Page 23 of Insatiable

“We need to discuss this,” I say to the rearview mirror, but she shakes her head no. I don’t want to argue but the temperature in the car is blazing, and we are one disagreement away from an eruption. None of us thinks this is a good idea.

“Detective Jones, how do we set a trap?” Tate asks and all I can do is grip the steering wheel as I follow the GPS to her house. Detective Jones tells Tate he needs to make some calls and he will get back to us. None of us say a word. There is no music or laughter, all of us are lost in our own thoughts as we finally turn down the picturesque street to Tate’s home. Big palm trees with huge green leaves rise high into the sky casting massive shadows on the street and lawns below. Houses of various shapes, sizes, and colors line the road; it’s definitely not the cookie cutter homes of suburban living. Casita style homes, or single-family remodels, and two-story architectural creations sit next to one another. This is an expensive area in Los Angeles to live in and I am so fucking proud of Tate. She did all of this on her own. She is a force. Her career, the people she’s worked with, the places she’s been, that was all her. She should never think she is undeserving of anything in this world. I plan on reminding her of that for the rest of my life if she lets me. James was a leech. He gave nothing in their relationship, and I am suddenly furious at Cace, Jay, and myself for not coming to her sooner. I know I am being irrational because we all had our own lives and issues that prevented us from doing so but still. We could have prevented this.

“Home sweet, home,” Tate finally says as I slowly pull into the driveway. Putting the SUV in park we sit in the car, and no one moves to exit.

“If you don’t want to do this—”

“Either way, it needs to be done.” I know that she is referencing both situations, but she doesn’t say more. Her mind is made up. Tate opens the door and closes it behind her. She doesn’t wait for any of us as she tentatively walks up the rest of the drive.

“This is not a good idea. I don’t want her to get hurt. Even with a plan there is no guarantee,” I say to Cace and Jay.

“What did we say we would do?” Cace opens his door and sticks his leg out to get out.

“We said we would follow her lead,” Jay says from the front seat. He opens his door gets up and jogs over to Tate. I don’t want to take any chances with Tate, but I don’t want to undermine her decisions either.

“Then we will follow her lead.” I don’t have a good feeling about any of this, but if the Detectives can make this work and the end result is James’s capture, then we will be a few steps closer to happiness.

All the money in the world can’t make this right. Nothing I can offer her will ever replace what she’s lost. We all have things we are proud of, things we cherish most, and things that make us get out of bed in the morning. For some of us it’s our careers, our families, or something we’ve worked tirelessly for. For Tate, it was this home. I could buy her several of these, pull her out of the front door and away from all of this and create something new. For her, for all of us. I have tried these past few days to play down my wealth because I don’t want to add to the insecurities she already has. Tate is proud and she should be. I can’t slam money on the table and disrespect what she built on her own. That’s like signing my own walking papers, and I am not ready to leave. So, I stand behind her like the pillar of strength she needs while she stands transfixed in the entrance of her home. My eyes are unfortunately trained on the blood stains soaked into the parquet wood flooring. Why hadn’t someone done a better job of cleaning this up? I guess it’s not the police’s job to take care of something like this for her, and with Tate in a coma, and no family, who was going to clean it up for her? I feel useless.

“What can I do?” I ask, placing my hands on her shoulders in support.

“I’m alive. The blood is on the floor. It can be cleaned. I can step over it. I’m alive.” Tate sounds like she’s reciting a mantra, psyching herself up to face the rest of her home. Stepping over the blood she reaches her hand behind her, and I lace our fingers together, my heart swells as I follow her. If my presence is all she needs to help her get through this, then I will gladly hold on.

The interior is light and airy, pale grey walls with crisp white molding. The living room is off to the left divided by a circular archway, Tate pauses briefly, taking a deep inhalation of breath. The room was destroyed. Stuffing from her dark blue couches is scattered all around the room. Something sharp had ripped through her paintings on the walls, her potted plants were dead, they were overturned spilling soil onto her cream carpets. I pull Tate to my chest, her back to my front as her hands begin to shake. I can tell she is struggling but still takes a step towards the room

“My books, my books,” is all she mutters in response to the chaos before us. In the center of the room was all of her hard cover and paperback books, piled high, like James was going to create a bonfire in the middle of the room. Instead of flames though, the books were soaked with what looks like loads of water. The smell of wet damp paper with a hint of mildew has already begun to permeate the room.

“This was unnecessary, pure and simple.” Tate tsks in disgust and turns away. She pulls me further into the house, and we make a right down a hallway with multiple open doors. The first room must have been Tate’s workroom. A large platform table sits in the middle of the room, all along the wall are various shelves of equipment and fabric rolls, all pulled out and empty on the floor. Framed costume designs hang half off the walls, some were cracked and broken.

“No!” Tate cries as she walks further into the room, leaving me in the doorway. She steps over the mess and slowly runs her hand over an old sewing machine that is built into its own table. From the look of it, I know it was priceless and something she loved dearly. She sits down at the table and hangs her head, crying softly.

“This was my grandmother’s,” she says, wiping angrily at a tear that had managed to fall. “He knew that. This is my livelihood. All of my ongoing projects were in this room.” She wipes away more tears. The hurt on her face is killing me. Tate sits at the table for a few short moments. I shove my hands in my pockets, not knowing what to say to make it better. There is nothing I can say, all I can do is wait. When she’s ready to tell me what she needs, I will move heaven and earth to make it happen.

Slowly she makes her way out of her workroom, pausing for just a moment to pull some paperwork from two thick books on her shelf. She clutches the paperwork to her chest and blows out a breath. I don’t ask her what it is as she folds up the papers and stuffs them inside her bra. I quirk my brow at her, but she gives nothing away, passing me quickly she reaches for my hand and pulls me towards what looks like a guest room, and to my surprise it was left untouched. The crisp white sheets were tucked neatly into the bed, and the pillows were fluffed. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust in sight. It looks like a museum. I am waiting for someone to come out and place us behind a velvet rope as I look at the brand-new furniture intricately placed around the room. I want to ask if she thought James came in here, dusted and cleaned it to spite her. It even smelled fresher in here.

“Figures. The only room in the house that he had a hand in decorating. We never had guests, this room was never used and yet he didn’t destroy it. Thank God I wasn’t a fool enough to remove my implant . . . if we’d had children.” She visibly shudders. “I dodged that bullet at least.” Her words are hollow, and I can feel her closing herself off with each room we go into. I don’t want to think of her having children with another man. Especially not this psycho, but if she wants children one day, I will give them to her gladly.

“Tatter-tot, do you want to take a break, baby? It’s a disaster in here,” I ask suggestively. I’ve seen enough. This isn’t my place, yet I can’t stand to look at it any longer.

“The outside is fine,” Cace calls out from somewhere else in the house. I can hear his footsteps as he makes his way toward us.

“Tay, sweetheart—”

“Look, if you want to leave me while I survey the damage, feel free to stand outside. I need to see it. Don’t you understand I need to see what he’s done?” She storms down the hall passing a massive bathroom. Cace and I don’t follow right away until we hear her scream in anger. Running the short distance, we both stand in the doorway, my mouth falls open as I watch Tate tear her room apart. The four-poster bed sits in the middle of the room. Tate stands in the center of the bed, pulling down the sheer drapes neatly tied to the posts, kicking and throwing the neatly stacked pillows. Dropping to her knees she pulls off the covers off until the mattress is bare. Turning to the side tables next to the bed, she picks up the brass lamp and starts breaking anything it touches.

“We should stop this,” Cace whispers to me as I hold my arm out to block him. If this is what she needs to do, then who are we to take this from her.

“This is hers, let her purge these demons. Something is making her do it, so let her do it,” I whisper back.

“He slept with her in my bed, in this room. How many fucking times? She was so comfortable coming in here. I worked hard for every single thing in this house. He didn’t help me. I sacrificed! Blood, sweat, and tons of tears to get here. Did he do this because I didn’t die? Well, fuck you, James! I didn’t die. You are a lying, two-timing, piece of shit. You didn’t have a pot to piss in let alone a window to chuck it out of before you met me—” she takes a breath for a moment before she continues, “—what, you came back here and decided to throw a tantrum. Fucking psycho, petulant child! How dare you disrespect me . . . I-wish-he-was-dead!” Tate rants incoherently, she screams and rages, and we stand there, and we wait. Because what else can we do?

Sean’s finds us in the doorway, looking over our shoulders as we keep watch. “I gave him everything! Everything!” She swings the brass lamp, hitting a picture of her and James, it crashes to the floor. I decide to play along, grabbing a scented candle from the dresser against wall by the door.

“Batter up, Tate!” I yell to her just in time for her to look and swing the lamp and hit the candle. She hit it so hard the damn thing embedded itself into the wall. Cace elbows me in the side. “I’m helping her.” I shrug with a smile. “Like I said before, let her fucking rage. She needs this, Cace.” I lock eyes with him and stare him down, I know he wants to say more but he doesn’t get a chance.

“Heads up!” Sean says as a glass figurine comes barreling our way. It hits the wall and shatters, none of us says another word as we take a step back away from the door. Glass flies everywhere as she continues to break shit, until finally she stops. Tate’s chest is heaving, tears run down her face, and she collapses on an ottoman at the foot of her bed. The lamp falls out of her hand, rolling across the floor and the entire house goes silent. I take a step toward her, but it is Cace’s turn to stop me. He shakes his head no and I go no further. Tate wipes her eyes and blows out a long breath before she finally looks up at us.

“I don’t want to see anymore. I might as well demolish this place. It’s a tomb. It’s been a tomb for a long time, and I kept trying to make it something it wasn’t.” She laughs bitterly and my heart breaks for the woman I love. “This wasn’t a home. It was a way station to somewhere else. I needed to see it, to see his physical embodiment of hatred toward me. James's destruction of my home is all I need to know about him. Hell, he can’t even get over the fact that he didn’t kill me. I don’t need to see the blood on the walls in the kitchen to get the message. It’s clear all over this house.” Tate stands and we open up a space between us as she walks past.