Degradation

by Stylo Fantome

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Sanders said quickly, grabbing her arm again.

  “Oh, I really do. Mr. Kane personally asked me to leave. He’s a very sore loser. Please keep in touch,” she asked, trying to drop in to the seat. Sanders pulled her up again.

  “Please. I’m begging you. Just stay here,” he asked. She pushed him away.

  “I wouldn’t stay here another minute, not even if you paid me,” she informed him. He gripped her arms hard.

  “Tatum,” he said her name sharply. That got her attention. Sanders had never, ever said her first name before; she wanted to cry again. “Don’t do this.”

  “I have to do this,” she replied, and then shoved him as hard as she could. He stumbled over the loose pebbles and she slipped in to the car, locking the doors. Sanders pounded on the roof but she ignored him and started up the car. Wiggled her fingers at him as she drove off.

  See. This isn’t hard. Way easier than playing with Jameson Kane.

  16

  “You have to stop her.”

  Jameson looked up. Sanders had just burst in to the library. He looked like a ghost.

  “Excuse me?” Jameson asked, leaning back in his office chair.

  “Tatum. She just left,” Sanders explained. Jameson chuckled.

  “I think that’s probably for the best,” he replied. Sanders shook his head.

  “No. She’s drunk, Jameson,” he stressed. Jameson frowned.

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “She’s not fine! She just to-,”

  Jameson slammed his hand down on the top of his desk.

  “Don’t fucking talk about her again! I don’t want to hear her name, anything. Don’t even reference her!” he yelled. Sanders stared at him for a minute.

  “You don’t mean any of this. You need her. What you did was wrong. Go find her, and apologize,” he said in an even voice. Jameson was shocked.

  “I’m not apologizing for shit. Yeah, I did a shitty thing. She fucked my friend, Sanders. My business partner, in my own home. In your bathroom! I gave her money, she’s gone. It’s done, it’s over. Drop it,” he snapped. Sanders took a deep breath.

  “Are you saying you will not go after her? Not even, at the very least, to ensure her safety?” he asked. Jameson glared at him.

  “Your are skating perilously close to the edge,” he hissed. Sanders stood up straighter.

  “Then consider this my notice, sir,” he stated.

  The shocking just did not stop.

  “You can’t mean that,” Jameson actually laughed. Sanders refused to look at him.

  “Effective immediately. I will clean out my stuff and be gone within the hour,” he said. Jameson jumped up.

  “I am practically family! You barely know her! You’ve known me for …, for forever!” he shouted.

  “I do not wish to be employed by a man of your caliber, sir. I find it beneath me,” Sanders replied.

  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.<
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  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.”

  I prattled off some very well known Alphas from the literary world, and we noticed that a lot of these gentlemen had very distinct, usually unique, usually long, first names, and then very short, concise last names. I don’t wanna name names, but for example, Christopher Prey, kinda encapsulates what we had noticed.

  “So what name would you pick?” I was asked. I’m not sure where it came from, I work around liquor, so maybe Jameson just leapt out at me – thus, Jameson Kane was born. Fits the above formula to a T.

  We kinda laughed about it, and I didn’t think about it much, till the same friend one day went “what would Jameson’s story be?” And I kinda joked that every Alpha needs that spunky, sassy, female lead, who should also have a funky name, usually kinda androgynous. Hello, Tatum! I laughed that she would be sexy and crazy, he would be dark and sensual, they would compliment each other, and complete each other.

  The story exploded after that, just came together like it had been sitting in my brain, completely written, waiting to be noticed. I wrote it in a frenzy. Couldn’t sleep, didn’t eat much, barely left the computer. It just would not stop, it demanded to be released. I put other stories on hold to let it out. So thanks have to go to my close friends for letting me joke about romance novels with them.

  I have never written a story like this – the language, the sex, the aggression, it all kinda scared me. I am not very much like either Jameson or Tatum in real life. But it just felt natural. I found myself getting nervous and changing sentences, rearranging scenes, and then I came upon this awesome meme that read - “Write in a Way That Scares You a Little”.

  Well, the scariest thing to me is the idea of someone reading my work and going “ew, that’s weird!”, so I decided FUCK IT. I’m gonna write it EXACTLY how it comes out of my brain, EXACTLY how it comes out of Jameson’s mouth, and if people don’t like it, then they don’t have to read it. It was the best decision I have ever made, writing this story was such a catharsis, such a joy. It sounds cheesy, but it’s the truth. So thanks internet!

  And a special thanks to all the authors out there writing dark, taboo, misunderstood stories. It is my firm belief that if it exists in the world, then it should be written about, regardless of “subject matter”. As Real Sex on HBO taught me (does that show my age!?), if someone can be in to something, then there is an audience for it! So read what you want, write what’s in you to write, and fuck anyone who gives you crap about it. I can’t imagine a bigger waste of time than criticizing someone’s work just because it scares me.

  And to my beta readers – I really lucked out with some excellent ones! They are from all over, the U.S. to the U.K., and I have never met any of them in real life, but they were wonderful throughout this whole process. Your feedback and constructive criticism were all appreciated beyond words. Thank you all so much. Some of these lovely ladies are: Cassie Fite – thanks for taking a chance on a “dark read”, I honestly didn’t know it was dark when I wrote it! Erin Winer – my bestie convinced you to read it, and thanks for doing so. Viveca Benoir, another indie author I found along the way, your help was amazing, you introduced me to my cover designer, and told me about Draft 2 Digital. Everyone, check her out at: http://vivecabenoir.com

  Special shout-out to author L.A. Cotton – we met via a beta reading forum. She was looking for a beta reader, and was willing to trade (that’s right! You never know who is beta reading for you – I keep hoping I’ll submit a book to a beta reader and it’ll be like CJ Roberts or something …, seriously, I love you CJ Roberts, if you have secretly read my work, please tell me! Just let me love you!).

  So Mrs. Cotton and I swapped stories. She is from the U.K., I’m from the U.S., and we had two very different stories, and two very different writing styles. Her book was softer, new adult, all romance and slow burn and “will they? won’t they?” goodness. I worried that my book wasn’t exactly up her alley, seeing as how Erotica and New Adult Romance are pretty far apart on the spectrum, but her feedback and advice were invaluable, her turn around time fas
t. She has continued to support me and promote me, and I can only hope to adequately return the favor some day. Thanks for all your help!

  Too many blogs to name. From the beginning – for both of us! - Watz Teasers and Trailers was BEYOND supportive. Thank you to Cover To Cover Book Blog, Triple B’s Badass Book Boyfriends, Intellectual Vixens, Through the Booking Glass, Fallen for Books, Trina and Taylor’s Bedtime Stories – all willing to take a chance on a new indie author, and most of you holding her hand along the way.

  To Najla Qamber, www.najlaqamberdesigns.com, the wonderful woman who designed my book cover. To be honest, I pretty much fan-girled every time you emailed me. I ran around for days going “do you see this!?!? All the cool book covers that I already love!?!? That chick is doing MY cover!” There was a huge time difference between us, and I’m pretty sure I sent you like three e-mails for every one you sent me, but you were so easy to work with, you got my vision and concept right away, and did an amazing job. Thank you so much.

  Of course there are a million other people. Thanks to my husband, for being very understanding about me working 8 hours a day, then coming home and sitting behind a computer for another 6+ hours. Thanks to all my friends – none of you are in to romance novels, but some of you offered to read it anyway, and all of you listened to me blabber on about it endlessly. Thanks to my real life job, for tolerating my daydreaming, sneaking in to dark corners to read, and stretching my lunches well past their time limits so I could write more. Thanks to everyone who has already read it, is going to read it, or plans to eventually read it.

  But mostly, thanks to anyone who has read this far and plans on continuing to the included chapter from Separation, part two to Jameson and Tatum’s story, and an excerpt from a new series, Pen vs. Sword. It’s all at the end, I promise!

  Soundtrack

  Songs that I listened to while writing, songs that just made me think of the story, and a couple that inspired actual scenes.

  Up in the Air – 30 Seconds to Mars

  Tainted Love – Marilyn Manson

  Only – Nine Inch Nails