She really got to him.
"If you really feel that way, Sanders, then fine. Go. I wish you all the best. This job will not be waiting for you," Jameson attempted to call his bluff.
"Pardon me, sir, but I will not be waiting for it," Sanders said, and then hurried from the room. Jameson blinked after him, then picked up a heavy crystal tumbler. Threw it at the wall as hard as he could. Watched it explode everywhere.
Well goddamn, no one knows how to fuck something up quite like I do ...,
~17~
Tatum wasn't sure how she did it, but she made it all the way back to Boston without crashing, and without getting arrested.
She couldn't figure out why she was so upset. She had drunken enough to knock out a sailor. The two xanax had been no help, either. She struggled to open the pill bottle while she drove, swerving all over the road. She knocked five more pills in to her mouth, then chugged some more whiskey. When she looked in to the bottle and saw that there were only four pills left, she figured what the hell. Anything to make pain stop. The empty bottle went out the window. Then when she was right outside the city limits, she picked up her phone. Called the only person she could think of; the only person she wanted to talk to, ever again.
"I'm so glad you called, sweetie. I'm sorry for everything I said -," Ang began gushing the minute he answered the phone. She let out a loud sob and he stopped.
"I can't, Ang. I just can't. I need you so much," Tate cried.
"What's wrong? Where are you?" he demanded.
"I don't know, I don't know where I am. What am I doing!? He was so horrible, Ang. So horrible. And she was so beautiful," she sobbed, coughing and hiccuping.
"Jesus, you sound really drunk, Tate. How much have you had?" he asked.
"Oh, no no no, not enough. Not nearly enough," she said, her breath hitching.
"Where are you, right now?" he asked again.
"I'm such a horrible person, Ang. I did the worst thing," she whispered, her words starting to slur. The road was definitely getting blurrier.
"Oh god, what did you do?" he gasped.
"I didn't want to do it. I just wanted him to bleed a little. I don't think he has any blood. Does Satan bleed?" she asked, her mind starting to settle. Like a fog. She swerved across a lane and a car honked at her. She jerked the wheel back.
"Jesus christ, Tate, are you driving!?" Ang shouted at her. She hummed in to the phone.
"I'm flying," she whispered.
"Shit. Pull over, right now, I'm coming to get you. Tell me where you are," he demanded. She shook her head.
"Don't waste your time on me. I don't have a watch," she laughed.
"What the fuck are you going on about!? You're scaring me right now, stop it. Stop the car!" he ordered. She shook her head violently back and forth, and then saw two of everything.
"I can't. I'm so dirty. He made me filthy. I have to wash him away. I have to get clean. I'm gonna go get clean. Clean, clean, clean, clean," she began to sing softly, and then she dropped the phone. It hit the edge of the door and skittered out the open window, carrying Ang's screaming voice out onto the road.
A long time ago, on one of their jaunts through the city, she and Ang had discovered a swimming pool. In a nicer neighborhood; Olympic sized; beautiful. But expensive entrance fees. Fuck that. They had found a basement window that would open if someone wiggled it the right way. All Tate could focus on was getting to that pool. She parked the car – or at least she was pretty sure she parked it – and managed to get the window open, no problem. Dropping down was another issue. She was pretty sure her ankle was sprained.
She hobbled to the pool. Large windows lined the top of the building, flooding the room with light from the parking lot. Everything had an eerie, silver glow to it. She walked around the tiled edge, taking off pieces of clothing. When she was down to her bra and underwear, she stepped down in to the shallow end. Waded deeper, and then laid on her back. Floated off in to outer space, the bottle of Jack Daniel's still in one hand, floating along next to her. She stared at the ceiling.
See? This is nice. Still and quiet. That's all I ever wanted.
~18~
Ang stole his roommate's car to get to Beacon Hill. He couldn't be positive where she was, but she had babbled on and on about wanting to get clean, so he had an idea. When he saw a Bentley parked sideways on a grass meridian, he knew he had guessed right. He leapt out of his car, not even bothering to shut it off. Banged on the front doors of the building, hoping to rattle a security guard. Nothing.
Ang ran around to the back, didn't even bother with wiggling the window. He kicked it completely in and then dropped in to the basement. He ran through the room, then up two flights of stairs. Found a high heel at the top. Ran in to the dividing areas between the locker rooms. Found another high heel. He ran through the female locker room first, praying she was in there, just passed out or puking. No such luck. He burst in to the main pool area.
There was a trail of stockings and a belt and a dress leading to the side of the pool. He ran along the edge and then didn't even think about it, just jumped in to the pool. She wasn't in very deep water, it only came up to his chest. Tate was floating on her back, her arms stretched out to the sides, legs dipping down a little in to the water. A Jack Daniel's bottle floated nearby. Ang pushed his way over to her, grabbed her under her arms. She was only wearing a bra and panties, and her skin was freezing to the touch. The pool wasn't heated at night.
"God, Tate, what did you do!?" he shouted, cupping one hand under her jaw and looking down at her. Her chocolate eyes rolled towards him. Didn't quite focus. Looked over his shoulder. Around the room. At the ceiling. Her pupils were huge, swallowing her irises. She looked possessed.
Goddamn Satan.
"I'm good," she mumbled. He began dragging her towards the edge.
"You are so not good. This is so, so, so not good," he groaned. She sighed and her eyes fluttered close.
"I'm good, Ang. I'm good," she whispered.
He lifted her out of the pool and then climbed out after her. Whipped his jacket off and shoved it under her head, propping her up. He called her name, but she didn't open her eyes. He slapped her across the face. Still no reaction. He really started to panic.
Without a second thought, Ang opened her mouth and shoved two of his fingers down her throat. It didn't work the first time, but the second time he really jammed them down there. She heaved forward, rolling to the side as she vomited all over his hand and the floor.
"God, thank god, that's it. Get it all up," Ang urged, rubbing her back. She sobbed and puked again. It was all liquid. Copious amounts of amber liquid.
Christ, how much did she drink!?
She finally fell back against him, crying. Her makeup was everywhere, streaming down her face. She was shivering, her whole body trembling. He looked down at her, wiping her hair off of her face. He had never seen Tate like that before, so broken down. It hurt his heart.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, reaching one hand up and grabbing onto his shirt. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I'm such a waste. Such a waste of time. I'm so sorry."
"Stop it! Stop saying that! You are worth every minute I have ever spent with you! More than that!" he yelled back at her. Her eyes finally found his and she smiled. Actually smiled at him.
"Ang. Why couldn't it have been you?" she whispered, her hand coming up to rest on his cheek.
"I don't know, baby. I wish it had," he whispered back.
Tate nodded and closed her eyes. Her hand fell away. It looked like she was sleeping. Even soaking wet and covered in makeup, she was still beautiful. She had a beautiful soul, it shined through everything she did – he just wished she could see it.
Her shivering cranked up, grew more violent. Ang decided it was maybe time to take her somewhere warmer, and he attempted to pick her up. But her shivering turned in to something else. Her whole body was shaking; he couldn't quite get a hold on her.
When he looked back down at her face, her eyelids were fluttering up and down. All he could see were the whites of her eyes. Liquid was streaming out of her mouth. She was having a seizure, thrashing around so violently, he thought she was going to break her arm, or leg. Or neck. He started screaming, gripping onto her shoulders as tight as he could.
"SOMEBODY HELP US!"
TO BE CONTINUED ...
CONTINUE READING TO THE END FOR SCENES FROM PART 2
AND OTHER STORIES TO COME
Acknowledgements
So to be 100% honest, this story started out as a joke. No, literally. I wrote several stories before this one, and had read a lot of romance novels, and I follow a lot of book blogs, and I started noticing some trends. I told a friend of mine, "to write these stories, there are a couple key ingredients – and one thing you obviously need is a certain kind of Alpha name."