~11~

Tate went to visit her sister the next day, all by herself. She was able to sneak out of the house and steal the Jag without anyone catching her, though she did get several angry text messages from Jameson. When she got to the hospital, she was glad to see that no one else was there, either. She carried a small bouquet of flowers and tiny stuffed bear.

“You awake?” she whispered, peeking into her sister's room. Ellie nodded, but held a finger to her lips.

“Yeah, but he just fell asleep,” she explained softly, gesturing to the crib. Tate nodded and crept across the room.

“How are you doing?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Good. I actually feel pretty good. They're releasing me later today,” Ellie replied.

“That's great. Do you have a ride?”

“Yeah, my friend is gonna come get me. Believe it or not, Mother is going to stay at the apartment with me, till I get settled,” Ellie laughed. Tate laughed as well.

“Oh god. Well, I guess that's a good thing. I was gonna offer to stay with you, but I probably wouldn't be much help,” Tate put out there. Ellie nodded.

“Thanks.”

They made idle chit chat after that; Ellie shared some of the more disgusting, lesser known facts about childbirth. Tate tried to hold down her lunch. They turned on the TV and watched some crap reality show, made fun of the contestants. But after about an hour, Tate grew restless.

“Ellie, I have a favor to ask,” she started.

“Sure, what is it?” her sister responded.

“I hate asking when you're like this, in the hospital, but I really need your help,” Tate continued.

“You're kind of freaking me out. What's up?” Ellie asked. Tate took a deep breath.

She asked Ellie if she could borrow some money. She hated doing it, especially after the little show she and Ang had put on, but she didn't have anyone else she could ask. She couldn't ask Sanders, he would tell Jameson, and she certainly couldn't ask Jameson. Luckily, Ellie agreed to it with very little questions asked.

“Are you sure you're okay? I feel like I'm doing a drug deal,” Ellie commented, handing Tate a check for $3,000.

“I'm fine,” Tate laughed.

“I saw the baby stuff, online. About Jameson. I'm sorry,” Ellie said softly. Tate shrugged.

“No biggy. I mean, we're not really together, and we certainly weren't together then,” she replied, but when she looked up from putting the check away, Ellie was frowning at her.

“It would be hard for me, if you suddenly said you were pregnant with Angier's baby,” Ellie added. Tate laughed again.

“Who says I'm not?” she teased, winking at her sister. Ellie didn't laugh.

“What are you planning?” she suddenly asked. Tate sighed.

“Nothing you need to worry about. I'll talk to you later,” Tate replied, getting up and kissing Ellie on the forehead. Her sister grabbed her hand.

“Be careful, Tate,” she warned her. Tate chuckled, and it sounded vaguely evil.

“I always am.”

She kissed her fingertip and pressed it to the baby's forehead, then waltzed out the door. She made a brief stop at her bank, cashing the check before she headed back to the house. Back home.

Well, back to his home.

Being sneaky around Jameson was difficult. He was very smart and very intuitive, and on top of all of that, he watched her like a hawk. She had to execute her plan in stages, usually when he was out of the house. Which wasn't often; he'd barely left at all since “The Petrushka Incident”.

“Baby girl,” he whispered one night, sliding into bed beside her. Tate had been trying to act like she was asleep.

“Hmmm?” she mumbled, trying not to slither away when his arm went around her waist.

“I know what you've been thinking. And it's not true. You promised me, remember. You promised you wouldn't freak out,” he reminded her. She sighed.

“I haven't freaked out at all.”

“You're freaking out right now.”

“Well, it's kinda freaky, you have to admit,” she started. Saying something close to the truth had always worked well for her. She was a horrible liar. “And I said I wouldn't freak out every ten seconds. It's been a lot longer than that.”

“Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't,” Jameson urged, scooting her back so she was pressed to his chest. She closed her eyes.

“You said we'll deal with us later. Later, Jameson. Later,” she insisted, scratching her nails down his arm.

“Or we can deal with it now,” he growled back. “I didn't sleep with her. That picture of me and her, in Spain ..., remember the night we went to the club, when you saw her? The next day, when I was coming home, she was in the parking lot. I told her to stay the fuck away from you, and then I had the harbor master escort her out of the marina. That was it. I should have told you. I am now very sorry that I didn't.”

Liar. Such a fucking liar.

Tate rolled over under his arm. Pressed against his chest, forced him onto his back.

How easy it is, to fall into old tricks. Distraction. Sex. Samesies.

“This is all boring,” she replied, biting into his chest. He hissed and his hands flew into her hair.

“You don't want to do this,” he whispered. She chuckled and reached down between their bodies, rubbing her hand against his growing erection.

“Oh, I really want to do this.”

See? Truth that's close to a lie, or vice versa.

“God, you're so horrible to me,” he groaned, putting his hand over her own. Wrapping his fingers around hers, working her hand faster. She laughed and managed to slide her hand free, leaving him stroking himself.

“I've always been good to you, Jameson,” she whispered, kissing her way down his chest.

“So good,” he whispered in agreement. She pulled the sheet away from him, watched him for a minute, admired his body.

“Say it again,” she urged, tracing her tongue against his hip bone. His hand moved faster.

“You're so good to me, Tatum,” he groaned. She kissed her way to his thigh.

“Mmm, maybe you should say it one more time,” she suggested. Suddenly his free hand was in her hair.

“Maybe you need to shut the fuck up and get to work,” he swore, then forced her down on his dick.

Sex was not an option for her. Tate couldn't, it was too much, she always got all chatty and honest during sex. Hard to be chatty when her mouth was busy. So she worked him good, and when his hand pulled at her hair again, tried to drag her away, she refused to budge. Just sucked harder and licked more and took him deeper. She had him coming in record time, and she swallowed everything.

“Work, work, work, I'm like Cinderella around here,” she joked, kissing her way back up his chest.

“Goddamn, Tate, one of these days you're gonna give me a heart attack,” Jameson panted. She laughed and stretched out next to him, laying on her stomach.

“I keep trying,” she whispered.

“I'm not complaining,” he chuckled, pressing a hand to her back.

See? Distraction. Works every time.

 

*

 

Tate knew it wouldn't last long, though. She had a couple days, at best. Jameson needed sex to function. He became unbearable if he didn't get it regularly. That's why she hadn't believed him, when he had claimed to have gone all fall without sex. October to New Year's!? She had doubted it. And now she knew she had been right.

Fucker.

“Sandy,” she said the next afternoon, walking into the kitchen. Jameson was at his office, getting some paperwork he needed. Sanders glanced at her.

“Whatever it is, no,” he replied. She made a face.

“I haven't even asked you anything,” she pointed out.

“I know you. It's coming,” he said. She swallowed thickly.

“I need a ride. I can take the Jag, but you'll just have to pick it up, anyway,” she told him. He had been reading a newspaper, and he looked up at her.

“Why? Where are you going?” he asked. Tate smiled sadly at him, reached out and held his hand.

“It's time for me to go, Sandy,” she said softly. He stood up, dropping the newspaper and pulling away from her.

“No. You promised. You cannot let this, this ..., this woman, rip you apart. I have -,” Sanders started babbling, backing out of the kitchen. She went after him and grabbed back onto his hand.

“It's not just her, I swear. I mean, yeah, I don't want to live life waiting for the next time Pet fucks something up, but it's other things, too. Maybe ..., maybe I do want to get married someday, Sandy. Maybe I do want babies. Maybe I want to change the world, or maybe I want to live on a farm. Who knows? He won't compromise, for anything. He just is, he has made all this very clear, to all of us. And I just can't handle that,” she explained. Sanders began swaying from side to side, foot to foot.

“No, that's not true. None of that is true. You ..., you just won't see it. You won't listen to him. You're happy here. Why can't you just let yourself be happy?” Sanders insisted, staring over her head. She gripped onto his lapels.

“Because I can't. I just can't. Sanders, I bought a plane ticket. I am going,” Tate informed him.

His face cracked then. He wouldn't look at her, kept staring at the wall as his perfect features folded into agony. He was so good at hiding his emotions, that it was shocking to see such a transformation. He closed his eyes, lifted a hand to the side of his head, pulled at a lock of hair. She wrapped her arms around him, pressed her face to his chest.

“He's going to be so upset. You're going to hurt him so badly. Please, please, don't go,” Sanders begged.

“Come with me,” she whispered, holding onto him as tightly as possible. He started to shake, his swaying getting a little chaotic.

“No. I can't. I do love him, I am happy here. Please, Tatum. Please, don't go. You forgave him. You promised. Please,” he was crying. She started crying as well.

“You want me to stay? You want me to be unhappy? To always be questioning myself, questioning him? I'll do it. For you, Sanders, I would do it,” she told him.

He slowly stopped swaying. Took a couple deep breaths. Then his arms came around her, hugged her tightly. Crushed her to his chest. She felt his face against her head, pressing into her hair.

“I'll take you. I'll take you anywhere you want to go,” he whispered. She nodded.

“Thank you.”

Sanders didn't look at her, just let go of her and walked out of the kitchen. Tate stood there, feeling like a small piece of her had died. She never wanted to hurt Sanders. Life wasn't fair. How come Jameson wasn't ever the one shaking and crying?

Sanders loaded her luggage up into the Bentley, then left the car parked across from the porch. She wasn't going to run away in the middle of the night, not again. She would say goodbye to the devil, see him face to face. If she didn't die of a heart attack, first.

Tate was collecting things out of the library when she heard the Jaguar pull up into the driveway, its tires spinning in the loose pebbles. She was holding onto the Cartier necklace, the one Jameson had secretly bought for her at Nick's auction. A sweet gesture, but just another way to buy her. Stupid man, he had gotten her for free, and he had never even realized it. She was looking over the pearls when the library door burst open with such force, she jumped as it banged off of a wall.

“Did you think I wouldn't find out!?” Jameson yelled at her.

“Excuse me?” she asked, a little shocked. Sure, she had seen him angry. He snapped at her on a regular basis, it was one of their things. But rarely did he yell. He stalked towards her and she skittered away, got penned in between him and the back of the couch.

“You used my credit card. What the fuck were you thinking?” he growled, looming over her.

Oops. I thought I'd have more time. Does he check his online statements every day!?

“I paid you back. I already deposited the cash into your bank account. I don't have a card, I had to -,” Tate started to explain.

“I don't give a fuck about the money!” he shouted, and she shrieked in surprise. “You could spend all my money, and I wouldn't give a fuck! All you have to do is ask! But you cannot use it to run away to him!”

“But I paid it back,” she stressed. Jameson moved to get closer to her and she slid to the side, heading towards the door. He grabbed her hand, his fingers tangling in the necklace she was still clinging to.

“That you used it without my knowledge, that you used it to get away from me, that you used it to fly to him ..., I don't even know where to start,” he hissed. She tried to pull away.

“It's not a big deal, Jameson,” she insisted. He yanked on her arm and she stumbled forward.

“Apparently it's a big fucking deal, if you feel like you have to lie to me! Sneaking around this house like a fucking shadow! I'm surprised you're even taking this!” he yelled, holding up her hand with the pearls in it. “Of course, you used me for my money. I suppose it's not a leap to assume you'd use my gifts. It is worth a lot of money, you could get far on it.”

“I wasn't going to take them!” Tate shouted back, offended that he thought she would use him like that – he was the one who equated everything with a price, not her.

“Sure fucking looks like it! But by all means, go ahead, you certainly earned them!” he snapped. Tate gasped.

“Fuck you, Kane!” she hissed, then she gripped the necklace between both hands and yanked. Pearls flew around the room.

“Lost out on a lot of money, baby girl. Your boyfriend certainly won't be able to pay for you the way I have,” Jameson said softly.

She was out on the porch before he caught up with her. Tate halfway expected him to grab her, to pick her up and carry her inside. But he didn't. He hurried down the steps alongside her, matching her step for step as she headed towards the cars.

“Just let me go,” she insisted, walking next to the Jag. He finally grabbed her, pulled her to a stop.

“We are long past that. So what happened to promises, huh? You won't freak out, right? Wrong. I knew you'd fucking do this. The minute shit gets real, you fucking flip. Have you ever stuck anything out? Ever given anyone the benefit of the doubt?” he demanded. She slapped at his arm.

“Sure, when they're not the goddamn devil!” she yelled back.

“I am not the devil! If anyone here is the devil, it's you! You lied to me! You goddamn liar!” Jameson shouted. Tate got up in his face.

“You lied first! Such sweet words, 'only you, Tatum. It was only ever you',” she mocked him. “Hadn't slept with a soul, you were 'waiting for' me. Bullshit.”

“I never lied, but what about you? You said Nick was nothing, that there was no relationship, yet you always call on him, don't you? Looks real fucking suspicious,” he snapped. She steeled her nerves, willed away the tears.

“Your lies are worse,” she hissed. “Why don't you just go be with her!? You obviously can't stay away from each other.”

“I wasn't with her. I don't want her. I want you,” he replied through clenched teeth. She shook her head.

“Well, too bad, cause I don't want you,” she told him.

“Don't lie to me, Tatum.”

“I'm not. It was always just fun, wasn't it? It's not a big deal, we can just -,”

“Stop lying.”

“It's just sex! You don't even give a fuck, you couldn't care if I -,”

Jameson let out a shout and slammed the side of his fist against the car window. It shattered and Tate shrieked, throwing her hands up. Blood ran down the side of his palm, dripping onto the ground, but he looked like he didn't even notice. He stared down at her, his eyes on fire.

“Stop. Fucking. Lying,” he growled. She glared up at him.

“Look. It's over. I'm going. This, whatever it is, is over. Deal with it,” she told him, then turned around and strode towards the Bentley.

“Does he know!?” Jameson called out, following her. “Did your boyfriend help you plan this? Or are you surprising him, too?” She managed a laugh, wiping at her eyes.

“Always about you, isn't it.”

“You fucking make it that way, not me. Does he know you like I do? Does he know that at the first hint of trouble, you're going to flip the fuck out? Does he know that you'll use him, lie to him, then leave him?” he demanded, hurrying around and getting in front of her, stopping her mid-stride. She took a shuddering breath.

“He knows me better than you,” she told him. Rage washed over his face.

“Not possible. So what kind of lie did you tell him? You said you loved me; what kind of lies does he get to hear?” Jameson said in a deadly soft voice.

“They're not lies when I say them to him,” Tate whispered back.

Both Jameson's hands were around her neck, shoving her back into the side of the Bentley. She grunted, his thumbs digging into the sensitive skin under her chin. She glared at him and he leaned in close, forcing her back over the hood, his forearms pressed against her chest.

“Don't fucking say that to me,” he hissed. She lifted her hands, slowly gripped onto his wrists.

“But you hate it when I lie,” she pointed out. His fingers tightened on her neck.

“You weren't lying when you said those things to me,” he said. She raised an eyebrow.

“You're so sure?” Tate whispered.

Jameson stared at her for a long time. His eyes seemed to wander over every inch of her skin. She didn't care. This would be the last time she saw him, the last time she got to touch him. Now that it was upon her, she didn't want it to end. A tear finally slipped out, sliding over her temple, into her hair.

“Sure enough,” he whispered back. She took a shaky breath.

“Liar.”

He let her go then, and she stumbled forward. He backed away and stared down at her, shoving his hands into his front pockets. When she stood upright, he continued staring at her. His eyes were hard, and cold. They threw her back in time, back to that first night. Back to him forcing her out of his apartment, looking at her like she was insignificant. Like she was nothing. She gasped, choked on a sob. Her eyes filled up with tears at the same time Sanders hurried up to them.

“Is everything alright?” he breathed, standing next to Jameson. Tate couldn't answer. Just kept staring into her past.

“Perfectly fine, Sanders,” Jameson's clipped voice rang out. “Tatum would like to leave. By all means, take her wherever she'd like to go.”

“Sir, I think you should -,”

“Goodbye, Tatum. And good luck. Though somehow, I don't think you'll need it,” Jameson finished, and then strode off back into the house.

“Are you hurt?” Sanders asked. She shook her head.

“Just my heart,” she whispered. He frowned down at her.

“Would you like me to -,”

“No. I just want to leave. Let's go,” Tate replied, then turned and opened the car door.

As she slid into her seat, she couldn't help but remember the last time she had run away from him, from that house. She stared out the window. It was nighttime, again, and she was in the Bentley, again. But this time it was her choice, not his; and not a bottle of whiskey and xanax.

Sure it is, baby girl. But if it's your choice, how come you're leaving one very important piece of property in that house?

“What?” she breathed out loud, just before Sanders got into the car as well.

Your soul.