“You know how I feel about her, what she did to me. You're my best friend. Why did it have to be her?” Tate sniffled in a small voice. Ang's face went from angry to heart broken in an instant, but it was Ellie who stepped forward.

“Tatum, he didn't do it on purpose – we didn't. Really. And we kept trying to stop, but ..., we just couldn't,” she tried to explain. Tate glared at her.

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” she hissed.

“Tate, just chill out and let's -,”

Knock knock knock.

Jameson stood in the open doorway. Perfect. Tate cut her eyes to him for a moment, and then looked back at Ang. He looked equal parts guilty and angry. To be called out by Tate was one thing, but to be called out in front of the devil was quite another.

“You should really keep your door shut,” Jameson's cool voice rang through the room.

“I don't want him here, not now,” Ang's voice was cold and ominous as he stared hard at her. Tate gripped the umbrella between two hands and licked her lips.

“Give us a minute,” she said as Jameson made his way into the suite, shutting the door behind him.

“This looks far too exciting to walk away from. What's going on in here?” Jameson asked, his eyes looking over the messed up furniture, the umbrella in Tate's hand, Ang's state of undress. He stopped when he got to Ellie's disheveled form, and he narrowed his eyes, smiling.

“Get the fuck out of my room!” Ang roared. Jameson raised one eyebrow, but appeared otherwise unruffled by the outburst.

“Your room? I believe my name is on the bill,” Jameson pointed out. Ang's whole body turned red.

“I don't have to take your shit, Satan,” he snapped. Jameson laughed; a dark, evil sound.

“You'll take anything I decide to serve you, Angier,” he growled back.

“That's it, I'm gonna -,” Ang started to swear and stalk across the floor. Tate shrieked and waved the umbrella up and down in between them.

“Stop it! Everyone just shut the fuck up! You and I used to have sex all the time, you're my best friend, and you fucked my sister, the person who tried to ruin my life!” she screamed at Ang. Everyone went completely still. Except for Jameson. He kept smiling. She swung the umbrella around and pointed it at him. “And you! You're the one who planned all of this! You get some sick, weird, pleasure out of fucking with my head! So fuck off!” At last, she swung the umbrella to her sister. “And you! Maybe think of someone else, instead of yourself, for one goddamn fucking second!”

Tate was shaking by the end of her tantrum. She was positive her face was beet red, and had no doubt that she looked full-on crazy. Both Jameson and Ang stepped forward, reaching out for her. She shrieked and swung the umbrella wide, causing them to jump back. She took the opportunity to scurry out of the room, down the hall, and into her own suite. She marched right into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her, as hard as she could.

God, I'm like an eight year old. So pathetic.

She slid to the floor, squeezing herself in between the toilet and the bath tub. The umbrella clattered to the floor. She felt crazy. Ang and Ellie. Sure, her feud with her sister was over and they had made sort-of-peace – but it didn't change the fact that for a large chunk of her life, Ellie had been a raging bitch. She had made Tate's life a living hell while growing up, and then just one night. One horrible, young, thoughtless mistake, and Ellie ran Tate out of her home. Away from her family. Sure, Tate liked the way her life had turned out, but it still hurt. It never stopped hurting. Her father still wouldn't talk to her. And Ang knew all of this, knew what Tate had been through because of her sister, knew how much it still upset her – and he'd still had sex with Ellie. Then lied about it, for two months.

Not. Okay. It was like a best girl friend sleeping with an evil ex. Horrible.

And Jameson. Jameson. He had to have known Ang was bringing Ellie. He had to – he had chartered the private plane. He had done this on purpose. To make Tate crazy. To drive a wedge between her and Ang. To rip her apart a little. He would do anything, to be in charge. All his sweet words. Lies. He had brought them there, he had to have known. Well, not him entirely. Sanders had made all the reservations. God, did Sanders know!? Tate started crying harder.

She felt betrayed, by everyone. How could Ang go two and a half months, and not say anything!? All those phones calls, all those times he had bailed on her; he had been sneaking off to see Ellie – ditching Tate for Ellie. So many opportunities to say something.

That's what hurt the most. More than him picking Ellie of all people to date, was him keeping it a secret for so long. Despite everything that had happened, Tate had thought they were closer than that; she still told him everything about Satan. She thought he would have returned the favor. Apparently, she had thought wrong.

Just like always, stupid girl.

“Tatum, open the door,” Jameson's voice was loud. She shook her head.

“Just go away,” she sighed, pressing her face into her knees. He banged against the door.

“Open the door,” he demanded.

“I want to go home,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her legs.

“I am going to count to three, and then I am coming in there, whether you like it or not,” he warned her.

“Please. Just let me go,” she was barely breathing, her lips hardly moving.

There was silence for a second, then a loud crack. The door flung wide open, bounced off the wall. Tate could hear him striding into the room, but she didn't look up. He grabbed her wrists, pulled her up so she was standing. She was waiting for him to tell her to shut up, to calm the fuck down. But he didn't. He pulled her into him, wrapped his arms around her.