She actually drank the bar out of Jack Daniel's, so she made her way towards the kitchen in search of more. Jameson usually kept some stocked for her. She wanted to get comfortably numb so she could pass out in the guest house, then hitchhike home in the morning, where she could cry until she died. Sounded like a great plan.

She turned in to the kitchen, and then backed up so quickly, she rammed in to the door jam, ricocheted off, and nearly fell in to the hall. She scooted behind the frame, and then peeked in to the kitchen. Jameson was standing with his back to her, head down, both hands resting flat on the counter. A tall, exceptionally beautiful brunette stood next to him. She was speaking softly in what sounded like German. He shook his head occasionally, murmuring things back in the same language.

I didn't know he spoke German. That could've been hot – dirty talk in another language.

When Pet leaned in close to him, pressed her front to his back and whispered in his ear, Tate couldn't take it anymore. She had imagined Jameson in all sorts of positions with women, but never simple, affectionate ones. It was too much. She choked on a sob and stumbled away.

There was a half drunken bottle of Jack in the library, from their long ago last night together. Tate grabbed it and dragged herself upstairs. She wasn't entirely sure of what her plan was, till she was standing outside Sanders' door. She just wanted the pain to stop. She wanted to be numb.

Xanax.

She walked in to his room. It was a huge space, almost bigger than Jameson's room. She headed straight for the bathroom, began yanking open drawers and rummaging through them. She found the pills in a bottom drawer, clearly labeled. It took her a while to get the stupid childproof lid off, but she did it. She chugged some whiskey in to her mouth and popped in two pills. She didn't want to overdue it – she didn't have a death wish. She just wanted to feel still. Quiet. She swallowed everything and dropped her head back, sighing. She stood that way for several minutes, letting a calm fall over her.

“I knew you were a good time girl, but I had no idea you were this wild,” someone chuckled from the doorway. She didn't lift her head, just rolled it towards the voice. What's-his-name. Dunn. Jameson's partner. Wensle-waddle-whatever Dunn.

“I'm wilder than you can even imagine,” Tate whispered at him. He scooted closer so they were both crowded in to the bathroom's doorway.

“Sounds like a good time. Would you like to have a good time?” he asked. She laughed.

“Sorry. I think I've had enough good times to last me a lifetime,” she replied, finally turning to face him.

“Pity. I think we could be really good together. Jameson told me about you,” he told her. She lifted an eyebrow.

“Did he now,” she replied softly.

“Yeah. Told me how you like things a little crazy. A lot rough. Now that Pet's back in the picture, I thought you might need someone else to, uh ..., provide those things for you,” Dunn said.

“He told you that,” she whispered.

Tate was offended, but it was slipping away. The xanax was taking control. She didn't really care. Jameson thought she was a whore. Jameson broke his promise. Jameson set up an elaborate plan to cruelly humiliate her. What was one more log on the fire? Jameson told all his friends what a deviant freak she was in bed.

I just don't care.

“So. I think, that, we could have a really fun time together, you and I. I might even be better than Jameson,” Dunn teased.

No one is better than Jameson.

“Sure,” she blurted out. Dunn looked surprised.

“Seriously?” he checked.

“I just got dumped tonight, right? Very publicly. What could be better than a revenge fuck? Sounds like a plan, let's suit up,” Tate laughed. Dunn's hands went to his belt buckle, started pulling it apart.

Her stomach dipped to the right and she wondered if she would vomit. Hoped she vomited on Dunn. She felt like she was standing outside of herself. She swayed back and forth, wondered if that would help her find her ghost.

I want Ang. Where's Ang?

“So just how rough do you like it, baby?” the guy growled at her, working his pants down his hips. Tate laughed again. It was hollow sounding. Alien. She glanced around. Who was laughing?

“Hit me with your best shot,” she chuckled.

He backhanded her so hard that she spun around and her head crashed in to the mirror, breaking it.

That's definitely gonna leave a mark.

She groaned, not even sure what the fuck was going on, when he grabbed the back of her dress and slammed her flat against the granite sink top. She let out a cry as her jaw smacked down hard.

Okay, there's rough, and then there's rough. I may not be boss-bitch enough for this.

“You're so fucking hot. I knew the first time I saw you, I had to fuck you. So fucking hot,” Dunn groaned, clawing at her underwear and dragging it down her legs.

Maybe this isn't a really super good idea.

“Wait, wait,” she mumbled. Her tongue felt heavy and thick.

“You're gonna love this, I promise,” he grunted, pushing her dress out of the way. She tried to push away from the counter, but her movements were slow and clumsy.

“Wait, I don't want -,”

Tate cried out as he pushed inside of her. She wasn't exactly prepared for sex, and Mr. Dunn apparently wasn't interested in foreplay. It was rough, and it hurt. She gripped onto the edge of the sink and bit down on her tongue so hard, she tasted blood. She wanted to say stop, but every time she opened her mouth, only a sob came out. A piece of mirror was biting in to her cheek and she ground her face down harder, welcoming the pain. But then, suddenly, she was being pulled backwards.