STUCK (Tate Langdon x Y/N)

you have to get out.

Christmas, 1993.

"Ladies and gentleman, the ham." Constance said, bringing it over to the table, hearing woos and seeing smiles.

"Looks lovely." Tate said, a nice comment towards his mother for once, it confused me.

"Now who wants to say grace?" Constance asked the family.

"Oh, mother may I?" Tate said kindly.

"We'll of course, son." Larry interrupted, "I was hoping you would choose to become a part of this family."

Tate smiled, as they all joined hands.

"Dear God, thank you for the salty pig meat we're about to eat, along with the rest of the indigestible swill." he said while Constance gave him a glare.

"And thank you for our new charade of a family. My father ran away when I was only six, and if I knew any better I would have joined him." he said, and Constance slapped his hand, he continued.

"And also because she's been trying to get back into this house ever since she lost him, Lord, a big thank you for blinding the asshole that's doing my mother, so that he can't see what everybody knows. She doesn't really love him."

"Amen!" Addy said happily, and Tate smiled.

"Now, Tate." Larry began, "I know you've had a hard time making the adjustment, with all the recent changes- moving back in here after the tragedy my own family went through."

Tate looked at him like he was stupid, "They burned themselves alive after you were cheating on your wife with Constance, Lawrence."

"It was..." Larry stuttered, "that was nobody's fault. Passion drove her to it. One day you'll understand. There are sacrifices you have to make in the name of love, on a lighter note. I have reserved tickets for everybody, for Saturday at our community theatre for the opening night of Brigadoon."

"Yay! I love the theatre!" Addy said, with a huge smile.

"DON'T ADDY!" Tate yelled, punching and shattering his plate, "You're a smart girl, you KNOW he killed our brother!"

Constance interrupted, "Stop it! Beau died in his slumber, of natural causes. Now you know he had a respiratory ailment. Your brothers in a better place, he suffered with every breath that he took!"

"He only suffered because of you!" Tate yelled back.

"You know, Tate. Unlike your siblings, you were graced with so many gifts. How is it that you can't bring yourself to use them? Just a smile, or a kind word, could open the gates to heaven."

Tate was visibly upset, but smiled and her and said,

"No matter how much you want it... I will never be your perfect son." He pushed his chair out and took off.

Well that was a little crazy, but Constance is noticing it too. His odd behaviour. I feel so bad for him, that this is what he has to put up with. Larry isn't helping either, making everything about himself all the time. Tate, he's getting worse. I didn't think I'd be able to say that he's getting worse, but I saw what he did today, shattering the plate over a minor disagreement.

It's unfair to him, Constance pities him for getting good looks, good mind and all, but when he does try and speak his mind he gets diminished and deemed as selfish. But every little thing is starting to make him mad, more gas is being added to that fire inside of him, and I know that I have to get him out of this house. As I walked up the stairs I heard agitated footsteps and a voice that I knew all too well.

"Where is she?" the voice said.

It was Tate.

"Answer me, where are you?" he said angrily, "ANSWER ME, Y/N!" The fact I wasn't coming to him was making him angrier.

I couldn't let him see me, I had to make sure he got out of here. If he sees me again he's not gonna want to leave. I walked past him and into his bedroom as he walked around the house.

Let's just say it wasn't clean, the bed wasn't made, shoes thrown across the floor, the sweater he wore when I met him hanging across his laundry basket. I decided to clean it for him quickly as he was gone, I could hear another argument starting downstairs, I can just tell the next few weeks aren't gonna go well. As I tidied things, I realised he had a chalk board on the wall, and I had an idea. Although I couldn't allow him to speak to me properly, I knew I had to communicate with him in some way.

I walked over to it slowly and examined the piece of chalk. I picked it up and began writing.

I'm sorry, Tate. You have to get out.