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Tate Langdon (
2016-07-05 02:09 am (UTC)
Three volumes of a set of books are uprooted from their spot on a wall-sized book case, and they find themselves tumbling viciously across the room, pages fluttering and sighing like the wings of a duck shot out of the air.
"Why are you screwing with me?! Why are you trying to fuck this up for me?!"
The rug underneath Tate's feet stifles his angrily pacing feet as he stomps across the home office space. Ben stands at the opposite corner near the glass-pane doors, with at least a low table and one armchair keeping him somewhat safe from the younger boy's boiling rage.
"You're the one playing games with Doctor Lecter, Tate," Ben insists in a low, firm voice that wavers on the edges. "And you're putting him at risk of danger by bringing Constance into the mix--"
"Are you kidding me?" Tate wails, grimacing as if in pain; the tears welling in his eyes finally breach the border of his lids and cut glassy streams down his cheeks. "I didn't bring her into this! She always sticks her nose in other people's shit! I die in this shithole and she refuses to leave me be -- how the fuck is that my fault?"
Ben closes his eyes, takes a grounding breath over his frown. "How thick is that skull of yours? I watch you week after week sit there and play the part of the sad little troubled boy that got hurt by everyone else, watch you tip toe around truths to manipulate him into feeling sorry for you--"
He has to dodge another couple of reference books that go airborne in time with Tate's hands jumping up into his hair in frustration; they're not directly aimed at him, but they barely miss his knees and ankles.
"I swear to God," Tate groans through his tears. "It's like you fucking snoozed through everything we ever talked about. Fear of rejection, right? Right? You gave up on me. Violet left me. Everyone shut me out in this house and you all got to kiss and make up and get to be the happy fucking family and forgive each other, but when I wanna try and make it right with any of you? You spit in my face."
Ben tries not to roll his eyes, and instead he forces them to stare down at the floor. Tate pants for breath between words.
"I don't get to have a family, Doctor Harmon. I wasn't lying: I tried so fucking hard. Nora, she wanted a baby. I tried to save Violet's life. Then, when I refused Nora your baby, it was for you and Vivien. Not me. It was never for me."
It has been suggested to Tate that he grew obsessive immediately over the 'positive forces' in his life...and he won't deny that. After being starved of something for so long, he couldn't help but try to gorge himself on it. Hard to Ben to see Tate's side, though: his wife was raped, his daughter committed suicide, and he still remembers getting attacked and knocked out in his bedroom.
"Tate...you did awful things, and you need to understand that some of those things can't just be forgiven immediately just because you're sorry. You hurt us. And some of those things were so terrible that there may not be any chance of forgiveness for all of them."
"Fuck off!" Tate whines as a sob strains his chest. "I'm done trying to make it up to you! I'll wait for Violet forever if that's what it takes, I don't care. I want to get better, she deserves better. I want to give her that.
"But I'm fucking done with you. You left me alone to rot in this house because you didn't wanna deal with my shit anymore, and then I try to make a connection to someone again, someone who can actually show me how to get better, and you...you wanna fuck with that? It's...it's not enough that I suffer on my own? You gotta twist the knife too? Who the hell are you? If you wanna have nothing to do with me, then why are you trying to keep me from getting help? You're fucking twisted, man. Does it, like, amuse you to see me suffer or something?"
Ben huffs a soft, sardonic laugh, as if this whole thing is some sad joke. "Tate, you really don't see yourself, do you? How are you going to get better when you can't even let Violet go?"
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