The Girlfriend

Chapter Four

Lydia

Danielle Plumber had stood straight-faced in front of some shitty gossip "reporter" and told them that I had a history of targeting men for their money. She'd also told them that I had multiple relationships with older men. I hadn't spoken to her since my sophomore year of college when I told her to never contact me again, because no matter how hard I had tried to fix it my own mother hated me.

The 'gold-digging past' she referred to were three guys I had dated at Berkeley – all three came from extremely wealthy families, and those relationships all ended in under six months. Obviously, that meant I was after money. However, the other 'relationships' she referred to was when I snuck into a frat party with friends and lost my virginity to a guy that turned out to be twenty-one, I was seventeen and had told him I was a college freshman. The other was a short-term foster parent who tried to sexually assault me while home alone.

None of these things made me a villain, or a gold-digger with daddy issues, I just had a turbulent past that I had gone through extensive treatment for. And quite fucking frankly if someone had told me last year that I would be dating a man twice my age, or even just fourteen years older as with Patrick, then I would have laughed in their face. But theoretical situations didn't compare to my mother standing there lying about me and taking my past out of context for five minutes of internet fame. I almost had to wonder if they offered her money.

No matter why she chose to do it didn't matter right then, I was just a puddle of tears on the couch that couldn't speak. I heard the men talking, vague little snippets of conversations that I couldn't process at that second. The tears blinded me and I was quickly running out of tissues, eventually, I just buried my face in the blanket over my knees. I felt worse knowing that Patrick had just gotten information that could potentially change his life, and yet I was the centre of attention for a scandal that was already dying out.

"Lydia," Jon whispered, touching my shoulder gently. "I'm going to gather up your things, we're leaving in an hour. Alright?"

Leaving? "Where are we going?" I asked between sniffles.

"Home, baby. We'll be back in New York soon." He stroked my hair as he spoke, his eyes a dark blue and heavy with circles under them.

I nodded wordlessly and leaned against the back of the couch. I needed to help them pack, to be useful, to not wallow for once. It took several minutes but I managed to get my depressed ass off the couch with the blanket wrapped around my shoulders and wandered down the hall. The least I could do was pack my own stuff.

As I passed Patrick's room, I stopped in my tracks. The door was closed but I could hear their muffled voices coming through.

"I told you she wasn't okay." That sounded like Jon.

"I know that, I never said she was fine—"

"Yes, you did! I don't want any more of this bullshit when we get back, you need to start putting her first." I could almost see Jon getting into standoff position in my minds-eye, all crossed arms and icy glare.

"Well, that's pretty fucking hard to do right now," Patrick snapped, his voice rising. "I'm going through my own problems here; in case you haven't noticed."

"Your sperm donor is dying, a person you've never even met, her mother just said some of the most awful shit I've ever read. This isn't the same."

Their voices were getting quieter and I assumed they were moving around the room, I tried to press my ear to the door, not realizing it wasn't shut all the way and stumbling forward into Patrick's bedroom. Oh, fuck me. I managed to catch myself on the bedpost before hitting the floor, but my face burned with embarrassment as I quickly straightened up.