Degradation

by Stylo Fantome

  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 t
hem.

  “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 cre
ak 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.