Chapter Eight

"Yes! You're scaring me Tate." I can feel tears welling up in my eyes from fear, and the pain in my forehead and nose.

Tate drops down onto his knees straddling my waist. He pulls his vomit soaked sweater over his head and drops it to the floor. He reaches for my arms and pulls them up above my head, Tate pins them to the floor as he leans down into my face. I can smell my own vomit on his t-shirt where it soaked through slightly. As Tate's face drops close to mine, tears fall from my eyes, down my cheeks and into my ears.

"Why did you read my file?" Tate's nose is pressed right up against my cheek and I can see the little freckle on it from the corner of my eye.

"Those kids on the beach freaked me out and I wanted to know why you said you didn't know them when they so obviously knew you." I sob and sniffle, "And I wanted to know why you're seeing my Dad."

"Why didn't you just ask me?" Tate's hot breath is in my ear. "I told you those guys were playing a prank on us. Why didn't you believe me?"

"I didn't think you'd tell me the truth about why you're seeing my Dad. I didn't think you were telling me the truth about those kids." The tears continue to spill into my ears.

Tate relaxes his grip on my arms and leans back sitting hard onto my stomach. He knocks the breath right out of me and I gasp for any air I can get.

"Does that hurt?" He cocks his head to the side as a sly smile spreads across his face.

"Yesssss." I hiss and wheeze.

I can see him contemplating whether to move or not. After what seems like an eternity Tate pulls himself off of me. He sits cross legged on the floor next to me and stares at the wall in front of him. I quickly pull myself up off of the floor onto my hands and knees, and crawl to a far wall away from Tate. I sit down and hug my knees sobbing into the material of my leggings. Silence falls between us for several minutes as I cry out all the tears I have stored.

After I feel my breath come back I lift my head from my knees.

"Is this what you meant?" I wipe my nose with my sleeve.

"What?" Tate doesn't look at me or even change his blank expression; he just continues to stare at the wall ahead of him.

"I might find out something about you that makes me regret being with you. I might find out you're completely insane." My voice crackles but I continue, "That you're a violent psychopath who should be locked up for the world's protection!" My voice completely gives up after I shout at him and I cough into my knees.

Silence falls again as Tate rocks back and forth on the floor still staring straight ahead.

"You're right." His voice comes out barley a whisper.

"About what? That you're insane and should be locked up? Already know that but thanks for confirming anyway."

"I do have fantasies about shooting people."

"Why?"

"I don't know I'm crazy I guess."

"Damn right."

"I'm sorry."

"That fixes nothing."

"They've gone now."

"What's gone?"

"The visions."

"Yeah right! This instant? It's a miracle." I roll my eyes at his confession.

"No. They went when I met you."

Tate stops rocking and looks from the wall to meet my eyes; his are glassy with unspilt tears whereas mine are as dry as the late fall leaves back home. As he blinks and the salty tears fall, I can feel all my anger suddenly leave my body. I unwrap my arms from my knees and drop my limps to the floor.

"Tate?" As I stand up and walk over to Tate he begins to sob. "Please don't cry." I kneel down front of him, take his hands wrapping them up in mine and place them in my lap.

Tate looks up at me and narrows his eyes; he examines my face then rips his hands from mine, I jump back as he raises them to my face.

"I won't hurt you I promise." His eyes are still filled with tears but I can see the honesty behind them. I swallow hard then move myself back towards Tate as he reaches his hands up to wipe the tear tracks from my face. I close my eyes at his gentle touch, so different from the way he touched me only minutes ago. "You cried into your ears." His voice is thick and low and I feel my heart flutter as he speaks.

"Yeah, all water logged now." I croak and squeeze my eyes shut blocking out the previous incident to really feel the sensation of Tate's fingers against my skin.

"I was only playing with you, joking with you."

"Shit joke Tate." I open my eyes to see his saddened face.

"I'm so sorry." The sincerity in his face hits me hard and I realise my heart is thumping against my ribs.

Tate cups my face in his hands and leans in closer to me to gently brush his lips against mine. I open my mouth to deepen the kiss, to feel his hot wet tongue on mine. My arms are limp at my side until Tate runs his hands down them and they suddenly awake to grasp onto his biceps for support. Tate's hands move to my upper back as he tries to pull my body closer to his.

Our lips, teeth and tongues meld into one as the pain and fear completely melts from me. Tate's hands move down my body to my waist and one to my ass, then he pulls me onto his lap. I let out a tiny squeal through my increasingly swollen lips as he does so. Tate wraps his arms around my body and pulls me impossibly close. This pressure of our bodies together, me feeling his erection, does not illicit the same responses as earlier. Instead of feeling nauseous I feel the powerful urge to bite Tate's flesh. To feel his skin on mine and have his hands explore every inch of me.

As I wind my fingers through his hair and grind down on his erection Tate moans into my mouth. He pulls his lips away from mine a fraction to rest his forehead against mine. He breaths heavily then whispers against my lips.

"I want to." I take a deep breath, looking up through my eyelashes at him before I reply.

"Me too."