What Twisted Webs We Weave

I Dont't Care

(Patrick's POV)

I had a date with Pete last night.

I fucked Brendon two nights ago.

I don't feel bad at all.

It shouldn't be that easy to pretend everything is okay with Pete. It shouldn't be that easy to brush off what happened with Brendon. It wasn't some innocent brunch with an ex. I fucked my best friend on the couch right outside that door. Hard, rough, unprotected sex while my boyfriend -who I love- was calling my phone. And then I called him back and lied without hesitation. I let him come over the next day and take me out. I should at least feel bad. But I didn't.

That couldn't be a good thing. This whole situation was feeling like a big ass moment of de ja vu. We were taking our problems from last time and multiplying them by ten. At least I was. I was transforming back into the old Patrick. The Patrick who was fucking his boyfriend and his wife and his best friend. I had no idea if Pete was still fucking Ryan. I had no idea if I'd end up fucking Brendon again. I had no idea where the hell my conscious was hiding in all of this. If I even still had one.

No, I had to have a conscious. Because I felt like shit after I fucked Brendon in my kitchen. After Ryan walked in on us and Pete wouldn't speak to me.

That was the difference!

No one knew about the couch. I didn't have to feel bad if I didn't get caught with my hand in the cookie car. My crime last time wasn't cheating on my boyfriend. It was not being sneaky enough to get away with it. I wasn't going to tell anyone. Brendon wasn't going to tell anyone. We could have all the cookies we wanted. Not to say I wanted anymore.

I was a terrible human being.

Two solid knocks at my door and then Brendon was poking his head in. "Hey there, sexy."

"Brendon." I pretended to be invested in the paperwork in front of me.

"Elisa is here." His voice dipped. "I don't think she's leaving."

"You can let her in."

His eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"Is my 12 here yet?"

"No."

"Let her in."

The door closed without another word. This time it opened to Eliza. She waltzed in like she owned the place. Clad in a soft yellow dress that draped openly around the hardness of her stomach. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail. What was the word used for beautiful pregnant women? Ah, glowing.

"Hello." She started in a sing-song voice. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"No. I wasn't doing anything other than thinking."

"Too much of that can drive you insane."

"Don't I know it." I smiled.

She giggled. "So what's on your mind?"

"Nothing important."

"Hard to believe with how tightly you're holding that pen." Her head nudged towards my hand. I dropped the pen. "Now what's wrong?"