Rose's POV
I knew this was wrong. I was messing with his feelings and I didn't like it.
I pulled away quickly, looking at him, studying his face for any type of emotion.
Patrick looked like he just got slapped in the face. I sighed, taking his hand and trying to find the right words to say.
"Patrick, I-"
"No. It's okay. I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry."
"You're really amazing and I hate giving you mixed signals. I don't know how I feel about you," I say quickly, not trying to give him false hope.
"I didn't kiss you because I'm drunk, Rose." He replied, using my real name. He never does that. "I kissed you because I wanted to."
"I know. And for a second, I thought I wanted to kiss you back. I realized it was the fact that I wanted attention, from wherever I could receive it. I'm sorry."
I looked over at Patrick but he was knocked out, making me realize he must not have heard what I'd said.
I need to talk to Pete.
I went over to the guest room he was staying in for the night and knocked on the door softly, as to not wake him if he were asleep. I hear a faint "come in," so I inch open the door, and shut it quietly once I'm inside.
He's laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact with me.
I sit on the edge of the bed, finally facing him. Pete didn't look drunk at all. He didn't smell like alcohol either which surprised me because he drank just as much as the rest of us. Maybe he can hold it better.
"Do you like him?"
That question completely threw me off. I knew he was talking about Patrick. I didn't know how to answer. I kissed Patrick back when he kissed me. I hesitated to pull away. That meant something, at least.
"Pete, I want to say I don't, but honestly, I really don't know."
He sighed heavily. He was now sitting up, looking at me, and I could tell he wasn't sober. He was sad, and the alcohol couldn't mask that.
"Patrick.. He kissed me."
The look on his face was angry. "Did you kiss him back?" Was the reply I received.
"No, yes. I did, but after a while I realized it was wrong and I stopped."
I feel moderately anxious, as if one more sentence from me will push him over the edge.
Pete just stared at me. He looked as though he was about to say something, but he didn't. He just stared at me, and the silence was uncomfortable. It was as if he was mentally imagining how the scene between me and Patrick went.
"I think.. I think I might be drunk enough to say: I have feelings for you. Don't hate me after this, please." All of this was a barely audible whisper from Pete.
Another pair of lips were on mine for the second time tonight, but this time I didn't have to decide how I felt. My body told me how I felt. I loved it. I loved him.
All of this felt natural, not forced.
Pete's hand was in my hair and the other was holding my hand. All I can remember were those lips on mine and the rest was a blur.
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