Degradation

by Stylo Fantome

  “You know she’s just an old bitch. Why do you let her get to you?” she asked. He shrugged.

  “She just does. I can still remember when she used to bring me over to her house, bake me cookies and shit. Now I’m not even allowed to go over there,” he grumbled.

  “Well, fuck her, then. She’s missing out on the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” Tate replied. Ang rolled his eyes and looked at her.

  “Like it’s so easy for you to have your family hate you,” he pointed out. She blinked in surprise.

  “It is. I don’t care that they hate me,” she responded. He shook his head and propped himself up.

  “Yes, you do. Whenever you get drunk and talk about them, that’s when you get the nastiest. I know when you start babbling about your sister, I finally get to pull out the ropes and lube,” Ang told her. She laughed.

  “That is so not true,” she chuckled, but then his hand was on her knee, his fingers sliding up her leg. A very similar gesture to Jameson’s, just a couple hours ago. Her breath caught in her throat when Ang scooted closer.

  “Doesn’t matter. I feel like shit. She makes me feel like shit, I hate it,” he grumbled, leaning in to kiss her neck.

  Tate swallowed thickly. She was in unfamiliar territory. While under normal circumstances she and Ang got it on whenever they felt like it, it usually wasn’t when one of them had just slept with another person. And she didn’t know all the rules to the game she was playing with Jameson. Would he be mad if she slept with Ang? He had made it very clear that their relationship would be a purely sexual one, but that didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t exclusive. She pushed at Ang’s shoulders, forcing him to look her in the eye.

  “You shouldn’t let her get to you. I know it’s hard, and sad, and kinda depressing sometimes, but it’s still so much better than life with them. We always have each other, so fuck everyone else,” she said. He sighed, and then he leaned in to kiss her, his arms wrapping around her waist.

  Hmmm, maybe went the wrong way with that speech.

  “It was horrible. You know how she is, she stood in the hallway after I kicked her out. Banged on peoples doors, screaming about her ‘faggot grandson’, same old shit. I don’t want to hate her …, but I hate her so much,” he breathed against Tate’s skin.

  Ang had been a huge part of her life, for a very long time. Jameson may have peeled away the excess material, exposing the real Tatum – but Ang had helped mold her. She had sharpened her tongue and claws against him, amongst other things. He needed her, and while most friends hashed shit out over beers or ice cream or whatever, she and him had their own fucked up ways. It just worked for them.

  So she went with it. She felt kind of guilty and wrong – feelings she wasn’t used to experiencing anymore – but she also wanted to make Ang feel better. Make him forget a little bit of his pain. He pulled her over so she was straddling him, and he ran his hands up and down her back before settling them on her shoulders.

  “I have to go to work soon, Ang, so maybe I can just give you a -,” she started, when he suddenly bolted upright. She clung to his shoulders, almost getting catapulted off the bed.

  “What the fuck is this?” he asked, running his fingers over the welt on her shoulder.

  “Jesus, you startled me!” Tate snapped, then looked at where his fingers were touching.

  “Did he do this to you?” Ang asked, leaning in close to the bite mark.

  “No, I was trying to chew through my own shoulder, so I could escape,” Tate laughed. Ang glared at her. He had gone from upset to angry, very quickly.

  “Are those teeth? What the fuck, Tate? That looks painful,” he snapped. She laughed.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “And your legs! What the fuck happened!?” he demanded, his hands gripping her thighs. Her towel had ridden up, exposing her bruises. They both stared down at her lap.

  “What the fuck do you think happened? Ang, it’s not like any of this is new to you. A couple weeks ago, you practically gave me a concussion, when you were practicing one of your ‘moves’ for your movies,” she used air quotes, making a face at him.

  “That’s a little different, Tate. I’ve been fucking you for five years. This guy just found you two days ago, and you’re letting him tear chunks out of you!?” Ang’s voice was getting loud. Tate scowled and climbed off his lap, holding the towel secure around her body.

  “That guy found me seven years ago, and not one mark on my body is unwanted, or was unasked for. If you’re gonna give me a bunch of shit, then maybe you should go,” she growled, stomping over to her door. Ang stayed on her bed, running a hand through his hair.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’re totally right. I’m just not …, I’m not used to seeing that, so quickly, with you. I’ve probably left bigger and worse marks,” he apologized. She nodded.

  “No shit.”

  “Look, I said I’m sorry. I came over here with this great idea to leave marks of my own all over you, and then I find out some guy got there first. Kind of puts a damper on my plans,” Ang laughed, and she had trouble containing her own smile. It sounded so ridiculous when said out loud.

  We are ridiculous.

  “Well, sorry, but you knew where I was last night,” she replied. He groaned and fell back onto the bed.

  “Arrrrrrg, I just wanted to get laid. Is your roomie here?” he asked, lifting his head and giving her a sideways smile.

  “No way, buddy. You are never laying a finger on Rus,” Tate laughed, turning and digging some underwear out of her dresser.

  “Why not? You said she’s hot for me. I think she’s hot. Sounds like a party,” he said from behind her. She snorted and managed to pull on the underwear while still wearing the towel.

  “As far as you’re concerned, Rus is the Virgin fuckin’ Mary. Off limits,” Tate replied. She let the towel drop and put on her bra. She turned around and Ang’s eyes raked over her body, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Rus is a virgin?” he asked. She shook her head, shaking a tiny skirt out of the pile of clothing and sliding it on.

  “No, but as far as you’re concerned, she might as well be. She’s a beautiful, tiny, angel, sent from heaven to be sweet and strawberry blonde. You are not allowed to corrupt that. You are not fucking her,” Tate stated, staring him in the eye.

  “You ruin all my fun.”

  “You have like a ton of people on speed dial who would jump on you if you so much as breathed in their direction. Call one of them,” she suggested, squeezing herself in to a tiny cropped top that had long sleeves and a scoop neck.

  “But I wanted my honey-bunny, and you won’t play with me,” he said in a whiny voice. She rolled her eyes and turned to face her mirror, spreading out her makeup supplies.

  “Stop being ridiculous,” she told him. He leapt off the bed.

  “I’ll go be a normal person, drown my sorrows, find some whore to take home. Wanna crash a show this weekend? I’ve got a guy who will let us sneak in during the second act,” Ang offered, leaning against her doorway.

  “Totally. And see if you can find any more gym stuff – I actually kinda liked the Zumba class,” she laughed. He nodded.

  “I’ll keep my eyes peeled. See you later, don’t let Mr. Mean take too many bites out of you,” he cautioned her. She laughed again.

  “He’s in Manhattan for the weekend, so I’ll be bite free for a couple days,” she assured Ang. He thumped on her door and then took off down the hallway.

  “Later, kitty-cat,” he called out.

  “Bye!”

  She did her makeup heavy, but left her hair to air dry – sometimes the unpolished look worked really well on her. She finished off her outfit with a pair of wedge boots that went to her knees and then grabbed a large jacket, covering everything up for the bus ride to work.

  The bar she worked in was always popular, though Thursday wasn’t as rowdy as the actual weekend. The next night was better, the Red Sox had won a home game, and
the city went crazy. Tate wore a baseball jersey and Rus even got her to do a line dance on the bar top. They wound up getting wasted at a hotel party afterwards. Though she had a very tantalizing offer to join some guy for a sexual romp in the hotel’s lobby bathroom, she declined. Even in a drunken haze, Tate held out. She would try to be a good girl till she heard from Jameson.

  Her will power didn’t hold out very long. Saturday night, she stood behind the bar, clapping and moving her body to the beat of the song that was playing. She was laughing at something one of the regulars was saying, when someone caught her eye.

  Ang was walking through the room, a head taller than most people. It wasn’t often that he came to see her at work, and she gave a broad smile in his direction. He was making his way towards the bar, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was flirting and having eye-sex with some sexy Korean girl as he moved through the crowd.

  Tate didn’t think she was a nymphomaniac; she could go for long periods of time without sex, and had done so. But she did like it a lot and had a tendency to use it as a kind of therapy. Angry at someone? Have angry sex. Sad about something? Have fun sex. Just plain old bored? Have exciting sex.

  And when she was in the mood, she had a lot of trouble resisting. It was like a switch that she couldn’t turn off. She had been thinking about Jameson non-stop, remembering their night and morning together in vivid detail. Fantasizing about what she would do to him when he got home. What he would do to her. Her switch was halfway flipped already, and as Tate watched Ang work his magic on the girls in the bar, the switch completely flipped on.

  He was wearing a long jacket, the kind with a stiff, stand up collar that buttoned all the way to the chin – he looked stylish and handsome. His hair was messy, as usual, and his grey eyes were smiling, as usual. He had an impish smile, one that some how managed to look innocent and naughty at the same time, and she knew it drove most women nuts. It was in full effect, and Tate wasn’t immune to it – add that to the fact that his body was almost as familiar to her as her own, and it was hard to resist him. She took a deep breath through her nose, letting her eyes wander over his frame.

  Sunday night is so far away …,

  When she dragged her eyes back up to his face, he was looking right at her. Smirking. He said something to the girl in front of him and then continued on his journey. He jostled and moved people out of the way, until he was leaning against the bar across from her. She stayed in her spot, still moving a little to the music.

  “Well, well, sweetie pea, how’re things?” Ang asked in his sexy voice, his eyes traveling up and down her body before going back to staring her in the face.

  “Good. Busy,” Tate replied.

  “You don’t look very busy,” he pointed out. She shrugged.

  “Lull in orders. We still going to the theatre?” she asked. He squinted his eyes at her.

  “Hmmm, I don’t think so,” he replied. She finally moved forward, leaning against the bar in front of him.

  “Why not? I thought you wanted to hang out,” she said.

  “I do. But I think little Tater-tot has something other than dinner and a show in mind,” he told her. She laughed.

  “Oh, there will definitely be a show later.”

  They didn’t even make it till “later”. When Tate went on break twenty minutes later, Ang followed her in to the back of the bar and then dragged her outside. Pressed her up against a wall, raked his hands over her body. He had borrowed his roommate’s car, and when it started to rain, he pulled her in to the backseat with him. As his tongue ran across Jameson’s fading bite mark, she groaned and dragged her fingernails across his scalp.

  I should really feel like a bad person most of the time.

  *

  “Do you always keep it this hot?”

  Tatum was laying on the floor in Jameson’s library, a little ways back from the wingback chairs. The fire was raging again and the room was almost stifling. Sweat was causing her hair to stick to her face, her shirt to stick to her skin. Jameson was in his chair, his feet stretched towards the fire. The heat didn’t seem to bother him.

  Why would fire affect the devil?

  “I like it hot,” was all he said in response. She snorted, almost upsetting the glass she had balanced on her stomach.

  “You like it too hot,” she corrected him.

  “If it’s too hot for you, take off some clothes,” he suggested. She smirked at the ceiling and moved the glass off her stomach before shimmying out of her jeans. She lifted her head enough to be able to see where he was, and then threw the pants at him. They caught him in the side of the face.

  “Much better, thank you,” she told him in a happy voice.

  Tate hadn’t heard from him Sunday, but then Monday afternoon, she got a text message telling her to be ready by six o’clock, and to pack some clothes for an “extended” stay. Ooohhh. She was ready to go hours before she needed to be, and was waiting on the stoop of her building when Sanders pulled up in their sleek Bentley.

  Jameson hadn’t been too chatty once she got to the house, just content to sit and work. His home was enormous, but as far as she could tell, he spent most of his time in the library. She asked him why he had sent for her, if he was just going to work the whole time, and was told that just because he was working, didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate something nice to look at once in a while.

  They ate dinner and talked about the benefits of socialized health care versus private industry. Tate was a smart girl, she had gotten in to Harvard, after all – she kept current. She just usually didn’t have anyone to talk to about that kind of stuff. Ang was more interested in talking about which porn star made the most money and what angle was best for backside shots. Rus just wanted to talk about boys.

  She loved her friends, she really did, but sometimes Tate wanted to shoot herself.

  Jameson was like a breath of fresh air. He was smart, he was cultured, and he knew how to have a conversation, when someone was deemed worthy enough for him to talk to them. And he always kept his cool, even when she purposefully tried to get a rise out of him. The Unshakable Jameson Kane.

  After dinner, he led them back in to the library. The fire had already been going when she got there, but he kept building it higher, adding more logs. That was why she had opted to lay on the floor. The chairs were too hot.

  “Sexy socks, Tate,” Jameson chuckled. She lifted her legs, pointing her feet at the ceiling. She was wearing a pair of purple-striped socks that went all the way to her knees. Her guilty pleasure in life. If she was stranded on a desert island, and could only have one thing, it would probably be a pair of knee length socks.

  “Thank you, I think so,” she laughed, kicking her legs up and down before dropping them back to the floor.

  “Are you drunk yet?” he asked. She shook her head and reached out a hand, running her fingers up and down the bottle of Jack Daniel’s that was sitting near her.

  “No. Do you want me to be drunk?”

  “Could be interesting.”

  “You’re in a dark mood tonight. What’s wrong?” she asked. Jameson chuckled.

  “Am I ever in a light mood?” he responded. She nodded.

  “Sure you are. Sometimes you’re downright happy. I mean, you’re always mean, and kind of a bastard, but at least you’re happy about it,” she told him, and he burst out laughing.

  “Okay, okay, stop with the flattery,” he joked.

  “So what’s wrong?”

  “Had a run in over the weekend. With an …, ex, of sorts,” he said. Tate stilled her fingers. He was speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully. Protecting her? Or hiding from her? She couldn’t be sure.

  “Bad kind of ex?” she asked.

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “Some people end on good notes, Jameson. It is possible to have an amicable break up,” she pointed out. He snorted.

  “Bullshit. Do you have any good exes in your past?” he asked. She laughed.

 
“I’m not a very normal person. I told you about the one guy, we don’t exactly speak anymore. Another guy cried when I ended it – which was weird, considering I hadn’t even known we were dating. Funny how some people mistake sex for a relationship,” she replied.

  “Now that’s the truth.”

  “So what happened? Big fight? Stalker? Oh my god, please tell me it wasn’t Ellie!” she suddenly gasped, sitting upright. He had turned to face her, and his Satan’s smile was in place.

  “Wouldn’t that have been hilarious. You know, it could be interesting. Maybe we should arrange a family reunion,” Jameson suggested. Tate narrowed her eyes.

  “I don’t think so. Look, if you don’t wanna talk about your ex, fine, not a big deal to me, but you need to get in a better mood, or I’m gonna go find something else to do,” she informed him. His eyebrows raised up.

  “Oh really. Ms. O’Shea, talking tough. You really want me to talk about her? Most women don’t want to hear men talk about other women. Particularly women those men have slept with,” he pointed out.

  “I’m not most women. How many times are we going to have this conversation? Fine, I’ll take the lead. Is she hot? Did she dump you, when it ended? Did you guys fight, this weekend? Did you get in one last closure-fuck? Did you fuck her this weekend?” Tate prattled off. He smiled, turning his head back towards the fire.

  “See, this is why I keep you around. No bullshit; so straight forward. I just might consider being nice to you tonight,” he offered. She snorted.

  “How boring.”

  “She’s very hot. I guess you could say I dumped her. Yes, we argued this weekend. I can still fuck her whenever I want, so a ‘closure-fuck’ wasn’t necessary. I did not fuck her this weekend,” Jameson answered every question.

  Tate had meant to be cheeky. Prove that she didn’t mind. He could sleep with other people. But when he had said that he could still sleep with the woman whenever he wanted, something happened to Tate’s insides. Fucking some random woman was one thing – sleeping with an ex, someone he’d had a relationship with, that was dangerous. It made Tate nervous. She hadn’t expected to feel that way.