He’s being an ass again on purpose—I think to try to push me away—but I maintain his gaze, even though it’s tough, knowing that he has to be the first to look away if this is going to work. He’s challenging me right now, daring me to give up first, but I’m not going to.
“No, that’s not why I’m here,” I tell him. “And I look like I know more about life because I probably do.”
One…
Two…
Three seconds go by.
His gaze grows more heated.
I grow more uneasy.
Still I don’t look away.
Even though with Conner I would have.
But with Tristan I can’t.
And finally he gives up.
Something Conner would never do.
“I drank,” he admits, looking away from me. “I got shit faced for three nights then went searching for a bump.” His head slumps forward and he massages his temples with his fingertips. “I’m honestly not sure what happened but…” He shoves his hand into the pocket of his jeans. When he pulls his hand out, his fingers are wrapped around a bag of tiny white crystals. Meth. Conner’s drug of choice and my mother loved it too. “I found this in my pocket the next morning.”
I’m shocked. Appalled. Disappointed. Terrified. Worried. “Did you—”
He rapidly shakes his head. “No, I could tell when I woke up I hadn’t done it, mainly because I had to fall asleep in order to wake up.” He flicks the bag with his finger, staring at it with hunger gleaming in his eyes. “And I couldn’t have fallen asleep with this shit in my system.”
“Who knows you have that?”
“No one but you knows.” He stares at the stained carpet in front of our feet.
“So, why do you have it?” I’m anxious. It’s not like being around drugs is new to me, but it’s always made me uneasy; the danger, the uncertainty, the instability it brings into one’s life.
“I told you, I have no idea. Nor do I have a fucking clue why I didn’t do it.”
I swallow the massive lump in my throat. “Why do you still have it?”
His expression swarms with uncertainty. “I don’t know.”
“Do you…” I fidget nervously, plucking at a loose string on the hem of my shorts. “Do you want me to get rid of it for you?”
“I’m a little worried,” he admits as he sets the bag down on his knee. “I don’t know how I got it, and I’m not missing any money, so I don’t know how I paid for it. And I’m afraid…” He winces as he glances down at the bag and then at me again. “But anyway, I don’t think… I don’t think I want to do it.”
I wonder what he’s afraid of. Part of me believes I should run away. Right now. In fact, every instinct of mine is begging me not to go down this road again, but Tristan isn’t Conner and I’ve always believed there are two sides to every person. Although very rarely do most people show more than one side.
Right now I think I may be seeing Tristan’s other side—vulnerability. I’m not sure what to do with it, or why he’s choosing to let me see it. However, the fact that he trusted me enough not to lie to me when he’s clearly been lying to Nova and Quinton makes me not want to bail right now, not when this might be why I’m here.
“You have no clue where you got it from?” I ask. “At all?”
“I was pretty drunk,” he confesses with a shrug. “But I’m guessing from the neighbors. I saw them spun the other day, and I can vaguely remember being outside the motel for a while.”
“You could always go return it just to make sure you won’t get into trouble with them.”
He chuckles, but his eyes are filled with sadness. “You’re cute.”
I feel like he’s making fun of me for some reason. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I think it’s cute you’d believe there was some sort of return policy for drugs.” He presses his hands against his eyes. “God, I can’t believe this is happening again.”
“How many times has this happened?”
“Too many times.”
I realize just how little I know about him and also how much I want to learn about him.
“So what do we do?” I ask, glancing out the window as Quinton walks by.
Tristan tips his head to the side and glares at me. “We aren’t doing anything. This is my problem.”
I open my mouth to protest when he abruptly stands up. My gaze follows him as he walks back into the bathroom. Moments later, I hear the toilet flush, then he returns to the room and throws the now empty bag into the trash can.
“There, problem taken care of.” He flops down on the bed across from me. “Now, you can go.”
“What if you did get it from your neighbors and they come looking for you? What if you owe them something?” When he glances up at me, confounded, I add, “I know more about this stuff than you think.”
He scowls. “That’s my problem. Now go.”
I shake my head. “I’m not ready to leave yet. And I’m really proud of you, for dumping it.”
His scowl hardens. “Well it doesn’t mean I won’t ever do it again.”
“So, it still means you chose not to do it for the second time,” I say and if looks could kill, I’d be dead. “What? Am I being too calm for you? You want me to leave instead? Run out of here crying because you messed up? Yell at you? What do you want from me Tristan?”
He sighs, lowering his hands to his lap. “I honestly don’t know what I want from you, but you’ve got me curious.” He swallows hard. “You got me curious three months ago too.”
I smash my lips together and really consider what I’m about to do with all of this because that’s where I’ve always made my mistakes. Before the fire, I never thought three steps ahead, never thought about the future.
Now I think about it a lot.
All the time, actually.
It’s what’s made me so cautious with guys and people in general.
Regardless I have a feeling I’m supposed to be here. Even when I blew off the kiss, it felt like I shouldn’t have let Tristan walk away. Call it a life purpose. Call it fate. Call it madness. Call it stupid attraction. Call it whatever you like, but in the end I know what I need—want to do. Something that I’ve needed to do since before I even met him.