pinky promise - jamie tartt

‟ NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU „

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

"What the fuck did you do to Tartt?"

Roy's words as he stormed into her office made Tate jump, and though she knew wholeheartedly that he did not mean them in the way she interpreted them, tears sprung to her eyes.

"Oh, fuck. Not you too." Roy groaned as he watched Tate's face scrunch in sorrow before the first first sob fell past her lips. Despite his perceived annoyance, Roy opened his arms wide, and Tate wasted no time in standing from her chair and falling into the embrace. "You guys didn't break up, did you, because I'll—"

"No, God, no," She shook her head, silently glad that Roy wore black at all times so she didn't have to worry about her eye makeup staining his shirt. "But you've noticed something's wrong with Jamie, too."

"He's all over the fucking place. Moping, whining, crying." Roy told her, only serving to worsen the feeling of guilt that was constantly and slowly building in the pit of her stomach since Rebecca had sworn her to secrecy. "You know why he's acting like this?"

"Yeah," She choked out, nodding, and Roy pulled back from the embrace to look her like the stern, doting uncle that he was.

"Are you going to fucking tell me?"

"No, no." She gasped, shaking her head with her chin tilted high to try and convince the tears to stop flowing. "I can't tell him, and I can't tell you, but it's my fault. And maybe it's also because we're going to Manchester tomorrow and Jamie hasn't been back since the night with his dad, but he knows I'm keeping something from him."

"Fucking hell,"

"And I promised I wouldn't say anything but I didn't think that he would be so upset," Tate drew in a shaky breath, her bottom lip caught between her teeth to stop her rambling, just one more piece of evidence to prove that Tatum Greene was not okay. "I don't know what to do, or to say, because I can't tell him."

"I'll..." Roy trailed off, clearly not happy with what he was about to say. But then he studied the emotion on Tate's face, and she watched the determination cross his features. "I'll figure it out."

Tate nodded, still frowning, and held her breath the entire way back to her desk chair in an effort to stop her tears. Only once she was seated did she exhale, slumped forward on her desk's top with her head in her hands and an exhausted slump to her shoulders.

"It's my fault," She mumbled once more, just for good measure.

Her Jamie was hurting, and she was the cause.

「☺ ☺ ☺ 」

The hotel room was silent as Tate and Jamie unpacked their belongings for the short stay, but not for lack of trying.

Every time she tried to open her mouth to say something, Jamie did the same, their words clashing together until they both were stammering and no one was really saying anything. It was the most uncomfortable Tate had ever felt around Jamie, and she absolutely hated it, because somehow things had been easier when he was a prick and she couldn't stand him.

"So—"

"Do you—"

Tate cut herself off, face flushing bright as she lifted her suitcase onto her bed. The awkwardness had only grown when Jamie had unlocked the hotel room earlier and found two twin beds—which meant they would have to sleep separately, only furthering the divide between them.

"Fucking hell," Jamie mumbled, more so to himself than anything else. Tate bit her bottom lip, practically buzzing with nerves. Since when had she been so unable to function without Jamie looking at her with nothing but adoration and love in his eyes?