Tate Langdon knew he should have left as soon as his mind had started nagging at him with questions of odd possibilities; he should have just walked past the attic door instead of staying around to listen to anything else that the two old lovers had to say to one another. He should have just taken the few steps that would push him further away from the attic and toward some other place in the house instead of leaning against the stairs that would take him up to the attic, were he to choose to climb them. Especially when out of what seemed to be nowhere, a half mocking voice echoed from only steps away from him. "You're right to be scared, you know?" It said, annoying and hitting nearly every single one of Tate's nerves with just those few words. "He could steal her from you." Chad Warwick said, attempting to lean against the nearest wall from where the blonde locked ghost rested.
It was all it took for Tate to push himself away from the stairs, unable to stop the short moment in which his eyes lifted to look above into the dark square that the attic was. "Beat it, Queen." Tate angrily retorted; lowering his eyes and finally taking many steps away from the intruder and the open attic door he should have walked away from many minutes ago.
Chad laughed, his crossed arms falling to his sides as he allowed himself to follow behind the angry ghost. "See, that anger just tells me I'm right." He said, going down the hall right behind Tate and forcing himself to pay attention to the ghost's reactions. "You're scared that the owner will realise how fucked up you are and run into the sunset toward the arms of her true love." He taunted, watching the back of Tate's head as it bowed, or his hands as they balled into fists. Chad smiled as they continued walking, down a flight of stairs and through the hallway away from the next staircase, and it became obvious where the psychopath headed; it made a feigned annoyed scoff of breath leave Chad's lips. "Really? You're going to her room? How very predictable."
"What do you want?" Tate spat with a short look behind him, yet he didn't stop walking; his destination became clear. He needed to relax, to attempt to stop the darkness in his mind from taking over in ways that would make this petty jealousy drive him to do something horrible, and he knew exactly what the best option for that was: the kitten, Alice. Ever since Mel brought the little ball of fur into the house, Tate had found himself playing with her to relax at times, and others, simply petting her and listening to her little motor-purr as she fell asleep in his arms. And that was what he needed at that moment: relaxation. Immediately.
Chad, on the other hand, sought out to annoy that which annoyed him. To let his anger and frustration with his lack of life display and take his hatred for most of humanity out on the one person he hated more than the world itself: Tate Langdon. The one being he owed everything his afterlife was to; because, had he not died, maybe Chad might have made something out of his life. Maybe he'd have left Patrick, maybe he'd have listened to his best friend and left the man who clearly didn't want to try enough, and maybe he'd have found a guy who did want him, who'd have made him happy. But no; he was stuck in a giant home with a bunch of nutcases and apparently now also a demon. A demon of whose door slammed against a wall and brought his wondering mind away from his nostalgic reverie and into the sad reality that seemed to be annoying a blonde teenage psychopath for a good few minutes. "I come in good faith." He lied, watching Tate walk straight for the black and white sheets of the owner's bed to pick up a beautiful Scottish Fold kitten. "To advice you, if anything." Chad's arms crossed against his chest as he allowed his curious eyes to roam around the peculiar bedroom that belonged to the demon owner. "From someone who's been cheated on before, to-"
"I'm not being cheated on." Tate hastily interrupted, making Chad's eyes fall on him and Tate's blood boil inside him once he saw the older ghost's lips shifting into a smirk. "Mel and Harry are just friends," he continued, "if you were standing there for as long as I was, then you know that."
"You don't believe that, do you?" Chad questioned tauntingly, finally taking the last step that would make him stand right under the doorway of the room and mockingly watch as Tate Langdon sat cross-legged on the owner's bed, holding the kitten in the hole his legs made and petting her gently.
"I do." Tate lied, in a tone that made Chad laugh and the blonde ghost's jaw lock. Tate nearly hated himself for not believing in Mel, but it was the darkness inside his mind that made Chad's taunting words make more sense than the honest ones spoken by Mel to her ex-husband, and he hated it; almost as much as Chad Warwick's annoying laughter. "Can't you leave?" Tate asked, shooting his eyes toward the brunette ghost with all sorts of hatred adorning his features. "Don't you have something better to do than talk to me?"
"Oh, please." Chad snorted, leaning against the doorway of the room Tate had attempted to find shelter in, and keeping his arms crossed confidently against his chest. "Your little love triangle is the only thing everyone in the house talks about since the young man came about." He told Tate, a brow rising with pure disdain.
"It's not a love triangle." He quickly retaliated, anger and frustration bleeding into his words as he carefully petted the curled up furball on his lap. "They're just friends." He automatically repeated in mirror to the words he'd heard from the couple in the attic.
Chad exhaled a loud scoffed breath prior to rolling his eyes. "You believe that as much as I do. There's no way those two are purely friends; not with the way he talks about her."
"What are you talking about?" Tate curiously wondered, hating himself a little more for suddenly giving in so easily to Chad's tactics.
Something that showed bright on the other ghost's suddenly victorious smirk. "Oh, it's like he reveres her." He admitted, adorning the memory of his conversation with the old soul in ways that could get the murderous Tate Langdon ticking with rage. "His eyes light up, his words came like poetry; oh, Tate, he basically kisses the ground she walks on." He lied. During his conversation with the young Harry McClair, Chad had seen that everything Tate had told him had been true, the boy didn't revere the owner the way Chad claimed; in fact, all Chad had seen in the old soul's mannerisms had been charm, class and a complete sense of respect for the odd owner. If anything, the only sign that the boy wanted to get his wife back was the light shine to his eyes whenever he talked about her, the one thing he hadn't lied about.
"Bullshit." Tate quickly spat, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the slowly breathing kitten on his lap, yet his mind drowned in Chad's words, and the fear he'd acquired after overhearing the old lovers' conversation from under the stairs, only grew because of them.
"Au contraire." Chad expressed, clicking his tongue a couple of times before he dared adorn another peculiar memory. "In fact, when I told him about you and the girl, he got so jealous he couldn't even speak for a couple of seconds." Of course, that was another lie; in fact, when Chad told Harry about Mel's relationship with Tate, the boy hadn't seemed at all shaken, if anything he looked surprised for a short couple of seconds before actually seeming happy for the blue eyed owner. Maybe too much time had passed, but it seemed to Chad as if the remaining relationship between the two was not of husband and wife, but of a strong friendship; something he even grew to be envious of.
"You're wrong." Tate stated, not bothering to look up regardless of how much he wanted to, because he knew that the frustration inside him had grown to such levels that if he allowed himself a glance at Chad, he'd most likely leave Alice aside to rest on the bed and stand in order to either strangle the older ghost or stab him with some sort of material from inside Mel's room. It almost became impossible to stop when he let a feigned frustrated sigh leave his lips.
"I am as wrong as you are alive, my friend." He said, spitting the last word with nothing but hatred. "If I were you I'd be careful." Chad forced himself to smile, pushing himself away from the doorway the moment he saw the vein on Tate's neck pop up, for he wanted to stir up trouble, not be killed again; if he was, the process of coming back continued to be the most uncomfortable of experiences. "He's known the girl for so much longer than you have, and their relationship was more vast and complicated." He forced himself to let a short chuckle out from his lips as his arms uncrossed. "He could get her back with just one question, Trust me." He paused. "Think about that for a while, will you... Let it sink."
And with that, Chad Warwick left. His goal had been met; the seed of doubt had been planted on Tate, and his anger with the world had subsided enough for the moment. He could go back to trying to make the less worse out of his death situation, to ignore Patrick for a few more hours until he decided otherwise, and maybe converse with someone else. Maybe he could try talking to Vivien, or maybe he could wonder around Hayden and her two new lovers. The siblings, the fairly new redhead, Zandra, and her newcomer brother, Jeremy. As if the house wasn't already crowded enough.
But Tate couldn't be as light headed as Chad Warwick seemed to be when he left, because the seed of doubt had been planted inside his mind a lot further than his eternal darkness had initially made it; he found himself staring at the purring kitten on his lap while attempting to pet it with slightly trembling hands. Because he was scared; he was scared that regardless of the things he'd been through with his lover, regardless of the love they claimed to have for one another, she could actually run toward her ex-husband the way Chad had so easily forced him to believe. He feared that the sane words from a five hundred year old old soul could make Mel see sense more than his own insane words probably would. And it absolutely scared him; it made Tate feel like he could lose everything he currently had just because fate had decided to play a funny game, and even though Mel's words to Harry had made her feelings clear (or they should have), Tate felt as if what Chad had taunted him about made sense; and the very thought of losing Mel made the murderous urges come back with a vengeance. Out of hate and out of anger. But he forced himself to calm down; to think of the way Mel looked at him, the way she touched him, because Tate Langdon refused to let history repeat itself.
The last thing he wanted was to fuck things up with his beloved; something he would easily achieve if he decided to allow his darkness to overcome his trust for Melanie Fray. He couldn't do that, not when things were so good with her; though, were they? Since Harry McClair appeared, Mel had been less and less around. She'd left the house countless times saying she was out in search of a job, or out to the movies, or just out for a drive.
All Tate Langdon knew was that he was scared of losing Mel. And that fear would haunt him for longer than he would have liked.
To Be Continued.
