I Want to Hate You Half as Much as I Hate Myself

Pete rolled out of bed, being careful not to disturb the boy next to him. He picked his scattered clothes off the floor, pulling on his boxers first. His jeans followed, and he didn't care enough to pull on his shirt. He heard the boy in bed, he was talking in his sleep. His messy hair shielded his face, and Pete surely could not remember what he looked like.

Pete opened the bedroom door ajar, and slipped out. He stopped in the hallway to look in a mirror to check his reflection. He quickly fixed his tangled hair, taking note of the trail of hickeys trailing down the right side of his neck and onto his shoulder blade. Bite marks were evident on that same side, some dried blood brought a few memories back from last night. The other guy, he kept biting and Pete pretended not to like it.

His fingers grazed across the bruises for a brief second, his expression stoney. He slipped his shirt over his head, no longer enjoying the sight of his bruised shoulder. He continued down the hall, seeing pictures in frames on small tables and framed on walls. He finally got a good look at the man, deciding he was one of the better looking ones.

He slowly pulled on his black high tops an socks, carefully lacing them. He stayed seated on the carpet next to the door, listening to the soft snoring. When there was a soft rustling, and his name was called out, he took it as his cue to leave quietly.

He passed a few approachable guys while leaving the apartment complex, some showing interest while some didn't. Pete thought about visiting again later, just to see a few of the guys who would be possible.

Pete dug into his jean pocket, trying to fish out his car key that was not there. "Shit," he muttered to himself. He left his car at the bar, he had gotten a ride from his hook-up. The bar was two miles away, and his hangover did not agree with walking.

His phone was still in his pocket, so he pulled it out and punched in a number. "Hello?" He heard a groggy voice answer on the other end.

"Brendon, I need a ride." He perched himself down on the apartment stairs.

"Again?" Brendon groaned. "Where did you find yourself, this time?"

"Uh," he looks at the street signs. "I think I am on Fifth and Harbor."

"Fine, I'll come get you." Brendon grumbled into his phone before hanging up.

Pete felt his pocket, seeing if there were any cigarettes in there. And to his luck, there was. He took one out of the package, and light it with his green lighter. He inhaled the smoke, slowly exhaling it at a couple passing by. He chuckled lightly when they turned to glare at them, sarcastically muttering about the happy couple.

Pete smoked the cancer stick until Brendon pulled into the parking lot, peeking his head out the window and yelling for Pete.

Pete got on his feet, throwing the butt of his cigarette on the pavement and crushing it with his shoes. He sauntered over to the passenger seat, running his hands through his hair as he got in. He ignored the glares from Brendon as the drove off.

Brendon finally broke the silence, "You need to go back to the bar, right?"

"Yeah," Pete mumbled. Brendon always made him feel promiscuous about his flings, which is something no one except him could do. He was like a motherly figure, always there to help even if he did not want to. Brendon had helped him out so many times it amazed Pete.

Brendon lightly tapped on the wheel as they pulled into the parking lot of the grimy bar Pete frequently visited. Pete climbed out silently, not saying anything to Brendon because of the sick feeling he had from the hang over.

He went inside the bar, immediately being greeted by the frequent customers. "Lost your keys, again?" The bartender asked as he dangled the metal ring holder from his fingers. Pete tried to grab the keys, but the bartender pulled them further away from him. "What, no kiss for me?" He smirked.

Pete sighed and gritted his teeth. He leaned over the bar table, pressing his lips to the bartenders quickly. He gripped the keys and yanked them from his hand, walking out the bar.

~~~~~

Pete sat in the back of this lecture, hoping no one notice him silently day dreaming. He would have to copy notes from someone else, but he did not care. He had alot of friends in this class.

The class ended, and he didn't notice until someone called his name. "Pete?" A voice rang out. His head hurt, his hang over still swinging at noon.

"What," he groaned. He looked up to see a somewhat familiar face, a boy he must have slept with. He recognized him better without clothes.

"I was wondering why you never called me back." He asked timidly, scared of the answer.

"Oh, I lost your number." Pete replied, darting out of the room as fast as he could. He left the heartbroken boy, alone in the big empty room.

~~~~~

Pete scrolled through his contact list, not knowing half the people on their, and found Brendon.

I need your notes for the lexture.

He flipped his phone closed, only to have it ring again signaling Brendons reply.

Day dreaming about your hook up? Nice.

He sighed, deciding he didn't even want to bother replying. He would just find someone else to copy from.

But, surely the phone rang.

You can pick up my notes later today.

Pete smiled to himself, knowing his mistake of doubting Brendon. "Thank God for Brendon," he whispered to himself.

~~~~~

Pete found himself at Brendons door, knocking after hearing voices inside.

"Ryan, that is Pete. Sh, or he will hear you." He could hear Brendon whispering to what obviously was Ryan. He opened the door with a faux look of innocence.

"Either you two were fucking or talking about me fucking." He said, mostly to Ryan because he knew his opinion of him. "And I am thinking it is the second, because you are both fully dressed."

Ryan rolled his amber eyes, stalking into the kitchen and pulling Brendon alone with him. "Why are you friends with him?" He whispered as Pete scanned across the desk in the corner with all the notes he needed. He grabbed the paper with messy scribbling, but stood there. He wanted to listen as to what Ryan had to say about him.

Brendon sighed. "Ryan, he needs my help sometimes. I'm pretty much his only friend, considering he pissed off all his others in some way or another. I don't know why you hate him so much, but just ignore him."

"Brendon," Ryan hissed in reply. "He is the fucking whore of the school. I'm afraid that at some point he will attempt to get in our pants."

"Ryan, you're paranoid." Brendon laughed lightly and uneasily. He had no idea of what Pete would ever do next, or who.

~~~~~

Pete found himself back at the bar that night.

He sat down at the counter, sipping a beer that someone he didn't know bought for him. He barely noticed it when someone say next to him.

He looked up and saw someone familiar sitting next to him. Not familiar as in slept together, but more like someone from the college.

"Hey," he said shyly. "You go to the University down the road with me, right?" He brushed some strawberry blond hair out of his face.

"Uh, I guess." Pete replied, taking a liking to him but not enough to get flirty just yet. "I'm Pete."

"I'm Patrick," he replied while sticking out a hand to shake. Pete laughed inside his head, hoping that that was not the only contact he would get that night. He shook it reluctantly, slowly turning back to his drink.

Patrick sat quietly next to him, not sure what to say next. He felt uncomfortable, thinking he came off weirdly by the reluctantness of Pete. He looked over at Pete, noticing how his bangs fell over his face and thinking it was cute. He thought Pete was cute. He had seen Pete around school a few times, not sure if he should walk up to him and introduce himself and ask him out.

Pete continued to stare at the bottle, before getting bored with the label. "What year are you in?" He asked, a little loudly because the noise in the bar picked up.

"Uh, I'm in my fourth yer here." Patrick said a little unsurely. He questioned his every little move, not sure if Pete found him unbearably annoying or attractive.

"Cool, me too." He set his chin on the palm of his hand, his elbow on the wood of the counter. "I'm majoring in music appreciation. I want to be in a band."

"Really? Cool, I can play drums." He relaxed a bit with more beer down his throat. He started to slouch more, his posture worsening by the drink.

Pete noticed. He noticed his worsening posture and behavior, and soon placed a hand on Patricks thigh. Patrick jumped a little, and Pete only laughed. 'Probably a virgin,' he thought to himself as Patrick stuttered something out.

"Relax," Pete purred. He leaned down and rested his head on his shoulder, he could tell what to do if he wanted to get in bed with this guy. He had to play the 'innocent' card. He had to pretend to care, to pretend there was no ulterior intentions in these moves.

But everyone except Patrick knew Pete was getting laid tonight.