hold me really tight (until the stars look big) - I

Tate

He lets Mason in, gives him a friendly hug and smiles, a facial expression he's still a bit foreign to, but he's learning.
"Mason," he says per greeting.
"Little brother," the man nods. There's a three year old son in his arms, sitting on his hip.
Tate pulls a face.
"Say hi to uncle Tate, Isaac," Mason says.

Jael

It's his brother... and his nephew. Something in her fear falls away. He's just a human being, and though she can see he's not a natural, he does care.
She's standing in the doorway to the hall and watches them, her arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe, her coffee mug still in her hand.

Tate

The boy giggles and makes grabby motions with his hands until Tate takes him over. "Uncle 'Ate!" the boy laughs.
"Isaac!" Tate says. "I didn't know you were coming today, buddy. I would've gotten the colouring books."

Jael

It doesn't take long for her to be reminded how it used to be at home. Being ripped back into reality again is harder than she thought. She's with him and he killed someone yesterday.
She wonders what would happen if she just drop dead told Mason, but she can't quite imagine. Of course Hale would be furious... but she doesn't know what he would do. She'd pay, that's all she knows.
Withouth realizing it, her smile has faded. She's clamping the coffee mugs in both her hands now, as if her life depends on it. Hale looks terrifyingly different.

Tate

He sees Mason's gaze shift from his son to the girl in the doorway, eyebrows raised in surprise. "That's Tiffany," he says without any hesitation. "She—she needed a place to crash. I just provided."
"You just provided?" Mason doesn't sound like he believes him. He nods anyway.
"How are Hanna and Ally?" he asks to change the subject. It works: Mason's eyes light up when he starts talking about his wife and their 8 month old daughter Allison. With a quick hand-gesture, he tells Jael to shoo before Mason wants to talk to her.

Jael

Relieved she doesn't have to pretend, she rushes upstairs and closes the door behind her. She sits down on the bed and hugs her knees, staring out of the window.
Before she knows it, she's off the bed, trying to push open the window. She tries to unlock it, desperate to escape, but all she achieves is two broken nails and fingers hurting. Even though she knows it won't happen anyway, she keeps trying.

Tate

It’s quick once Isaac is colouring in the living room. Mason and Tate get around the dining table, talk business, and Mason leaves with two contracts under his arm that will remove his brother from the company list forever.
‘You don’t have to do this, Tate,’ Mason says as he’s about to fetch Isaac from the living room. ‘Macy wouldn’t—she wouldn’t have wanted you to throw everything away like this. Not for her. Never for her.’
Tate shakes his head, says, ‘It’s not for her’, as if he didn’t bury a girl in the mud less than twelve hours ago for her and smiles. ‘I have enough money to last myself two lifetimes, Mace. I just want to live right now. No more working. No more stressing. I can ever babysit Isaac and Allison once Hanna starts working again, you know. It’s going to be okay.’
Mason sighs, but seems less worrisome than before. He picks up his son from the livingroom floor and leaves, the last greetings being a ‘We’ll be okay, brother’ from Mason and a ‘Bye Uncle Tate! Bye Uncle Tate!’ from Isaac.
The door closes and it’s utterly silent. ‘You can’t escape!’ he yells. ‘You can’t escape, Jael. You won’t be able to escape.’

Jael

After a while she just gave up and now she's sitting on the floor, staring ahead of herself. She's startled when she hears his voice. His message terrifies her. She burries her face in her hands and doesn't answer. Maybe she can make him go knock out somehow. Hit him with a chair. Put some sleeping pills in his coffee.
Can't escape.
Tears start coming again. She quietly cries, not even making any sound. She can't escape. She knows she can't. Even if she had chance, she couldn't fight him...

Tate

Two weeks ago he never thought he’d end up with a crying girl in his apartment. Two weeks ago he never thought he’d end up with a crying girl in his apartment that witnessed him killing another crying girl. But then again, two weeks ago he never thought he’d have to bury his sister because some guy felt like killing her.
He knocks on the door of the guest room Jael is in. He knocks on the door knowing she will never trust him, knowing she thinks he’s a killer, knowing she hates him, she probably always will. But he knocks, and then he waits.

Jael

At first she doesn't want to answer, but then the words come anyway: "What do you want?" Her voice sounds strange. Twisted. As if something is choking her to death. And it is. The memory of the coppery smell of blood, the gurgling whimpers of the dying girl, Hale's firy eyes shooting arrows at her because she saw.
She wished she could unsee. She would give the world to be able to unsee what she saw. No one deserves to die by the hands of another. No one. Whatever reason Hale has, she'll never ever forgive him and he has to pay for what he did.

Tate

‘Can I come in?’

Jael

"It's your house. Do whatever you want." She sounds indifferent, but she isn't. She stares at the door, hoping he won't come in.

Tate

'The guest room is yours for an indefinite period of time. This makes it your call if I can come in or not. Are you going to answer the question or not?'

Jael

"Come in," she says, while scrambling to her feet so she won't look all down and tiny.

Tate

He opens the door, scrambling forward, leaning into himself to look less intimidating. He doesn’t know how to do this, if he’s being entirely honest. He doesn’t know how to be empathic, how to look like he doesn’t hate you. It’s his default setting, it’s his shield, his life—
He tries, though.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry that I had to take you here, that you had to see that, that you have to stay inside and act like I didn’t kidnap you, because that’s what I did. I never thought someone else would get caught up in my revenge plan, and I definitely didn’t want you to be that person, and I’m sorry.’

Jael

She wipes against her cheeks again, just to check if there aren't any tears left. Deep down she knows that, of course, he knows she cried.
Quietly she clasps her hands together. She has no idea what to say, how to act. She just knows she is terrified, whatever he says. The way he glares her down, the look in his eyes, the way he stands there, the fact he took her here...
"Can't you let me go...?" she pleads, another desperate try.

[b]Tate[/b

'I need—I need to be sure. Look, I—I didn't think I would have to explain this to anyone, okay? I didn't think anyone would see. But you did—see, I mean—and now I need to figure out what to do with you.
You don't believe me when I say I'm not a killer—I know that. You don't have any reason to trust me. But I need something to ensure you won't tell anyone what you saw. And I'm not going to kill you to keep you silent. So I need something to make you quiet. And all I have now is this house and you, and words. And maybe I can convince you to let me tell you my side of the story, to make you see why I had to do this.
I can't—I can't promise anything. I can't promise you I'll let you go because you don't want to die, Jael, but neither do I. And there's quite the chance that I will die if people find out I killed that girl.'

Jael

She sits down on the bed and rubs her eyes, not wanting to cry again. She takes a deep, deep breath and stares up at the ceiling. And then back at him.
"Could I at least... let my parents know I'm alive...?" she asks, but she doesn't have any hope he would let her.

Tate

He sighs, looks down. He can't do this, he cant just—take away everything from her, from her parents, from her family. He can't look at her, can't think, can't do fucking anything but curse his trembling voice and shaking hands as he speaks. 'It's too dangerous.'
Then: 'I'm sorry, Jael.'

Jael

She presses her lips together and averts her gaze. Of course not. "Please, leave me alone," she breathes, and her voice cracks. She turns away and lies down, hugging a pillow from the bed, trying whatever she can to hold back her tears. She doesn't even want to be alone, afraid her thoughts will stress her out. She needs distraction, but he would be the last person she'd ask.

Tate

He nods shortly. ‘Yeah—um—sure… I’ll just—just call when you need anything, I guess. Yeah.’

Jael

She's quiet for a moment and then sits up straight again, changing her mind about wanting him to leave. "I want to know why you did it," she says, her dark eyes fixed on his.

Tate

For a moment he can’t do anything but stare. There’s a girl on his guest-room bed asking him about the merciless murder of twenty year-old Tina Reynolds, her head cocked a bit to the left, daring him to talk about what he did. And maybe, after everything, she will tell him it’s okay, that she will not tell anyone because what he did was the right thing. Not the most sensible, but the right thing nonetheless.
He looks around a little restlessly before deciding to sit on the chair in the far corner, next to the door to the hallway. He looks out of place—uncomfortable in his own skin. There’s a short hiccup in his breath as he tries to inhale.
‘I killed Tina Reynolds,’ he starts, voice trembling. It sounds choked off, somehow. Like his throat is restricted. ‘Exactly fourteen days ago, Tina Reynolds’ brother killed my younger sister Macy in a parking lot at eleven thirty in the evening. He slit her throat just for the heck of it—took a young girl’s life and ripped apart a family because he was bored.’ He stops, wheezes. Breathing goes too easy but too shallow, he doesn’t know what to tell her, he doesn’t know how to continue. He’s lost too much, lost too much too much too much too much too much—
He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.
‘I killed Tina Reynolds,’ he whispers, hoarsely, hands shaking, voice breaking. ‘I killed Tim Reynolds’ sister because he killed mine and I couldn’t let him get away with it. I killed an innocent girl because her brother took my innocent girl. Macy didn’t—didn’t deserve any of it. Macy was good, okay? Macy… Macy was great and lovely and Macy had her entire life to live and he ruined it, he ruined it so I had to return the favour—he ruined my sister and I ruined his.’

your writing is so good, holy gods

Jael

It's like someone is pressing their thumbs against her throat, slowly and painfully. She swallows, and swallows again, staring at the broken boy sitting in that chair near the door, tense as if he planned to flee the room as soon as she starts talking.
The love Hale had and still has for his sister goes deep. She can see it, it's still there, and it eats him alive.
No one deserves to die by another's hand.
Not Tina. Not Macy. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, not knowing what else to say. She doesn't have words. He probably isn't helped by words either.
And so, she slips off the bed, without thinking, quietly walks over to him, kneels and closes her arms around him. Her heart is racing, her breathing shallow. He killed Tina Reynolds, he killed an innocent to avenge Macy's death and she shouldn't, she shouldn't—

Tate

She’s touching him, she’s touching him. There are arms around him and for one moment it’s suffocating, for one moment he finds himself stuck in the epicentre of the earthquake of 1960—and then it’s over.
He doesn’t wrap his arms around Jael, he doesn’t lean into her, doesn’t breathe in the scent of fear that hangs around her like a cologne.
When he was fifteen years old, a nine year-old Macy Hale told him she loved him to the moon and back. When he left for college, she told him she hated him for leaving her like that. Three weeks ago he picked her up pissed-drunk and she screamed at him the whole ride home.
Now he’s in the arms of a girl who saw him murder Tina Reynolds and all he thinks is it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

Jael

She holds him for a few awkward moments and then lets go, stumbles backwards and takes the safe place on the bed again.
Quietly she watches him. Her hands are trembling as she clasps them, folding them in her lap. Her breathing is heavy—she's not sure why she just did that. Maybe it was because he looked so, so lost, so desperate. He still does, next to being confused. She smiles faintly—of course he's confused. She's supposed to be close to hating him. She should be scared. But he's just a human being, broken, trying to hold himself together.

Tate

He can’t look at her. He can’t look at anything. Without saying a word, he leaves. The door slams shut behind him.

Jael

She rubs her eyes to wipe away the tears that were coming and then falls back on the matress, staring at the ceiling. Maybe, if she acts as if she trusts him, he'll trust her... and then she might be able to escape.

Tate

'It's my life, Tate! It's my life! It's not my fault you don't have one, it's not my fault you don't have any friends and it's not my fault your life is miserable. Just--Just don't make it my problem. Just leave me the fuck alone!'
...
'Please, Macy, just... just drink the goddamn water. I'm bringing you home and then you can hate me tomorrow, when you're sober.'
...
'Stop trying to make my life as bad as yours!'
...
'I'm not, I'm--'
...
'Fuck you, Tate. Fuck you.'

He's just reading. He's just reading and then he's asleep and then he's not, then he's awake and all he knows is Macy, Macy Macy Macy Macy, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead. He's seeing her body, hearing her voice. Cracked words, slit throat. Macy.

Jael

She sleeps, wakes up, sleeps, cries, fights the urge to scream. It doesn't take much to make her feel like she lost every meaning of time.
Finally, when it gets dark, she sits straight up and rubs her eyes. She's craving for something to eat, so she slips out of the bed and goes take a look downstairs.
The house is quiet—too quiet. Maybe he's gone. Maybe he left the house and she could find a way to escape, to finally—
He's in the living room, curled up on the couch, sleeping. She sits down in the armchair next to the window and waits.

Tate

She’s there when he wakes up, in the armchair next to the window. He rolls onto his back, blinks, stares at the ceiling. He tries to breathe, feels dirty in his dried-up sweat, feels even dirtier in his own skin, with these hands that killed and these eyes that cried and these legs that were incapable of carrying him quick enough to have saved—
‘Dinner,’ he says, out of the blue, voice cracked and hoarse with sleep. ‘We can just—we can order pizza or Chinese takeout. I don’t—I don’t really cook. Mace—Macy used to do it, mostly. She—’

Jael

She shakes her head. "It's okay..." She gives him a faint smile, trying to calm him down. "I can cook, if you'd like." She stays there, in the chair, curled up, hugging her knees. "Do you have a picture of her?"

Tate

He’s always been more vulnerable when sleepy. He didn’t mean to open up to her, he didn’t mean to do this. He just nods, makes an affirmative noise, rolls over—and falls of the couch. He keeps laying there. ‘I’m alright,’ he groans. ‘I’m just going to lay here for a while. I’ll show you a picture later. Do your thing, there’s—there’s shit in the fridge.’

Jael

She bites her lower lip. "Are you sure you're alright?" she asks, her voice trembling. She now sits at the edge of the chair, ready to flee the room if he starts screaming at her or something like that.

Tate

'I am fantastic.'

Jael

She takes a deep breath. "Good to know," she bites, then raises from the chair and leaves the room.

Tate

'Thanks for your concern!' he yells, but he doesn't move. The floor is good. The floor is great.

Jael

She opens the fridge and looks in the cupboards and the pantry and decides to make pasta.
She turns the extractor on high so he can't hear a thing, makes sure the door is closed and gets the ingredients.

Tate

'Fucking hell,' he groans.

Jael

In forty-five minutes dinner is ready. She opens the door to the living room. "You can come eat," she says. Her voice is a bit raspy from crying and the skin around her eyes is red. She makes an unclear gesture towards the kitchen and then steps away.

Tate

He gets up with little finesse (elegance has never really been his forte) and just blindly follows his nose to the smell of pasta. 'God that smells good.'

Jael

"Thanks," she says, figuring it's a compliment. "I hope it tastes good too." She sits down at the table, same place as this morning. "Your name… It's not Hale, isn't it? Your nephew called you Tate."

is it*

i am very ashamed.

Tate

He smiles genuinely for the first time in her presence. 'Hale is my last name,' he says. 'I've been called that for the biggest part of my life. Isaac... My brother Mason just introduced me as Uncle Tate so it wouldn't confuse him, I guess.' He takes a bite, closes his eyes to enjoy her cooking skills. He nods quickly, as a compliment, says: 'No one ever called me Tate except for Macy... Even Vicki—Victoria, my other sister—just calls me Hale. It’s... A nickname my friends use, I guess.’

Jael

She nods, somehow calming down a bit when he smiles. It's only now she notices how good-looking he actually is—apart from the broken look in his eyes.
"I'll call you Hale, then," she decides. Though she doesn't consider herself a friend, she wouldn't want to rip open any wounds. She can sense his love for Macy goes deeper than just a brother and a sister. Macy was—still is—his everything.

By the way this is what Macy looked like if you were wondering. It's a selfie of Tate and Macy and it gives me fxcking feels.


Tate

'Yeah, thanks. I... um...' He looks for something else to say. 'Do you—do you have any siblings?' She hadn't talked of siblings when she asked him to notify her parents of her alive-ness, but that didn't really say anything, honestly.

Jael

She shakes her head. 'No, I'm an only child. My brother died when he wasn't even born. It's sort of a miracle I'm… you know, walking the earth. My mom wasn't supposed to get pregnant again.' She stares at the food on her plate. Her mom had been so happy. Jael had read the diary she wrote when pregnant of her, she'd read the entire thing. Her parents had been euphoric. And now they lost their child again.

Tate

'And now you're...' He sighed. 'I'm really sorry, Jael. Like I said, I—I never intended for you to get stuck in all this—this situation. I never wanted to take anything from you, or your parents or you friends, or anyone, for that matter. I—I'm sorry.'

Jael

'It's okay. I--I mean, it's…' She takes a deep breath. 'I'm coping.' She takes a bite, but the food tastes like nothing.

Tate

'You shouldn't—you shouldn't have to be coping. You shouldn't—be in this situation and I don't know how to make it right. It's—I'm sorry.' He pushes his food around on his plate, but doesn't take a bite.