It's hard to say 'I do', when I don't (Part 3/4)
Title: It's hard to say "I do" when I don't (Part 3/4)
Pairing: Patrick/ Pete, Pete/ Evan
Rating: PG-13
Author: Me!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of this. This [unfortunately] never happened.
Summary:"Evan attacked me like a caged animal, tearing at my clothes, ripping off my shirt. I had forgotten how aggressive he was."
Pete’s P.OV.
"Evan?" I asked the tall, dark-haired, guy standing on my doorstep.
"Pete, my man!" "Pete my man?" What the hell? I haven’t seen him in five years. His lips grazed my cheek as we exchanged a friendly hug.
"What’re you doing...in town?"
"My band just got signed so I figured I’d stop by and catch up for a little while before I left." In English: "You’re single, I’m single. Let’s hook up."
"Oh." I said lamely.
"So you gonna let me in?" he asked, lifting up his suitcases.
"Uh, yeah." I said, taking one of the heavy bags from him. Hemingway sniffed him warily and then stared up at me as if to say, "Don’t get yourself into this."
We sat down on the couch that nobody ever sits on, making small talk uncomfortably. I inevitably knew what this visit would turn out to be. A sudden awkward silence. A chance for me to politely say I had somewhere to be, etc. Anything to get him out. Or not. Evan attacked me like a caged animal, tearing at my clothes, ripping off my shirt. I had forgotten how aggressive he was. I was torn. Half of me wanted to stay here and kiss Evan like the old days. Half of me wanted to be faithful to Patrick. His hands roamed my body, stopping somewhere near my Bart Skull. A shiver of pleasure went through my body. I knew I shouldn’t like this..but...it was so nice. His hands went lower, fumbling with my belt buckle. Ok, I couldn’t do this. I pushed evan off me.
" I have...a.. guy." I stuttered. "Out." I commanded. He grabbed his bags and hustled his hot ass out the door. That was..close? I put my shirt back on and buckled my belt, deciding to take the dogs for a walk to clear my head and maybe knock some sense back into it. Pandora, Hemmy, Marley and I walked, er, ran for a while. I had been mostly angry and disappointed at my bad judgement, but then the guilt began to set in.
Patrick’s P.OV.
"How can you drink this stuff?" I asked, inspecting the bottle of fushia liquid in a bottle, among half a dozen of other brightly colored beverages in Pete’s fridge.
"Because it’s good." Pete said, grabbing an orange bottle and popping it open."You can try it if you want." I decided, "What the hell?" and snapped it open and sniffed it. Fruity. I took a swig. Pure sugar. Just as I had expected. I could barely choke it down. Pete, however, took a sip from the bottle I had in my hand and didn’t look sick to his stomach like I did. Pete had been awfully quiet tonight. Strange.
"So what are you cooking up?"
"My mom’s famous veggie lasagna."
"Sounds good."
"It’s about time you had a good home-cooked meal."
"You know I can’t cook for shit." As I assembled the ingredients, Pete stood there, watching me silently, magnetized. Too silently.
Pete’s P.O.V.
"Petey, is there something I should know?" Patrick asked, putting the lasagna in the oven.
"No." I blatantly lied, knowing he knew there was something. "I’ll be right back." I went up to my room and pulled out my battered copy of "The Catcher in the Rye.". My favorite book. I needed to mull.
Patrick’s P.O.V.
I found Pete sitting on the edge of his bed, reading "The Catcher in the Rye." He had probably memorized that book, he had read it so many times.
"Pete?" he looked up from his apparently engrossing book. He sighed and placed the book in his lap, closed.
"I...I made out with another guy." he blurted, ashen-faced. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach.
"What???"
"I didn’t agree with it. I know this doesn’t justify anything I did, but it wasn’t my idea. It was an old friend...He..."
"You..You- how could you do this to me?"
"Trick, I’m sorry, ok? I love you. I kicked him out."
"But you didn’t refuse in the first place-"
"It all happened so fast-"
"Whatever." I said, hurt and frustrated. I slammed the front door behind me as I stormed off into the night.
Pete’s P.OV.
"Fuck." I swore. That could not have gone worse.