It had been 3 days since I had found out the truth.

Needless to say, I was no less furious at Patrick than that first moment that Samantha had told me. However, I had not confronted him. I didn't know what to do. Normally, I would have marched right up to him and demanded an explanation, and not stopped screaming until I got one. But that was the old Lyra. The new Lyra was wary of causing yet another big scene on TV and making the world hate her. 

So what if he cheated on Samantha and not the other way around? You could've guessed as much if you thought about it hard enough. I mean, he's basically cheating on poor Jazmin with you, anyways. Not that you're reciprocating. Or trying to. Besides, why would you notice Samantha calling him so often, if she had been the one to end it?  Doesn't make a shit ton of sense, Lyra. Grow up.

I made a swatting motion in midair to dispel my own inner monologue before realizing that I was in the presence of others. I was sitting in the common area of the house, an untouched fantasy novel in my lap, lost in my own head. There were a couple others there; random members of the crew that were just sitting around hanging out, but I couldn't see any other contestants.

The exes, thank God, had left yesterday. I was glad to finally get Dylan out of my life (again) (hopefully for good this time), but I was also somewhat glad to see Samantha go. I had wanted to question her further on the issue- I mean, you don't just drop a bombshell like that without so much as an explanation- but I hadn't gotten the chance to. She had avoided me and Patrick both like the plague as soon as she found out that I hadn't known.

So I was back to square one, left in the dark, with nothing but free time and no one to talk to. I sighed heavily and snapped my book shut, picking it up and wandering aimlessly into the kitchen. I had nothing else to do, so I may as well eat.

My thoughts about my stomach were ended abruptly when I all but slammed into a broad, sweaty chest. Patrick was dressed in workout clothes, looking sweaty and tired, with dark circles rimming under his eyes. He was holding a large water bottle with some extremely unappetizing-looking brownish sludge in it. Some sort of protein shake, I supposed.

My face immediately morphed into a scowl and I almost snarled in disgust. 

"Uh, hey," he said, genuinely surprised to have run into me. He knew I was mad- he couldn't be that oblivious- but I wasn't sure he knew why. I now understand that whatever he had wanted to tell me at the beach was probably going to be some sob story about his breakup that made it seem like he was not blame whatsoever. I would've wanted to believe it, and then I would be once again stuck. So instead, however curious I was about the true circumstances behind it, I decided to shut him out completely.

"How's it going?"

I scowled harder and shoved my way roughly around him, hoping he would get the message and leave me alone. I opened the fridge and grabbed a half-empty carton of grape juice, squeezing it so hard my knuckles turned white.

"I would ask what I did this time, but I have a feeling that even if you answered me, I wouldn't understand."

That did it. I whirled, grape juice in hand, and stared at him in disbelief and anger, seething. 

"Seriously? What is wrong with you?"

"I mean, a lot of things, sweetheart, but I'm afraid I'm gonna need a bigger hint to narrow it down, in this instance."

I narrowed my eyes at him. There it was, his attempt to talk himself out of it, his casual attitude, as if he could do no wrong. He was so self-assured, so confident that I would keep coming back to him no matter what he did to hurt me.

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