Apparently he has a big fucking clue. You're as subtle as a baseball bat to the head, you dumb bitch.

“What do you mean?” Tate asked, trying to feign innocence.

“You're wearing your titty-mcgee shirt, flirting like it's an Olympic sport, and smiling like some creepy doll. What the fuck is going on?” Ang demanded. She swallowed thickly, shaking her head.

“Nothing, I don't know what -,”

“We have met, you know. Sometimes I think you don't realize that. I know you, bitch. I know what's normal, and what's not normal. And the way you've been acting lately, I'm pretty sure you couldn't even spell 'normal' if I asked you to,” he stated.

Something snapped. She almost thought she could hear it, her sanity breaking. Echoing between her ears.

“You obviously don't know me that well,” she said in a loud voice. Ang's eyebrows shot up.

“Excuse me? Tate, I've known you for almost six years. We practically see each other every day. I'd say I know you pretty well,” he countered.

“But not well enough to know when I'm pissed the fuck off.”

“You're pissed off?” he clarified.

“Yes.”

“About what?”

“I'm pissed that you're a complete asshole,” she blurted out.

See. There's that filter problem again. Maybe you should see a doctor about it.

“Me!?” he exclaimed, pointing at himself. She nodded.

“Yes. A huge asshole. And that makes me mad. Like, so mad ... I can't ... I want ... you ...,” she began breathing hard, waving her hand as she searched for words.

“What did I do!? Is this cause I wouldn't fuck you!?” he demanded. Several tables turned to look at them.

She had gone too far. Couldn't pull back now. She had finally hit the bottom of the rabbit hole.

One sip makes you big, and one makes you small. One makes you sane, and one makes you crazy. Time to make a choice.

“No, no, that's not it,” she replied, nervously running her hands through her hair. Cold hearted revenge had been on the menu, not frank honesty. She wasn't quite ready for this meal.

“Then what the fuck did I do!?” he threw his hands up. She took a deep breath. Tried to imagine Sanders' voice, telling her what to do. Telling her to just say everything.

“You. Ellie. I am not okay with this,” Tate breathed quickly.

“You're still upset about that!?” Ang all but shouted.

“Yes.”

“But ..., when we were on the plane! You cried! You said it was okay!” he reminded her, a bewildered look in his eye. She nodded.

“I know. I lied.”

“Why!?”

“Because, I wanted to hurt you back,” she mumbled, looking down at the table. He leaned forward.

“I'm sorry. Wait. Back up. Please explain exactly, what the fuck, you're talking about,” he told her. She took another deep breath.

Just say it. Get rid of the poison. Word-vomit it up.

“I was so mad at you. I felt ..., lied to, and betrayed. Why her!? I mean, I know, I can't tell you who to sleep with and who not to, and the heart wants what it wants, all that bullshit, and I can't stop you, but why her!? You knew how I felt about her, but you did it anyway. I couldn't ..., I couldn't believe it. Not from you. I always thought you were better than me, better than him,” she laid it all out.

“Do not compare me to him,” Ang's voice was hard.

“I'm not. But in that moment, you didn't seem a whole lot better,” she whispered.

“Jesus, Tate, we've been back for a month, and you've been keeping this bottled up? The whole time? The three of us have been to dinner, for god's sake,” he pointed out. She cringed.

Yeah, and I wore a low-cut top and you stared at my tits and I thought her head was going to explode. Stupid boy.

“Sorry. Sanders has been bugging me to talk to you. I just ... I had it my head ... I wanted ...,” she let her voice trail off. It should have been enough, finally admitting out loud that she was upset. But her guilt was suddenly making itself known, knocking at the door to her conscience.

Helloooooo, you're a vile, evil bitch, and you owe it to him to tell him! Remember that swimming pool, hmmm!?

“Sanders knows about this, but I don't!? You talk to that fucking weirdo about our shit?” Ang snapped. She cut her eyes to him.

“Do not talk about him like that. Sanders is the best goddamn person I've ever met, in my entire life, and neither of us are even worthy of knowing him. Call him another fucking name, and I'll stab you with this fork,” she threatened him, holding up said fork.

“Christ, you have gone crazy.”

“Keep talking shit, and I'll show you crazy.”

Ang burst out laughing, and she eventually followed suit. Stab him with a fork!? Up until a month ago, she had never so much as hit anybody. Now she was brandishing flatware as weaponry.

I have gone crazy.

“I shouldn't have said that, Sanders is awesome. I'm just mad. You used to tell me all your secrets,” Ang sighed. She nodded.

“I know. I always tell you everything, hence why you should've known that fucking my sister would probably piss me off. You're my best friend with whom I've had sex with on multiple occasions. I've hated her for most of my life. What kind of sad, daytime soap opera were you trying to recreate?” she asked.