~10~

Tatum woke up the next morning to Jameson chewing on her butt, literally. She laughed and slapped him away. He informed her that her father would be home in a couple hours, so she should probably get ready and brace herself. He offered for her to join him in the shower, but she knew that never led to getting ready, so she passed and sent him in on his own.

Grumbling, she pulled on her trademark socks, some booty shorts, and a long tank top before heading downstairs. Jameson had bought her an entire wardrobe for the weekend, all miss-priss clothing, but he had been thoughtful enough to include her usual sleep wear. It made her feel more comfortable, and she felt like she was more herself as she wandered in to the kitchen. Her mother was by a coffee pot, watching the coffee fill up.

“Good morning, honey,” her mother yawned. Tate managed a smile.

“Morning,” she replied, laying her top half across the counter and staring at the pot as well.

“I stopped and peeked in on you around five this morning, but you weren't in your room. Where were you?” her mom asked. Tate glanced at her. Was this for real?

“I was in Jameson's room,” she answered truthfully. Had the lady not heard anything?

“Oh my! I thought you were just friends!” Mother exclaimed. Tate stood up.

“We are. We are very, very good friends,” she emphasized. Her mother worried her hands.

“Do you think that's such a good idea, honey? I mean, what with Ellie and all, maybe it would be better to ..., you know, not,” her mother suggested.

Is she fucking kidding me?

“Mother. I don't give two fucks about Ellie, or how she feels,” Tate said in a hard voice. Her mother gasped.

“There is no need to talk like that! You should show some respect for your sister and her feelings!” she urged. Tate threw her head back and laughed.

“Is this a fucking joke? Why should I respect her? Or any of you? She hasn't spoken to me in seven years, she still treats me like the whore of Babylon, and her husband hit on me last night, after she complained about me ruining things between her and Jameson. Daddy doesn't even acknowledge my existence, and you only call me when you're drunk and feeling guilty,” she spat out.

Her mother stared at her for a second, eyes swimming with tears, and then she rushed out of the kitchen, letting out a sob. Ellie came in at the same time, jumping out of the way. She watched after her for a second and then turned her glare on Tate.

“See. You ruin everything. Your little show last night was disgusting. Something is wrong with you,” Ellie hissed. Tate smiled sweetly.

“That show was the best sex you'll never have, so you're welcome,” she replied, blowing a kiss at her sister. Ellie bristled up.

“I've had good sex. I slept with him first, you know,” she snapped. Tate laughed.

“Not the same thing at all, Ellie. And it's not a competition, who got him first, who got him last. I didn't want him then, and I don't have him now. You shouldn't even care about who he is, or isn't, fucking; you're married,” Tate pointed out.

“But I should have been married to him!” Ellie suddenly shrieked.

“What did you say?”

They both turned to see Robert standing in a separate entrance way. Ellie groaned.

“It was nothing, I didn't -,” she started.

“We need to talk, now,” he snapped before turning and walking out of the room. Ellie sighed and then glared at Tatum one last time.

“See!? Everything. You ruin everything,” she repeated before hurrying after her husband.

Force myself on estranged family, Check. Jameson put sister in her place, Check. Have amazing loud sex that makes everyone uncomfortable, Check. Make mother cry, Check. Ruin a marriage, Check. Awesome family reunion!

Tate puttered around the kitchen, making herself a bowl of cereal and eating it. Then she filled two coffee mugs, knowing Jameson would want one once he was out of the bathroom. She carefully carried them up the stairs, listening for the sound of the shower. It had already been half an hour, but he was still in there. She shook her head. He preened more than a girl sometimes.

She was about to push her way in to his room, when a noise caught her attention. Arguing. The door to Ellie's room hadn't been fully closed, and the sounds of a fight were reaching in to the hallway. Giving an evil little chuckle, Tate tip toed closer, listening to what was being said.

“You stupid fucking bitch!”

Tate was surprised. Robert hadn't seemed like the kind of guy to talk to his wife that way.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Ellie was saying over and over again. Tate frowned. Ellie didn't sound upset. She sounded ..., scared.

“Fucking embarrass me!? In front of that whore sister!?” Robert was really yelling now. Tate touched a finger to the doorknob, just barely pressed against it enough to push the door open a smidge. She had a tiny view in to the room. She could see Robert standing, his hands in his hair. Ellie was sitting on the edge of the bed, wringing her hands.

“No! I didn't mean to! I was ..., upset! I'm sorry!”

“You know his New York offices have a contract with my firm! If she bitches to him about her cunt sister, I could lose everything!”

“Cunt” was a special kind of word to Tate. It was the dirtiest of all words, very taboo. Probably got her the most excited. But on the flip side, it was taboo for a reason. It was very bad; an angry, evil word. In her experience, people who used it comfortably in anger were not very nice people. For most people, it took a lot to whip out the C-word in a fight, and Robert had just dropped it like he was saying “good morning” or something.

“I'll talk to her, I promise. I'll make her promise not to tell him,” Ellie assured him.

“Why would she listen to you!? You're the goddamn devil, as far she is concerned,” Robert replied.

“I'll make her, I promise -,”

His hand crashed across Ellie's face, and Tate gasped, dropping the coffee cups. Her sister was not her friend. If anything, Ellie was an enemy. But she was also a woman. And she was pregnant. And her husband had just backhanded her. He grabbed Ellie's arm and lifted her off the bed, lifting his hand to hit her again.

“HEY!” Tate shouted, bursting through the door. They both turned and stared at her.

“Tatum!” Robert called out jovially, letting go of Ellie. “How was the coffee? Did you -,”

“Get the fuck away from my sister, you piece of shit!” Tate shouted, marching to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Tate, just go away, you don't under-,” Ellie started, holding up a hand.

“Shut up,” Tate and Robert both snapped in unison.

“You are not really a part of this family. Please leave,” Robert asked in a frosty voice. Tate crossed her arms.

“You leave. I'm not going anywhere,” she informed him.

“I am not going to ask you again.”

“You've never hit someone who hits back, have you?”

“Don't push me.”

“Please!” Ellie interrupted, surging to her feet. “Please, just stop! Leave her alone!”

“Excuse me!?” Robert looked shocked, staring down at his wife. Tate was shocked, too.

“Leave her alone! Get out, let me talk to my sister!” Ellie demanded.

He slapped her again, and Tate was on him in a second, no hesitation. He tried to grab her, and she shrieked, throwing a punch. She was pretty sure it landed near his ear. She wasn't exactly a street brawler. He turned away and she climbed onto his back, pulling at his hair and hitting him on the top of the head. Ellie started screaming. Robert spun in a circle, yelling at Tate to get off of him. When it was obvious that she had no intention of doing that, he rammed them back up against the wall. Pain shimmied down Tate's spine and she let him go, falling to her feet. He spun around and slapped her so hard, she was knocked to the ground. She scrambled to get away, backing in to a corner.

He hadn't made it two steps towards her when Jameson was on him, pinning him to the wall. Tate hadn't even noticed Jameson entering the room. He was by far the bigger man, with a much stronger physique – Robert couldn't move. Tate leapt to her feet, breathing hard, a hand pressed to her cheek. Jameson glanced at her.

“Are you okay?” he asked. She nodded.

“I'm fine. He hit her. Hard,” she replied, gesturing to Ellie, who had her face in her hands again.

“What kind of piece of shit hits a woman? A pregnant woman?” Jameson asked in a soft voice, his eyes very cold. He had his forearm pressed against Robert's windpipe and the smaller man squirmed around.

“It's none of your business, she's my wife,” he choked out.

“And Tatum is my business,” Jameson growled, nodding his head at Tate.

“Please, we heard the way you talked to her last night – the slut probably probably liked getting slapped.”

There was no hesitation; Jameson's fist instantly slammed across Robert's jaw, and Robert slumped to the ground. Tate hurried forward, staring down at the unconscious man. She winced; his jaw was probably broken. She finally glanced up at Jameson. He was breathing hard, his hands balled in to fists, and he was staring down at Robert with wild eyes. Tate stepped up close to him and pressed a hand to his chest, sliding it back and forth. The same move she used to calm Ang down. Jameson's eyes moved to hers. Stared at her.

This is not a game anymore.

Jameson left to go find Sanders, who was staying in a guest house. Tatum walked a practically sobbing Ellie back to her own room. They sat on the bed and she rubbed her sister's back, waited for her to calm down.

“How long has it been like this?” Tate whispered.

“Forever. Since we got married. During the honeymoon, he got mad at me, hit me. He had never done that before,” Ellie sniffled.

Six years. Ellie had taken the abuse for six years. For the last six years, Tate had been begging men to push her around and call her dirty names. But never like that, not against her will. She sighed and wrapped her arms around her sister's shoulders – something she never thought she'd do.

“Leave him,” she breathed. Ellie shook her head.

“I can't. I'm pregnant.”

“There are lots of single moms out there.”

“Daddy would be so angry. He picked him out for me.”

“Fuck what Daddy says. Does he know he hits you?”

Silence.

Tate couldn't fucking believe it. Of course. Of course her father knew. Robert was a good old boy, from a good old family, so however he treated women was okay. While her father had never hit her mother, Tate had never seen him treat her with any kind of respect, either. Mrs. O'Shea was better seen, not heard. Its own kind of abuse. She handled it by popping pills and getting drunk. Ellie had married an abusive husband. Tate was fucking a sociopath.

We are all so fucked up.

“I can't leave him, Tatum,” Ellie repeated, pulling away.

“Why? Why can't you?” Tate demanded.

“You don't know anything about us, about me. I have responsibilities. Where would I go, anyway?” she demanded. Her armor was suiting back up. Pretty soon, Tate would be shut out.

“Anywhere. Come with us, you can stay with me,” Tate urged her. Ellie laughed.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I'm scarred for life by the things I heard last night from you two. I couldn't handle being in the same house while you pour hot candle wax on each other, or whatever,” she joked. Tate almost laughed – it did sound like them.

“Please, Ellie,” Tate whispered. There were footsteps up the stairs, two people going past the door.

“No. It'll be fine. He'll see the baby, and it'll be fine,” Ellie said quickly and leapt to her feet, running for the door. Tate followed her out in to the hall, just in time to see Sanders and Jameson carrying Robert's moaning body down the hall.

“Where are you taking him?” Tate asked.

“The hospital. After they help him regain consciousness, I'm going kill him,” Jameson said matter-o-factly. Ellie started crying again.

“I'm coming with you,” Tate said before dashing in to her room and pulling on a pair of pants. They were suit pants, and looked at odds with her tank top, but she didn't care. She bustled Ellie out to her car and then drove them to the hospital, following Sanders the whole way.

Robert's jaw was, in fact, broken. Jameson didn't pull his punches, apparently. Ellie said he fell down the stairs. The hospital staff looked very unbelieving, probably due to the fact that Jameson stood behind everyone, staring everything down like a demon. He didn't even talk, had just dumped Robert in a wheel chair and then walked away. Sanders took care of everything, hustled off with Ellie and the nurses, leaving Tate alone with Satan.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a gruff voice. She glanced over at him. He was staring straight ahead, trying to burn a hole in the wall with his glare.

“I'm fine. Are you?” she replied.

“I'm not the one who got hit. Are you okay?” his voice was angry sounding.

“It wasn't even that hard, I'm fine,” she insisted. He suddenly turned and grabbed her face, turning her left side towards him. She stumbled and pressed her hands against his waist.

“He hit you. I saw you go down. Don't tell me it wasn't hard,” Jameson growled at her, his eyes raking over her face.

“It wasn't, really, I promise. It doesn't even hurt,” she assured him.

“He's lucky he didn't leave a mark. God, I want to kill him,” he breathed against her, his grip on her jaw almost painful. She pushed at him.

“You're about to leave a mark. Calm down,” she tried to laugh.

“I'm allowed to. If any mother fucker ever touches you like that again ...,” his voice trailed off. She lifted her eyes to him.

He's really upset about this.

“Jameson,” she stated his name loudly. His eyes went to hers. “I'm okay. I'm a tough girl from the bad side of Boston, who also happens to be sleeping with a psychotic stock broker who has an amazing right hook. I'm not worried.”

He chuckled and finally let her go, but didn't take his eyes away from her.

“I didn't exactly think the weekend would go this way. I wanted to see you squirm. Make you uncomfortable,” he explained. She laughed.

“Mission accomplished, Mr. Kane.”

“Did your father ever hit you?” he asked. She shook her head.

“No. He was strict and he was mean, but he never hit anybody,” she answered.

“Is Ellie going to be okay?” Jameson continued. Tate shrugged.

“I'm beginning to think she never was; she's like obsessed with this thing between us,” Tate replied, gesturing between the two of them. “You should have heard her in the kitchen this morning. And then she told me he's been doing this to her since they got married. She thinks the baby will stop him.”

“Jesus,” Jameson mumbled, letting his head drop.

Ellie came back out right then, and they all headed home. Ellie went straight to her room, wouldn't talk to anyone. Tate walked Sanders to his guest house, and he stared at her for a long while at his door. He didn't say anything, so she squeezed his arm and then walked away. Jameson brooded in her father's office. Her mother drank, pretended everything was fine.

I'm not going to survive this weekend.

When she heard her father's car pulling up the drive, she went upstairs to change. She understood now why Jameson had bought her clothing for the weekend. Tate didn't own anything that was appropriate for her father, not anymore. After brushing her hair up in to a nice, neat ponytail, she pulled on another dress, one with a knee-length flared skirt. It wasn't until she was trying to work the zipper up in the back that she realized her hands were shaking. She was pacing around, trying to get the feeling back in her fingers, when Jameson walked in the room.

“Stop,” he murmured, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her around. He zipped up the dress and then turned her back around, smoothing his hands over the material.

“Do I pass code?” she joked. He rested his hands on her hips and stared down the length of his nose at her.

“More than I ever could have thought.”

The sentiment made her feel ill and she pushed past him, heading down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, her father was just walking out of the kitchen. They both stopped. Stared at each other. He was older, heavier. More grey in his hair. Tate knew she was different, had grown in to herself over the years. She wondered what he thought when he looked at her. What he had ever thought.

“Tatum. I didn't believe Kane, when he said he would bring you,” her father stated. Tate let out a breath.

“Here I am,” she said softly.

“You look well,” was all he said before brushing past her and going in to the study. Jameson came to stand next to her and she looked up at him.

“Is your game still funny?” she whispered. He shook his head.

“Not even a little,” he replied, lifting his hands and rubbing her shoulders. Ellie shuffled around the corner and Tate automatically backed away from him.

Because he's not mine.

Dinner was awkward, to say the least. Her father asked where Robert was, and everyone looked at Ellie, who just laughed nervously. He asked Jameson how business was, asked his wife how her day had gone. Didn't say one word to Tatum. She drank. Heavily. Jameson took her glass away at one point, but she just started filling her water glass with wine.

Why can't rich people just be normal and drink whiskey!?

They “retired” to the drawing room. Jameson lit up a cigar, which she had never seen him do before; it got her hot. She'd had a lot of wine, and she imagined the different things he could do with a large Macanudo.

She wondered what was wrong with her.

Tate finally escaped to bed around nine o'clock. She hadn't said a word in over an hour, no one had spoken to her, so she figured no one would miss her. She went in to her room and peeled off all her clothing before climbing under the covers. Trying to hide her sniffles, she texted Ang.

What are you doing?

It took him a while to reply.

Three guesses.

She almost laughed.

Sex. Hang gliding. Battlestar Galactica marathon.

Got two of them right. What's up, chickadee?

I'm at home.

Thought you were locked away in the country! I'll kick this bitch to the curb and bring Battlestar to your house.

No. I'm at home. HOME home. Like where I was born. Pennsylvania.

Holy fuckballs.

She really did laugh at that one. He captured her feelings so well.

Still in shock myself.

Did Satan make you do it?

Who else? To say it hasn't gone well would be an understatement.

Bad?

Worse.

Details.

Mom is a pill popping alcoholic. Daddy still refuses to admit I exist. Ellie still thinks I'm the biggest slut in the world. Her husband is an abusive pervert. Got hit in the face. Got drunk.

There was another long pause.

If Satan hit you, I'm going to fucking kill him.

No. Ellie's husband.

Was Satan upset, or turned on?

He broke the dude's jaw.

Okay, even I'm a little turned on by that.

Tate burst out laughing and just then, her door started to creak open.

“You sound like a crazy person,” Jameson's voice was soft. He was outlined in a burst of light and then the door closed, leaving them in darkness.

“Probably because I am one,” she replied. She felt him sit on the edge of the bed and then his hand rested on her stomach.

“What were you laughing at?” he asked.

“Ang. We were texting each other,” she explained.

“Ah, of course. Angier. Are you okay?”

“Do you really care?”

“Feisty.”

“No. Tired,” she ended in a sigh. His fingertips brushed across her forehead, brushing her hair out of the way.

“I'll leave you alone. One more day, baby girl, and then you win the whole thing,” Jameson whispered, and then got up. He walked out the door, closing it behind him without another word. Not even a backwards glance.

She stared after him. Her phone was clenched in her hand, resting against her chest. She could feel it vibrating with more incoming text messages from Ang. But she didn't read them. She stared at the door, willing Satan to come back.

I hate to be alone.

*

Another day, another dress. Jameson had only packed her one pair of pants, and she had worn them to the hospital – they were a wrinkled up mess in the corner of her room. So she slipped on a tweed dress. Possibly Chanel. She felt horrible. She wanted her own clothing, a pair of cut-offs and a loose t-shirt. Her knee socks. Anything else. She was careful with her hair and makeup, and then walked downstairs.

Jameson was already in the living room, talking to Sanders. They both turned at her entrance, but she only managed a smile for Sanders. She felt drained. Hollow. Her family sucked the life out of her. She hadn't realized it, but maybe that was why she had been such a robot in her past life. They had sucked her will to live. She had to get away. If Jameson didn't take them home that evening, she was going to hitchhike. Kidnap Sanders. Steal the car. Something.

“Alright?” Jameson asked with a curt nod of his head. She shrugged.

“As I'll ever be. Is it too early to start drinking?” she asked. He nodded.

“Yes.”

“Sandy, got any xanax?” she asked, meaning it to be a joke.

“In my luggage, ma'am,” Sanders responded. She was shocked for a second, and then she laughed.

“Better be careful, Sandy, or I'll fall in love with you,” she teased, heading in to the kitchen.

Apparently it wasn't too early for some people, as she caught her mother spiking her coffee with brandy. Ellie wandered in a couple minutes later, not making eye contact with anyone. Robert had come home late the night before, and though his jaw was wired shut, he'd had plenty to say. His mumbled rants could be heard all over the house. He had gone crying to Tate's father. She could just imagine what she was in for that day.

She didn't have to wait long.

“Tatum! My office, now, please,” her father's voice barked out. She took a deep breath and followed him in to the dark room.

“Yes?” she asked, standing in front of his desk.

“What are you doing with your life?” he demanded. She blinked a couple times.

“Working.”

“What do you do?”

“I'm a bartender, downtown.”

“Disgraceful.”

She started to get angry.

“Well, I had to do something, Daddy. No college degree, no money, no references. Pickings were slim. I'm very good at it, everyone knows that Tatum O'Shea is the best bartender in all of Boston,” she said in a sweet voice, sarcasm dripping from her words.

“Don't blame any of that on me. You did it to yourself. Shameless girl,” he grumbled.

“No. I was a young girl, stupid, confused, thoughtless; you never even asked me what happened. You just went by Ellie's word, like always,” Tate pointed out.

“So you didn't have an affair with him!?” he shouted. She almost backed away, but then she remembered – he wasn't a part of her life. He had no power over her.

“No, I didn't have an affair with him. It was just one night, just sex,” she replied bluntly.

“How dare you talk to me like that!”

“You asked.”

“You don't feel any regret, do you!?” her father demanded. “Not a single goddamn regret. You ruined Ellie's chance for a decent marriage, and you don't even care.”

“Is this over? I have things I could be doing,” Tate snapped back.

“Don't you take that tone of voice with me, young lady,” he warned her.

“I'll use whatever tone I fucking want,” she said back. He jumped up from his chair.

“I knew this was a bad idea. I told that man that no good could come of you, that he should just turn his back on you. You are a waste of time, Tatum. I don't know why I ever bothered with you,” he told her. She sucked in a gasp.

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” she replied, and before her father could respond, she swept from the room.

She was actually trembling as she stomped up the stairs. She stood in her room for a while, but she didn't want anything in there. Didn't care about her new clothing. She walked down to Ellie's room and didn't even bother to knock, just burst inside. Robert was laying on the bed and Ellie was standing next to him. Both gasped at her entrance.

“What are you doing!?” Ellie asked, startled by the brash entrance.

“I'm getting the fuck out of here. Come with me,” Tate said quickly. Robert sat up, shaking his head and mumbling something.

“Tate, I know you don't -,” Ellie started, but Tate shook her head.

“Last chance. Come with me,” she offered again.

There was silence, and then Ellie's eyes flicked to her husband. He shook his head again and Ellie sighed, turning back towards her sister. Tate nodded and walked out of the room. At least the going would be a lot quicker now. She breezed through the house, ignoring Jameson when he called out to her. She was halfway to the guest house when Sanders caught up to her.

“Can I help you with anything, Ms. O'Shea?” he asked quickly, jogging up to her side.

“Nope, Sandy, I'm good,” she replied, walking through the guest house front door.

“Alright. Are you looking for something?” he asked again while she stood there, her eyes roaming over the entry way.

“Keys.”

“Keys to what, may I ask?”

“The car.”

“Our car?”

“That's the one.”

“I'm sorry,” Sanders tried again. “Did you want to go somewhere? I'd be happy to drive you.”

“That's okay. I actually do know how to drive, you know, and where I want to go takes a while,” she told him, walking up to a small desk and pulling the drawers open, rummaging around in them.

“I don't mind a long drive. I would be very happy to take you anywhere,” he assured her. She glanced at him.

“Boston. I would like you to drive me to Boston,” she said plainly. He hesitated, and then nodded.

“Alright, ma'am. If you'll wait right here, I'll bring the car around,” Sanders said, and then took off back out the door.

Tate was a little stunned for a minute, and wondered if he was joking. But Sanders never joked, so she sat down on a decorative stool. She was too tired to stand anymore. It was taking every muscle she had to keep herself upright. She wanted to fold in on herself.

Waste of time.

“So we're leaving?” Jameson's voice was soft in the doorway. She laughed, not bothering to lift her head.

“Tattle-tale,” she whispered.

“He's my assistant. He's not going to drive to Boston without at least telling me he's going to be busy for a couple hours, or seven,” Jameson pointed out. She nodded.

“Yup. Should've thought of that,” she replied.

“I understand running away from your family. But trying to skip out on me, that surprises me,” he said, moving so he was standing in front of her.

“I wasn't in the mood to hear you gloat. Not today, not right now,” she explained. He sighed and put his hands on her knees. She still refused to look at him.

“How about, if you let me come with you, I promise to keep my gloating to myself until we get home,” he offered. She laughed.

“I don't trust you to honor that promise,” she joked. He tilted her head up to face him.

“You said you trusted me,” Jameson reminded her.

“I trust that you'll be consistent. You're consistently mean,” Tate pointed out. He laughed.

“Yes, but I also consistently keep my promises. Move your ass, we're out of here,” he said before turning and walking out the door.

Tate went and waited on the front porch. She saw Ellie peeking out a window, but she moved away before Tate could make any sort of motion. Sanders pulled the car up right afterwards and he hopped out, running around to open the door for her. Before she could climb in, though, he held out a fist. She raised her eyebrows.

“For you, ma'am. I assumed you were serious,” was all he said. She held out her hand and he dropped two pills in to it. She stared in to her palm, almost laughing. Xanax.

“Sandy, I think you treat me better than anyone I've ever known,” she chuckled, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.

“I have no doubt of that, Ms. O'Shea,” he replied before helping her in to the car.

She dry swallowed the pills and waited for Jameson to appear. It took about fifteen minutes, and then he was striding out the door, carrying both their bags. Her mother trailed after him, saying something that Tate couldn't hear. Jameson just ignored her, climbed in to the back seat next to Tate. He didn't say anything, just nodded his head towards the rear view mirror. Sanders started up the car and pulled away.

“Did you talk to any of them?” Tate asked, staring out her window.

“Yes. I told your father that the only good thing he ever did in his life was produce a very fuckable daughter,” Jameson replied. She burst out laughing.

“You're not serious.”

“Dead serious. I also added that you're a very good person, sometimes. I told your mother that I would gladly pay for her rehab, and I warned Robert that if I came across Ellie anytime soon with another bruise, I wouldn't bother breaking his jaw again, I would just rip it clean off,” he told her.

They weren't his family. As far as she knew, Jameson didn't really have much of a family. Mother died when he was young, father died a couple years ago. No siblings. No close cousins. Only Sanders. And he seemed to like it that way. So she couldn't figure out why he was bothering with her family, when she didn't even bother with them. It had started out as a game, a dare for her to undertake, but he had gone above and beyond that – he had made a mess, and he had done his best to clean it up. She was impressed. She felt a little like crying.

And when he reached over and clasped her hand – something he had never done before – Tate couldn't hold back the tears from streaming down her face. She would have been embarrassed, but the xanax made her not care. All she could focus on was his hand. His strong fingers, linked through hers. She squeezed his hand, so hard it hurt. So hard, she wouldn't be able to let go, not ever again.

Why did everything feel so different?

Because everything is different.