Constance Langdon loved her children more than anything in the world, she really did. That, being said, they also drove her up the walls. First it had been Beauregard, the sweetest boy a mother could ask for. With his gifts came his deformities and a dog-like state of mind. Then came Adelaide, born with down- syndrome and a will of steel. Constance had known of the struggles that Addie would bring the minute she had set eyes upon the newborn's face, but hell if she would let anyone treat Addie differently than the other children. Over time, Addie had begun to notice her differences and question why; Constance never quite knew what to say. She wanted to tell Addie that she wasn't different; not really, but she was never able to.
As the years passed and Addie started school, Constance began to notice her husband's growing distance from her. He would stay out late and come home in questionably good moods. She wasn't a stupid woman; if not for her own state of loss, she'd have kicked his lying ass out the door. She'd held on to him for so long now that she was not about to let him slip from her. She needed to ensure that he never left; never felt that his life with her was worth less than her own heart, so one night she told him to stay with her for a while. Two weeks later, she found that she was pregnant with what she hoped would be the light she needed to keep her family and her life together.
Nine months later, and her perfect child came into the world; his name was Tate. Five pounds and three ounces of beautiful baby boy; normal baby boy. Hugo had even been there in the hospital to witness the boy's birth. Everything was falling into place for Constance as she looked into her son's big brown eyes. It was all going to be okay.
Tate's baby years were the best she could have hoped for. There were nights when she'd wake from horrible nightmares where Tate died or Tate had a developing brain problem, all of which were soothed when she went to his room and watched him sleep. Tate grew to have nightmares too. Hugo would argue with Constance that therapy was no place for a small child; that he was just going through something that all children did at five. It was when Tate would wake up shrieking that she drew the line on Hugo's parenting ideals. Tate didn't know why his mommy and daddy fought so much; only that it had to with him. That was when he'd go to his sister's room to sleep; when the monsters were watching him from his closet. Addie was always there for him, his bright light. He didn't have the nightmares in her room.
Around Tate, Hugo played the loving father; telling Tate he loved him or playing ball with him. He enjoyed having a son. That was all. He couldn't bring himself to love his other children, he was that type of man. With Addie he went through the motions, but there was only so much he could take. He resumed his old habits of drinking and cheating; staying out late and leaving early. Constance couldn't handle being a single parent and keeping up with their expensive house, so she hired help. Moira seemed a bright young face that was very good around her children. She thoroughly cleaned the house as though she were going to live in it. Not a stone was left unturned, and what better she could dust and play peek-a-boo at the same time. Tate would follow her around and giggle when he thought she didn't notice him.
The only place in the house that Moira was not permitted was the attic. She hadn't thought anything of it until she began to hear things. When she was there alone, chains would rattle and groans would echo through the house. On one particular day when Constance had taken Addie and Tate down to a friend's house to be babysat, Moira was particularly on edge about what was in the attic. It ate away at her to a point where she couldn't stand it anymore. She reached up for the attic door string and paused when she heard the thumping resume. In the end, she couldn't muster up the courage to find out the truth and went back to the master bedroom to finish making the bed.
"Hello there Moira," Hugo walked up behind her as she continued with what she was doing. "I see that you've become curious." Shit. "The thing is...I'm willing to forgive you for it." He had always given her looks or watched her work for an uncomfortable amount of time, but he wrapped his arms around her like they were old lovers. She quickly spun out of his grip and turned toward him.
"Mr. Langdon, I think that would be unprofessional of us. What w...what would your wife say," as she backed up, her leg hit on the foot of the bed and she found her body covered with his. It was disgusting and wrong, eventually she had to give in. This job was important for her and her mother to get by. All she had to do was close her eyes and wait for it to be over. What she expected to come never did, all that came was Constance into the room. The look on her face broke Moira's heart, what she must have been feeling. "Mrs. Langd.."
"You son of a bitch! And I ain't sayin' that because your motha's a tramp," Constance was fuming. "I have loved you for the best years of my life and now that we have this beautiful family you throw it all away!" She began to cry in her rage, "for the cheap thrill of the help!" Moira tried speaking to defend herself, but froze in shock as Constance pulled out a gun. She never got the chance. Two bullets late and Constance sat beside the lives she had taken, when it hit she could only sob.
Explaining to Tate and Addie that their father had run away was one of the hardest things she could do; what was worse was that she was now alone as she'd feared before getting pregnant with Tate. Tate cried himself to sleep multiple times afterward, waking from his dreams on and off through the night. Constance would walk past his door and hear him. On those cold nights, she filled the hole with a bottle of Jack and passed out. This was the beginning.
Tate aged with such grace, never developing any abnormalities or disabilities. In short, he was beautiful, and Constance wanted all the world to know about her perfect son. She would parade him around at church or out to lunch. Tate never understood why his older sister was always left at home, but Addie never seemed to mind. She would tell Tate all about her friends in the house, but Tate had never seen them. All he'd seen in the house he didn't like to talk about. Tate liked the appreciation his mother gave him, though at times it was pressing. Some days it weighed on him like a responsibility his mother had given him. Some days it was too much. Her friends would smile at him or pinch his cheeks for no reason; he didn't even know these people. Addie never got this kind of attention. Why was he so special?
When Tate reached seventeen, he decided he officially hated school. Growing up with compliments pouring over him didn't prepare him for what high school gave to him; which was nothing. He was taunted and bullied so often that there were days when he didn't even bother going. He would hide in the basement of his house or walk into town, always wearing long sleeves to hide himself in. If Constance learned he'd taken to cutting himself, there would be all hell to pay. He was flawed and there would be nothing she could do about it. She tried hard to hide her own flaws, but they shone through every time she staggered into his room to kiss him goodnight. He would always pretend to sleep to not notice, but the booze on her breath sickened him. He was especially sickened when she didn't come home at all.
Constance Langdon loved her children more than anything in the world, she really did. That being said, they also drove her batshit crazy. She tried her best not to blame them, but they were the only reason that she still found herself here. She needed to be a mother to her children, but her selfish habits got in the way of being there every time Tate and Addie needed her to be. She didn't know about the drugs; to be honest she didn't know much about Tate, other than he preferred to stay in his room and not come out unless Addie desperately needed him to. If he wasn't going to play son, she wasn't going to play mother. She went out with numerous men, nights always ending in a stranger's bed or at some cheap motel. Tate's nightmares came back; drugs would blur them, but they wouldn't bring his mother home. When they did, he prayed to God that she would leave.
"Adelaide, what did mama tell you about minding your own business," Tate could hear Constance drag Addie down the hall and throw her into the closet. "Look at yourself!" A new scar blossomed on Tate's wrist. He wasn't beautiful this way, he should be in the closet with Addie. Drugs. Tate was pulled to sleep as he heard his mother sleeping with some strange man. He wanted to die.
Multiple men came in and out of his house and Tate only had that great pleasure of bumping into a few of them. Some of them gave him foul looks, some seemed tender and loving; victims of their own right falling for his mother. After what he guessed had been ten, Constance made the decision of letting one of her man candies stay at their house. Man candy was an exaggeration, putting it nicely; he was about 5'6 and two hundred-fifty pounds. He took to wearing suits like some big shot. From day one, he and Tate loathed each other. Tate learned his name was Frank, he was a lawyer. There's the catch. Constance bragged her son up when they sat down to dinner, talking about how Tate got good grades or how nice he'd look if he bought decent clothing and stopped wearing sweaters. It wasn't hard for Frank to see the appeal of the boy, he was quite the sight. Frank knew that he wasn't the only man in Constance's life, but he was determined to make her believe he was the greatest.