Bad Things(119)

“You think because he said that to you, that what you had with him was better than this? Did him saying that somehow keep you two together forever? Love is just a word.”

“Semantics,” I said, my voice trembling. “If it doesn’t mean anything, why won’t you say it to me?”

“I don’t say it back because I don’t f*cking believe you!” He was shouting, and my heart was breaking with every word. “When I hear you say I love you, what I hear is you keeping score, and I’m not playing that game with you. There is no score for me. There never was.”

I couldn’t speak, my mind racing to process his words, to try to make sense of them, to try to put them together in a way that I could accept, and not bleed out from all of the wounds.

“Love is nothing but the most flexible promise,” he continued mercilessly. “You use it for your purposes, and it can lose its meaning whenever you feel like it. Don’t act like you’re more committed to us than I am, just because you like to say those words.”

I shook my head, my eyes glued to him, my lip trembling uncontrollably.

“You’ve already thrown out the bombshell that you don’t think we’re good for each other. You think I don’t know you well enough to know that’s just the excuse you’ll use on me when you break it off? You’re building your case, even as we speak. That’s right; I know you that well. Just like I know that, though you’re very comfortable with the term I love you, you will be the one to walk away from this. Guaranteed. You think you love me, but you’re in love with being in love.”

“Don’t try to tell me what I feel. Don’t f*cking do that. You have no right—”

“Don’t I? I thought you loved me. Taking it back so soon? Or is this it then? Have you built up enough of a case to walk away yet? Because I haven’t said three f*cking words to you that you’ve taken the meaning out of?”

That broke me, because I’d let him see who I was, and all he saw was the worst of me. And even more painful, he seemed ready and willing to let me walk away.

He always said he didn’t want to hurt me, but what he didn’t seem to understand was, his rejection of my love was the worst kind of hurt.

I don’t know if someone told them, or if we’d just been yelling that loudly, but the yard was suddenly filled with familiar faces.

Frankie approached me, trying to get close, to put her arm around me, but I backed away.

Kenny and Cory had obviously finally made it to the party, and they were surrounding Tristan, looking wary.

Jared clapped a hand onto his brother’s shoulder, his eyes concerned. “Why don’t we take a walk, bro? Let’s cool off for a minute. You were shouting loud enough to wake the dead, and this entire neighborhood does not need to know that much about your personal business.”

Tristan shrugged off his hand, striding down the sidewalk, his pace eating up the pavement until he was out of sight in the dark in just seconds.

Eyes wet with tears, my heart in tatters, I walked back into the house. I needed a bathroom, and a moment to regain my composure.

I found one, washing my face with cold water, then doing it again. I didn’t want to think, and I had no idea what to do next.

I just felt…lost. Like life was a maze that I’d never be able to navigate, like everyone else had been born with a map, and mine had been forgotten, and I was destined to keep repeating the same painful mistakes, again and again.

I had a bona fide pity party for at least ten minutes. Some * pounding on the door was all that got me moving again.

I dried my face, and stepped out, my eyes on the ground. I had one goal—to find Frankie and get a ride home without another ounce of drama.

That wasn’t meant to be.

I ran smack into Patrick’s chest before I’d taken five steps.

He saw my tear streaked face, and without a word, just pulled me against him, running a hand over my hair. It was comforting. I had the brief thought that he was sweeter than I’d remembered.

That opinion didn’t last long, though, as he dipped his head and kissed me, right smack on the mouth, and then didn’t pull back.

I didn’t react at first, stunned by what an insensitive prick he really was, to plant one on a crying girl. It wasn’t until he pushed his tongue into my mouth that I shoved on his chest, wrenching away, glaring at him.

And, with the worst timing in history, once again, Tristan was there, catching enough of the kiss to put murder in his eyes.