"This one's for my friends over there, Bailey!" Pete shouted, obviously drunk. I beamed, also obviously drunk. Pete began to sing into the mic, high pitched and slurred, "She wants to dance like Uma Thurman bury met till I confess."

When he was done, the club cheered him off the stage. I raised my hand for another drink and the bartender moved over with a glass of beer, but Pete smacked my hand down. The bartender left, annoyed. 

"What's that for?" I asked, pouting my lips. 

"No more." Pete said sternly, apparently not drunk enough to make bad decisions. "Bailey." He began, a little more gently, "You can't drink away your problems. Just...just tell me instead. Honor code, I won't tell anyone."

I pursed my lips, images of Patrick and the girl rushing back to my head. I took in shaky breath, "Back in middle school, there were these kids. One of them was my best friend, the other my crush." I shook my head, "The only guy I liked who wasn't famous or a book character. But he was head over heels for my friend, who liked him but also liked stringing him along. He wore suits for her, followed her around like a puppy on a leash, he would've given her the moon if she asked. The sun, even. But she...she just didn't care." My eyes watered angrily, "This sweet, sincere, good looking guy-if a little perverted, but all guys were- was fawning over her and she didn't give a shit."

Pete blanched at my language. I rarely ever swore, unless I was really, really upset. I was pretty good at hiding my emotions, so when I was upset it never shined through. 

Unless I was watching Forrest Gump. It was impossible not to cry at that. 

"And when she moved away at the end of the year, the guy moved on-slowly-to my other friend. She was the girl everyone liked, as a friend or a crush. I wasn't. Pimples. Braces. Thin hair." I figured my short hair. "That basically shut me off to love in real life. There's something about having your heart opened, then torn out and smashed on the floor with a hammer that changes you. For worse or better, I never wanted to love again." 

Patrick's face filled my mind. His blond hair wind swept under a brown fedora, blue eyes sparkling with laughter as he wiped ice cream off of my nose.  

"Then, this-" I stumbled over my words. "This guy, he charmed me. Swept me off my feet. He was like...Jenny and I was Forrest, gender swapped. I loved him but he didn't realize or want to believe it. Then, today I saw him with this girl. I shouldn't care. I'm not his girlfriend."

"But you do." Pete finished quietly. He squeezed my hand gently. "I know exactly how that feels." With a small, strangled laugh he pulled me up. "See, at first I figured you were talking about Patrick. But he would never do that."

I smiled weakly, "No. Not the Patrick I know."

Pete lead me to his car, fingers on my back protectively, warding off any unwanted drunks. I stumbled a little, the drinking catching up on me once again, and he caught me. "If he ever hurts you again," Pete promised, helping me into his car, "I will kill him."