Degradation
Page 70

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.