Alicia Spencer, was batshit crazy—-Insane, that was all the young blonde could think about. Impossible, improbable, bewildered and just deranged! This was ludicrous, but the weeping sound on the phone made him feel noxious, nauseated and Tate took the first plane over from L.A.
Calm and collect, he was nothing more than the gentleman he knew to be, raised with his head held high and the family’s dark secret weighing down on his back, making his spine bend and break as he moved. The closer Tate seemed to come back to his home town, back where he left his brother, his mother and the block of kids he grew up with… A thick lump burns in his throat, and Tate can’t look out the window to enjoy the rich history painted on the streets.
N e w O r l e a n s.
Paid the cabby who continued down the road, the distant fading music of the jazz he had flicked on the radio, the ride there. It was early in the morning, Tate clutched his single duffel bag tighter in hand and opened the screen door, welcoming himself into the simple hell hole.
“How the fuck do you lose a half-grown ass man? Seriously.”
Tate was the absolute farthest thing from impressed with her, arms crossed and his bag had been left unattended to by the door, the rude awakening was nothing less than necessary, Tate never felt any kind of sympathy towards her. He had barged in and shook the couch until she burst up arms swatting, she was probably scared it was the police raiding for drugs. It wouldn’t surprise him much.
The house reeked of pot and god knows what else, it clung to the walls and it looked filthy.
“Why do you only call me when you’re high, Alicia.” His voice echos to the living room as Tate brushes past, groaning with his head tipping back. “If I find him in his dorm, I swear to god I’m going to fucking freak out.” This was the first time she called him in a worry that Kyle was apparently missing but, once was enough. Tate didn’t take too kindly to the woman that birthed him and his brother.
Tate pushes open Kyle’s old room, sighing while he leans in the door way, staring at the single bed and the books near by, Tate presses his cheek against the frame and furrows his brows, mumbling soft nothings under his breath “Where are you man….”
