Indelible • Tate Langdon

ii. silence

"Our impulses are too strong for our judgement, sometimes."
- Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D'uebervilles

It doesn't take long for me to realize I'd been a fool to think the weirdness would be contained to the first day at Casa De Harmon.

There's an icy silence between my aunt and uncle. I don't know if it's been this way since they lost the baby or if there's something more behind it, but it makes the breakfast table quite awkward.

The maid, with her milky white eye and quiet way, doesn't make things any less strange.

"So, a few ground rules," Ben pipes up between sips of his black coffee. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, knowing where it's all heading.

"While you're here, we have to take care of you the same way your father would. That means that your studies are still your responsibility and we expect you to keep on top of them, okay?"

I nod. That's easy enough. I've been enrolled in online classes at the local community college for over eight months, now; I didn't graduate early by not knowing how to handle my own work.

"You're seventeen, practically an adult. If you act like one, we'll be able to treat you like one," Aunt Viv adds gently. "Please don't take advantage of that."

I imagine that they sat down and meticulously formulated a conversational script to follow when they laid down these rules for me. It's all a bit unnecessary for a kid whose worst crime is the occasional cigarette and a less than full social calendar.

I don't drink, I don't do drugs, and I don't sleep around. It's a formula that makes for a boring teenaged girl but a parent's dream. When I tell my aunt and uncle they have nothing to worry about, I genuinely mean it.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Vivien smiles warmly at me. That warmth drains almost immediately when her gaze shifts to Ben.

"I'm going for a second interview at that law firm, Davis and Howard," she informs us all, "they seem pretty keen on hiring a new paralegal."

Ben nods as though it's an interesting tidbit, but he doesn't seem to be listening. There's something going on between these two and I know it must be about something more than the baby, but I also know it's none of my concern.

"I've got patients from eleven thirty until three," he fills in his obligatory response to the family agenda.

I catch myself wondering if Tate will be one of those patients and mentally scold myself for caring.

"I'm going to work on my paper for Western Civ," I offer lamely. I'm not completely certain what my contribution to the tense exchange is meant to be, if I'm meant to have one at all.

After another round of silence in which the only sound is the scraping of against plates, breakfast is over and Moira is clearing the table. Everyone disperses to their respective tasks.

For me, this means staring at an open word document on my laptop, the cursor blinking impatiently. My paper on the Peloponnesian War isn't going to write itself, but it's apparent that I'm not going to write it at the moment, either.

Bored, I grab a book and halfheartedly attempt to get into the plot. I make the mistake of wishing that something would shake up the monotony of being stuck in the house.

I don't realize it's a mistake until my heart is in my throat at the sight of someone standing in my room, again.

"Jesus Christ, will you stop doing that!" I hiss at Tate, slamming my book down on my bed. He laughs in response, giving me this goofy grin.

He's got the sort of face that makes me think he's probably charmed his way out of a lot of sticky situations. Even with his slouched posture and the purple that mars his pale skin just beneath his eyes, he just exudes a certain brand of arrogance.

I solemnly vow not to fall for it.

"You're pretty jumpy, aren't you?" he asks as he waltzes in sans invitation, taking a seat at my desk.

"I'm just not used to people committing breaking and entering on a daily basis," I shoot back with a frown.

He props his feet on my desk and laughs, rocking the chair onto its rear legs; he's too comfortable here for my own comfort.

"Oh, c'mon. Relax. I'm just early for my appointment," he says with a roll of his eyes. "Plus, I said I'd see you later, remember? It is later."

"What's your deal?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. "Why do you have to see Ben?"

I assume he has to. Almost everyone who sees him has to be there for one reason or another. They wouldn't keep coming back for more of his pearls of wisdom, otherwise.

A little harsh? Maybe. Ben just isn't a likeable guy in my estimation. The last person I knew who opted to talk to him regularly was Vivien, and that doesn't seem to be working out too well for her, either.

"Malignant psychopathic tendencies with homicidal ideations," he deadpans, letting the tension build before cracking a slow smile.

He earns another eyeroll for that one.

"Fine. Don't tell me," I huff at his clever little joke. "But what's the deal with you practically stalking me?"

"By textbook definition, stalking requires more than one episode of appearance that can't be explained by coincidence," he rattles off, showcasing just how many times he'd been inside a therapist's office.

"I've seen you twice now, by pure chance."

I don't know what his game is, can't figure out the rules or the end goal. On the surface, there's this unassuming kid with this shaggy mop of blonde hair who's all smiles, dimples, and these soulful dark eyes.

Beneath that... I can't quite name it, but there's something else. There has to be something else. No one ends up seeing a psychiatrist for the simple crime of being too charming.

I shouldn't want to know more and I certainly shouldn't indulge that curiosity; it's because I know this that the next words that tumble out from between my lips surprise even me.

"Then how about you do it later on purpose, when you're not two seconds away from getting banned from the house?"

My smirk says I'm aware of what I'm saying although I know I am anything but. In fact, it feels as though my insides have been drowned in every drop of adrenaline my body can produce, my brain keenly interested in just what the hell I could be thinking.

I, as a rule, don't do social activities. I especially do not when they concern psychiatric patients I'm unfamiliar with. But apparently, I'm willing to make an exception, just once.

"Sure, sounds good. After my appointment," Tate grins and nods enthusiastically.

I have no idea what sort of trouble I've gotten myself into.