Finding Love /Jordan Knight FanFic/NKOTB

VIII

Jordan

I SHOULD BE surprised to wake and find myself in the arms of a guy I've only known for a day, but I'm not. Vaguely, I remember him carrying me inside, and I kind of remember having a conversation with him in the middle of the night, but what I know for certain is I'm glad he's here—really glad. 

Closing my eyes, I rub my forehead to try to ease out some of the lingering effects of last night. I know I drank too much, more than I ever have in a social setting before, but no one stopped me. Maybe they understood, or maybe not; I remember the unabashed stares from my father's friends. 

At one point in the evening, I had gone to the bathroom to find a few minutes of reprieve, and I was just sitting in a closed stall when a couple women walked in and started talking about me. 

"It's really a shame what she did to her family after everything she's put them through and all they've continued to give her. I mean, how ungrateful." The sound of a zipper filled the room as one of them dug through her bag. 

"I know, and poor Patrick. Why he ever thought she was going to be good enough for him, I'll never know. He's going places and will ultimately do so much better than her." 

And that's the core of it right there: no one has ever thought I was good enough, for anyone or anything. My vision clouded with years of repressed anger. As much as I had felt uncertainty leading up to the wedding, in making the decision to leave this life, these people, I have complete clarity. Everyone has their breaking point, and it turns out I've reached mine. No more. 

Pushing the stall door open, I walked over to the sink to wash my hands. The two women, both of whom I don't know but have seen at other functions, froze up. My guess is they're the spouses of my father's colleagues, political wives, something I never ever want to be. Looking at them once in the mirror, I tucked a few strands of loose hair behind my ears, smoothed down my dress, and brushed past them as I walked out. Nothing needed to be said. They knew I heard them, and for the first time, I realized I didn't care. 

Not caring—such a strange concept to me. 

I didn't care about any of it—the politics, the cattiness, the expectations—and for the first time, I felt free. 

Letting out a sigh, I release years of unwanted disappointment into my pillow, and Jordan's arm tightens around me as he scoots a little closer. He's behind me, cuddling with me, and I like it way more than I should. He's warm, still smells good a day later, and I swear he has the biggest arms I've ever seen. 

Patrick and I hardly ever shared a bed, maybe a few times in the beginning because we needed each other, but after a while, that need faded and so did we—or maybe his need didn't, he just satisfied it somewhere else. 

Oh, Patrick. 

Just thinking about him has me squeezing my eyes shut, wishing for a few more minutes of sleep. 

Over and over, I keep asking myself if I'm shocked that I found Patrick cheating, and I'm torn right down the middle. Half of me isn't surprised at all; it's easy to see how he's become that guy. I mean, we attended different colleges, we were hardly ever together, and when we were, it was never fun, never about us. Even I have no problem admitting to being miserable. But, the other half of me is shocked, because I thought I knew him and his character. I've known him my entire life, and we've been together for so long. Where is the respect for me that should come with all that time? I was willing to spend my life with him, giving us all I had, because I thought we were solid. I guess not, and that hurts more than I would like it to.