulled around. Carried her to it. Took her back to the hotel. Treated her nice. Told her things he had been wanting to say. Things he had apparently been needing to say.
It hurt her soul.
While Jameson took a shower, she had tried to sneak into Sanders' room, but he wasn't there. Tate knew Ang was at the hotel. His flight had gotten in at noon, plus there was a “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging on his door. He was probably sleeping. She wanted to curl up with him. Cuddle. Cry. Figure out what the fuck was wrong with her. See if he would still love her, even after she had sold her heart and soul to the devil.
Getting a key card was easy. Jameson had rented all the rooms, and Tate was listed as a guest under the room numbers. She simply told them that she had forgotten her key. She got a couple of sideways looks, probably because of the short-shorts she had slipped on and the fact that she was barefoot, so she told them she was Jameson's wife. Scary thought. They backed right down and Mrs. Kane was given a key to all three rooms. Success.
Tate peeked her head through Ang's door, glancing around. She was surprised at what she saw, and walked all the way into the suite, leaving the door open behind her. The room was a mess. His luggage looked like it had been thrown into the room. There was a small seating area with couches, and all the cushions were askew, one even on the floor. A tall floor lamp was knocked to the ground and broken. Ang's jacket was on the floor, one of the sleeves ripped a little. Tate started breathing fast through her nose. They were in a very nice hotel, in a very nice part of the city, but still. It was a big city. Muggings happened, robberies happened.
There was a thump to her left and Tate whirled around. She crept forward a couple steps and she heard it again. Thump, thump. Someone was in the bedroom. Tate pressed her hand over her mouth. Someone was robbing the hotel room, right at that moment. They were in Ang's room. With Ang.
Fuck that. She rushed back towards the front door. The hotel provided bins full of complimentary umbrellas – Paris had wet winters. Tate pulled out a long one and charged back towards the bedroom. She kicked open the door and let out a growl, holding the umbrella like a bat.
“The cops are coming, mother fucker! You have -,” she started to shout, but was cut off by yelling and screaming. She blinked a couple times, trying to adjust her eyes to the sight in front of her.
Oh. My. God.
“What the fuck, Tate!?” Ang was shouting as he struggled to get out of the bed.
He was completely nude, but that wasn't what shocked her – she had seen Ang naked more times than she could count. No, what shocked Tate was the other person in the room. A woman sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on a shirt in a nervous, frantic manner. Tate stared in wide eyed shock.