Bad Things(117)

I could smell the pot smoke in the air the second we got in the door, and someone was actually snorting coke off a table in a room just right of the entrance, fully visible from the front door.

I was so over it.

All of that was bad enough, but about ten minutes in, as we made our way through the crowd, looking for Jared or Frankie or Cory or Kenny, I spotted my ex. Not Daryl the Dickhead. The other one. Patrick. The one that hadn’t been a complete dickhead, though I’d dumped him anyway. He’d gotten too heavy into drugs for me to deal. And I’d fallen out of love with him. Though now that I’d found what I’d found with Tristan, and felt this crazy, out of control thing in my chest every second of the day, I had to admit that I hadn’t fallen out of love, I’d just never fallen in.

I had a strange epiphany as I stared at Patrick’s profile. I’d called it love, and looked for love, because that’s what I’d wanted, but love was not a thing you could force yourself to feel, or, more importantly, it was not a thing you could keep yourself from feeling. Both realizations were demoralizing for me, a girl with control issues.

I was jolted out of my thoughts as Tristan threw an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.

“What’s up, sweetheart? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I grimaced. I very much wanted to avoid Tristan seeing Patrick and finding out that he was an ex, if at all possible. I just had a feeling that Tristan wouldn’t take the meeting well. And that feeling was backed up by experience…For a former man-whore, he tended to be surprisingly jealous.

“Nothing like that,” I finally answered. “I’m just not feeling this party. The chick snorting coke on the way in was a bit too hardcore for me.”

He gave me his wry smile, rubbing my shoulder. “Yeah. This was not what I was expecting. Jared knows some crazy people, and Frankie knows everybody in town.”

I started to make my way out of the room, heading to the backyard, when I saw Patrick spot me out of the corner of my eye. I knew it because he froze, and a second later, began to move toward us.

I grabbed Tristan’s hand, trying my best to paint a very clear picture for Patrick. I didn’t look his way again, and only hoped he’d gotten the hint.

We found Frankie and Jared out by the pool.

“Where are the rest of the guys?” Tristan asked them by way of a greeting.

“Hell if I know,” Jared said, sounding put out about it. “They were supposed to be here hours ago. So were you, for that matter.”

Tristan whipped out his phone. “Let me call ‘em.”

I was feeling antsy, and glancing around constantly, afraid that Patrick would follow us out. He didn’t, not right away, but within five minutes I saw him coming out the back door, scanning the crowd. I knew, just knew, that he was looking for me.

It had been a strange ending with Patrick. It was almost like I’d just woken up one day and seen the situation for what it was; a relationship between teenagers who should have only ever been friends. What hadn’t been sudden was my revulsion every time he’d wanted to have sex. And realizing that you didn’t have to keep having sex with someone if you didn’t want to had been an important lesson for me, though of course I’d had to relearn it with Daryl. The fact that Patrick had started doing some hardcore drugs had helped me to end it, as well, though I knew better than anyone that with my co-dependent streak, especially back then, I would never have left him for that alone, if I’d felt for him even a tenth of what I felt for Tristan now. I liked to think I’d gotten past some of those co-dependent leanings, but if push came to shove, I couldn’t say with any certainty that I’d ever leave Tristan willingly.

Tristan still had his phone to his ear, and I squeezed his arm to get his attention.

When he looked at me, I pointed at the house.

“Bathroom,” I told him, and took off. I assumed Patrick just wanted to say hi. I wanted to just get that over with, and avert any drama with Tristan.

I made it maybe three steps into the living room when a hand grabbed my elbow from behind. I knew instantly that it wasn’t Tristan. The hand wasn’t big enough.

I turned and looked into Patrick’s steady gaze. “Hey,” I said, giving him a weak smile. “How’s it going?”

He studied me for a long time. “I’m okay. It’s really nice to see you. You look…amazing.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling flattered by the admiration in his tone, and unwillingly, enjoying it.