Degradation(53)

But then something changed, and he could feel the tide begin to turn. He  had been there for the ex girlfriend discovery. Knew about the baseball  player. The fight in the kitchen. He had cuddled with her for two of  the three days that she had spent hiding in her room. She refused to  talk about Jameson, but Ang knew she was thinking about him.

Then Tate went back to Jameson, and Ang didn't see her for a whole week.  She texted a lot  –  apparently they had reached some new plateau in the  interesting sex department, and she was living in orgasm-city. Coming in  to town to see her best friend was asking too much, and Ang wasn't  exactly welcome in the devil's house. He hadn't asked, but he just knew  that was true.

He was angry. He felt like he couldn't talk to her about it. He took it  out on his coworkers, on the cast and crew of the porno he was working  on, on his other friends. It was ridiculous, to be mad at his best  friend for being happy, but Ang was mad. He knew it was fleeting.  Jameson Kane was the devil. Tate claimed that she knew what she getting  into, that she knew he would never love her or want to be with her. She  tried to pretend that she felt the same way. But Ang knew better. He  always knew better.

He was angry when he went over to her apartment. Tate had borrowed one  of the movies he had starred in - "I want Jameson to see you in action,  so he can understand why I'm so infatuated with you" - but Ang didn't  want Jameson to see his movie. Didn't want Jameson knowing anything  about him, at all. Tate was his friend, she understood where he was  coming from  –  Jameson was a stuck up, rich boy, silver spoon sucking,  asshole.

Ang was very angry.

So when he let himself in to Tate's apartment, he wasn't in a very good  frame of mind. Being in Tate's room, amongst all her things, smelling  her scent, made it worse. He felt it should be him leaving marks on her  body, not Satan. He got angrier. And then he walked in to the hallway  and nearly ran over Rusty, Tate's roommate. Looking down at the short  girl, Ang suddenly understood where Tate was coming from, when she said  sometimes she wanted to be treated badly during sex, and other times she  wanted to be the one treating someone badly.

Rus smiled her sweet smile up at him. She was fresh out of the shower,  wearing nothing but a towel, her strawberry blonde curls wet. She had a  huge crush on him, he knew. He felt nothing for her. Tate had told him  that under no circumstances was he ever allowed to mess with Rus. But he  was angry at Tate. He wanted to treat her badly, and she wasn't there.

Strawberry shortcake would have to do.



*



Tate was in the library when her phone rang. She was laying on the  floor, on her stomach, skimming through a magazine. Jameson was behind  his desk, working on something. Sanders was somewhere in the depths of  the house. She was about to go find him when her phone lit up. Rusty's  number scrolled across the screen and Tate smiled, lifting her phone to  her ear.

"Hey, chickee, I was about to call you," Tate answered.

"EEEEEEK! It happened! It finally happened!" Rus gushed, so loudly even  Jameson heard from across the room. Tate laughed and moved so she was  sitting on her butt.

"What happened?" she laughed. Jameson rolled his eyes, went back to his papers.

"I finally slept with him! It was amazing, oh my god, Tate. I saw the  back of my own eyeballs. His hands, his tongue, I couldn't believe it!"  Rus squealed. Tate snickered.

"Who is this sex god, and why haven't I slept with him?" she teased. Jameson snorted.         

     



 

"That's kinda the weird part  –  you have slept with him," Rus said, laughing. Tate stopped smiling.

"Excuse me?" she asked, her voice serious.

"You always said he was so freaky, but Ang was so sweet! He really took  care of me, told me I was so beautiful, that I was so amazing. It was  amazing. I really think we had a connection!" Rus blurted out in a  breathy voice. Tate climbed to her feet.

"You didn't," she breathed.

"Oh, we did. Twice. Once in the bed, and once in the shower. Can you  believe it!? The shower. I'm trying to become more adventurous," Rus  laughed. Tate groaned.

"No, no, no, please tell me you're joking," she begged, but Rus ignored her.

"Look, the reason I'm calling is because I haven't heard from him in a  week, since it happened. I was getting kinda nervous, but then I figured  maybe he doesn't have my phone number. I mean, it was really good sex.  He said we had something, said he felt it, too. He has to call, right?  Could you give him my phone number?" Rus asked, the happiness fading out  of her voice. Tate swallowed thickly.

"You know what, I'm going to call him. Right now," she managed to say.

That piece of shit mother fucker. He knew better.

"Thank you, thank you so much. I mean, I don't want to seem clingy. Am I  being clingy? It's only been a week, I guess. A whole week," Rus' voice  began to falter at the end, and the insecurity that she was obviously  trying to hide broke through  –  she kind of sounded close to tears.

"No, you're not clingy. I gotta go, chickee, I'll call you later," Tate  assured her. Rus managed a small laugh, and then the line went dead.

Tate let out a long shriek. Startled, Jameson leapt to his feet. As she  called Ang's phone number, Sanders came running in to the room. Both  asked her what was wrong, but she ignored them. She pressed the phone to  her ear and paced down the room.

"Hey, honey pot, I was just thinking about -," Ang answered.

"YOU MOTHER FUCKER!" she screamed in to the phone.

"Whoa! Nice greeting! What the fuck is your problem!?" he demanded.

"You! You are my problem! How could you do that!? And not say anything  to me!? I've talked to you EVERY DAY THIS WEEK!" Tate shouted at him.  Jameson was now pacing along side her, demanding to know what was wrong.  There was a sigh on the other end of the phone.

"It wasn't any of your business, Tate. And it wasn't a big deal," Ang told her.

"Not a big deal!? She's practically picking out her fucking wedding  dress! You piece of shit! Why!? I specifically told you that she was off  limits! Why!?" Tate demanded.

"You don't make all the rules, Tate! You're not in charge of everyone! We're adults, we can fuck if we want to!" he yelled back.

"Sure you can! But hey, here's a thought  –  if you wanna casually fuck  one of my closest friends, maybe not tell her that you have a fucking  goddamn special connection! Why would you say that!?" she shrieked.

"Hey! You're fucking Satan, right? What, I'm not allowed to be the devil sometimes!?" Ang demanded. She gasped.

"Are you fucking serious!? This is because of me!? You're blaming this on me!?" she shouted.

"You're goddamn right I am! You fucking threw me over for some asshole  because he's a good fuck, which is a really shitty move! Fuck you, Tate,  I fucking hope you -,"

It all went downhill from there. She began screaming obscenities in to  the phone. He shouted them right back at her. When she was red in the  face and gasping for air between rants, Jameson ripped the phone out of  her hand. He handed it over to Sanders, who put it to his ear and walked  out of the room. Tate let out another shriek, slapping her hands  against Jameson's chest before falling against him, pressing her face in  to his shoulder.

"What the fuck is going on!?" he demanded.

"Ang. Slept with. Rus," she managed to pant out. Jameson went very still.

"You're this upset over him sleeping with someone else?" he asked. She gave him a violent shove.

"Jesus christ, none of you want to actually be with me, but all of you  are jealous of every single fucking move I make!" she snapped. He put  his hands on either side of her face, forced her to look straight at  him.

"You wanna take your anger out on me, fine. Let's do this," he offered.  She glared at him for a second longer, and then her bottom lip began to  tremble. Her eyes filled up with tears.

"I'm upset because he promised he wouldn't. Rus isn't like us, she  really is a nice, normal girl. She's always had a crush on Ang. He  doesn't care about her. He made her all these promises, said all these  sweet things to her, and then he just walked out. Dined and dashed. She  thinks they're soulmates. He just did it to get back at me," Tate  explained.         

     



 

"Get back at you for what?" Jameson asked. Her eyes slid away from him.  He shook her gently. "Talk to me. Get back at you for what?"

She sighed and leaned in to him, wrapping her arms around his middle.  She could feel his surprise  –  while a very sexual person, Tate wasn't  the most affectionate person. She wasn't prone to hugs; except with  Sanders. But she squeezed Jameson tightly and decided it was now or  never.

I just don't care anymore.

"He's getting back at me ..., for falling for you instead of him," she whispered.