Remember When #featured #AllStars

Chapter 19

DISTURBED

I'd spent the next few days after our big blowout retreating away from Trip. Not that I had to work very hard to do so; He had pretty much made it a point to avoid me, too.

The tension between he and I during that time was a tangible thing; a thick, heavy, syrupy smog that hung like a wet wool blanket in the air between us. But soon enough, we fell into a new normal; keeping things civil, simply pretending that our prior relationship never existed. It panged my heart sometimes, not having him there to joke around with or talk to, but I knew I needed to suffer the detox first before I could even begin to look forward to any sort of rehab later.

English Lit class- previously the highlight of my day- became so awkward and stressful that I would spend more of my class time concentrating on not thinking of the person sitting behind me than paying attention to the lessons being disseminated.

Then there was my job. As excruciating as it would have been to face work had he been there, it was even worse to face it while he wasn't. The job went back to being the same sucky chore that it was the first week I started. Without Trip, it ceased to be fun anymore, regardless of the fact that we were hardly speaking. Add to that the fact that Martin had hired some thirty-year-old degenerate as Trip's replacement who spent more time getting high in the parking lot and trying to sneak a peek down my blouse than actually doing any work. Thankfully, I only had to deal with Dirtbag Ray on Mondays and Thursdays.

The weekends were their own train wreck.

Lisa and Pickford were practically inseparable and therefore MIA at that point, leaving me to hit every party alone, or worse yet, with Coop, the poor guy roped unknowingly into my drama. I supposed I was only reaping what I had sown, but it was torture not only to have to look at a misled Coop every day, but to see Trip stroll through the door with a new girl on his arm every night. A circumstance made more agonizing by the revelation that he'd obviously not been exclusive with Tess Valletti for quite some time.

The first Friday, it was Barbara Vlajnik, whose reputation was less than pristine. I watched her sidle up against him throughout the evening at Rymer's, but was able to take some perverted sense of pride out of the fact that he barely even looked in her direction all night.

But then just twenty-four hours later, he showed up at The Barrens with Margie Caputo, where he proceeded to down about three hundred beers before nuzzling his lips against her neck and trying to shove his hand up the front of her sweater in full view of everyone sitting around the fire. Thankfully, Margie hadn't been so receptive to his exhibitionism, but we did all hear her try to talk him into the woods for a more private session instead. Soon after, they got up to take their leave- in Margie's car, however- where I heard later that she'd brought him home only to watch as he promptly passed out two steps inside the foyer.

The following weekend, Pickford and Penelope had a party at their house. Pick was going through a bit of a defiant phase toward his father and what better way to rebel than by defiling the old man's condo?

Trip came staggering through the door of The Redys' with a bottle of Jaegermeister in one hand and some skank from Norman Valley in the other. Lord only knows where he picked that one up. She was even more drunk than he was, taking digs at any girl within earshot about being "nuns in training" while she hung all over Trip, downing shots of booze straight from the bottle.

When I couldn't watch another minute, I asked Coop to drive me home. On the way out the door, Trip shouted at my back in the most awful voice, "Have a good time, you two!" Then out of nowhere, the skank decided to chime in by saying, "Hell knows we sure will!" before drooping a bony arm around Trip's neck and adding, "Right, baby?"

They both enjoyed a good laugh at that.

It was enough to turn my stomach.

My mind kept seeing that filthy waif hanging all over him, contaminating him with her skank spores. Even worse was the fact that Coop assumed I pushed to leave the party early because I wanted to be alone with him, leading to a very distracted makeout session in the back seat of his car. And no, the hypocrisy was not lost on me that I was unable to put my heart into making out with Coop while my mind was consumed with thoughts of Trip hooking up with someone else. But I knew I was only dating Cooper because I'd cornered myself into it, not because I had any desire to actually be with him, selfish witch that I was. Besides, old habits die hard. Being with Coop was easy. It was familiar and constant and held no surprises. Trip, on the other hand, was maintaining his impulsiveness. He seemed to genuinely be enjoying all the attention he was receiving from his multitude of clingers and the thought ate away at me that he might actually fall in love with one of them.

Lisa informed me the next day that Pickford had sent the skank home in a cab once he realized that Trip was about to pass out- right in the middle of the entire party. Apparently, he spent the night on the Redys' couch but snuck out early the next morning. Pickford woke up to a twenty tacked to his bedroom door, where Trip had simply scribbled "Thanks. Sorry." across the front of the bill.

There was a huge part of me that was relieved to hear that nothing happened between him and the skank, but there was this irritating other part of me that wanted nothing more than to pick up the phone and call him. I hated the idea that he was headed down this self-destructive path and wanted to stop him before the Keith Richards impersonation went too far, mostly because there was a tiny little fragment of my brain- a miniscule, infinitesimal speck- that felt the need to take responsibility for kicking him down that road in the first place.

I managed to resist the urge, however, and by the time Christmas break rolled around, it had become much easier to pretend he didn't even exist.

Or maybe it was just getting easier to lie to myself.