Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika 2)

It had become a pattern; waiting for Tristan. He was always late, never rushing to see me anymore.

The fight started because of one drink too many, as they tended to be these days.

We were planning on going to go to a Halloween party at Cory and Kenny’s apartment. Tristan was supposed to pick me up at Bev’s house, but he was two hours late, and I wound up going to pick him up.

He was passed out on his bed, lights out. With the hallway light flooding in from behind me, I could see that he was wearing an Iron Man costume T-shirt.

I’d gotten dressed up in costume, and was all set to go out, but one look at him and I gave up. He’d obviously had a rough week, and come to think of it, so had I. Just as well to get some rest, and hopefully spend some time together in the morning.

I went to use the bathroom, and when I came back out, he was up, leaning against the wall, the lights on. He looked tired, but awake at least.

He studied me, his eyes hooded. “What kind of a costume is that?”

I was wearing a pink wig with a ninja headband, and a little red kimono. I thought it was a great costume.

I did a little twirl for him on my ninja sandals. “I’m Sakura.”

“What the hell is a Sakura?”

I fluffed at my wig. “Well, sakura means cherry blossom in Japanese, but what I’m dressed as is the character Sakura from Naruto. She’s a cute little ninja with pink hair.”

“What the hell is Naruto?”

I rolled my eyes. “Only the most popular anime like ever. Cute little blond fox boy with a tragic past that has mad ninja skills? You’ve seriously never heard of it?”

“Never.”

“Shut the front door! That’s the next show on our list!”

“Yeah, no, that ain’t happening. I don’t watch cartoons.”

“It’s an anime. It’s good. There’s action, love, tragedy. A lot of tragedy. Poor Naruto loses both of his parents when he’s a baby, and his whole village shuns him. And then his best friend joins the Akatsuki, this evil shinobi gang. Oh, and there are so many characters that it’s virtually impossible to keep track.”

“Not selling it, sweetheart. And I won’t even ask what the hell a shinobi is. Well, you look adorable, even if I’m still not sure what you are. Let’s go check out this stupid party.”

“We don’t have to. You look really tired. Why don’t we just stay in? Catch up on sleep.”

He shook his head, looking resigned. “No. I said I’d go, and Dean will be relentless if I miss it. He’ll say you made me stay home again.”

I hated that Tristan still cared so much what that jerk thought about him. About us. Dean was like a slow acting poison, the effect he had on the people around him getting stronger and more apparent over time.

“So what? Don’t you get that he’s going to instigate and talk trash and try to make us both look bad? That’s what he always does, and you’re a sucker for falling for it after all this time.”

He held a hand up, looking annoyed. “Enough. I don’t want to hear it. We don’t need to go over this again. Let’s just go to the party.”

I dropped it. I knew that tone. He was not to be messed with at the moment.

He grabbed his Iron Man mask off the bed, and we took off for the costume party.

If I’d hoped the party would draw him out of his mood, it was not meant to be. He snagged a drink the second we walked in the door, though I could tell he’d been drinking long before I’d shown up at his place.

Still, I held my tongue at the first drink. The second one that Dean passed to him, I intercepted, trying and failing to be subtle about it.

Tristan gave me an unfriendly eyebrow lift.

Dean hooted, pointing at Tristan. “See what I told you, man? Pussy whipped. Where are your balls? She carry them around in her purse now?”

I ignored him. “You’ve had enough, don’t you think? You already passed out once tonight, and I can’t carry you home.”

Dean kept going, and Tristan’s glower grew darker by the second.

I couldn’t believe how pigheaded he was, how unbelievably easy it was for Dean to get under his skin. It was too much, to have what little time we had together spoiled by Dean like this, and my temper began to boil. Add that temper to Tristan being drunk and belligerent, and us rarely seeing each other and we had the ingredients to a pretty nasty fight on our hands.

“Seriously, how much of our minutes per week together do you want to be passed out for?” I asked him, my voice quiet.

Dean still heard, and of course made a few inflammatory comments.

“Enough,” Tristan told me, his voice low and mean. “Not another word. I don’t want to hear it. You’ve sucked my dick way too many times to be acting like my mother.”

That was it. I was done.

Without another word, I turned on my heel and left.

I was at the car when I felt him behind me.

I whirled on him, glaring.

“That was so completely out of line,” I told him, my voice near a shout.

He threw his arms up in the air, his expression conciliatory. “I know. I’m sorry. As soon as the words left my mouth, I was sorry. I’ve been in a foul mood, and I didn’t mean to take it out on you. Dean is more than I can take right now.”

“Forget Dean. He’s bad for you. Can’t you see that? You should be staying as far away from him as you can.”

“It’s a bit late for that now. I’m fucking stuck with him, thanks to this record deal.” His tone changed, his eyes getting soft. I could never fight those soft golden eyes of his. “But you’re right. Let’s forget about him.” He moved close, pulling me against his chest, his big hand stroking over my hair with a feather light touch.

I let myself relax against him for a moment, unable to resist him for long, as usual. “The drinking has gotten out of hand, Tristan, and I don’t even want to know what else you’ve been using. Can’t you stay away from it all for even the few days you see me? Because if you can’t, that’s a good sign there’s a problem.”

“No, no, I can stay away. You’re right. I’ll lay off it, sweetheart. I’m just wound up so tight. Things have been tense. I can quit any time, though. Stopping on the weekends is no problem.”

My stomach tried to tie itself into some elaborate knots. Even he didn’t sound convinced.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his hands rubbing my shoulders. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Do you have any idea how much shit I will take from Dean about that comment you made?” I complained after we’d been standing like that for a while. “He didn’t need an excuse to talk nasty to me, but you’ve given him one.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” he said tersely, pulling back, his mood changing with a few short sentences. “What’s he been saying to you?”

I immediately backpedaled. Someone needed to kick Dean’s ass, but it didn’t need to be Tristan.

“Never mind,” I murmured, cuddling back into his chest.

He backed away. “No. I want to know what you’re talking about.”

I dug in stubbornly. “It’s stupid. Pointless to talk about when we have so many other things to discuss.”

“What things?”

“The fact that you’re always late. And more and more, you don’t answer my calls. The fact that you’re abusing your body on a regular basis. I’m not even seeing the half of it, but what I’ve seen is worrisome, and you tell me all the time that it’s worse when we’re apart. I think we need to look into some sort of grief counseling for you…and I think you need to start looking into getting some help for the substance abuse.”

He went stiff, his eyes going icy. “You just can’t help it, can you? Will you let up on the nagging for five fucking minutes?”

Without another word, he stormed off.

I felt like I’d been slapped. I stood there, stunned, for a long time, before I followed him.

I couldn’t figure out where that had come from. I didn’t think I nagged. In fact, I’d gone out of my way not to mention any of his bad habits, especially where alcohol was concerned, for a long time. I felt almost guilty at all the things I’d overlooked in my sympathy for what he was going through.

I was hurt by his words, but even so, I followed behind him.

He had too many weapons against me. Showing me his worst, then his best, followed by his withdrawal. Cold, then hot, then gone. His arsenal was too much for my smitten self, custom set to push all of my buttons.

It was a fact that I’d do just about anything to get more of his best.

It took me a long time to track him down. The apartment was small and crowded, and I kept getting stopped by the people I knew at the party to talk about costumes and the band.

I finally found him in the kitchen, talking to Kenny. I nodded at Kenny before moving to Tristan’s side, eyeing him carefully.

His face was stiff and blank, but he threw his arm around my shoulders as soon as I was within reach, kissing me on the head, and murmuring a barely perceptible, ”I’m sorry,” into my hair.

“S’okay,” I whispered back.

“I’m an ass.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “Only sometimes.”

“Let’s do something special next weekend. I know a guy with a place on the beach. Let’s go take a weekend for ourselves.”

I turned on him, smiling brilliantly. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

“And I’ll cool off on the booze. For you.”

I hugged him as hard as my skinny arms were able to. “Love you. More than you know.”

“Right back at you, sweetheart. I’d be lost without you.”

I stood on my tiptoes to kiss him. An affectionate peck had been my intent, but it wasn’t Tristan’s. We were making out with no shame between one breath and the next.

Kenny had been standing somewhere close to chat with Tristan, but we never even excused ourselves. In fact, we never got another glance at him after that.

My arms wrapped around his neck, my fingers threading through his hair.

His hands went to my ass, pressing our bodies as close as they would go. We were nowhere close to private, but his hands working on my butt had me moaning out loud.

He pulled back, cursing, laughing. “Come on,” he muttered, tugging me out of the kitchen with his hand. He led me into the hallway bathroom, slamming the door shut behind us, and pulling me hard against him.

“I can’t wait. It’s been so long,” he muttered, turning me to face the sink.

“We should have taken the edge off before we left your place.” I smiled.

“No shit. What were we thinking?”

I didn’t mention that he’d been drunk. I didn’t want to spoil the moment.

He bent me over the bathroom sink, pushing up my red kimono and rocking hard into me.

I gripped the faucet for dear life, crying out his name. Even knowing we’d get grief for it later, I couldn’t seem to keep quiet. It just felt too good, too perfect, the rough glide of him, in and out, in and out, his hands gripping my hips, holding me perfectly still while he rammed in and dragged out, over and over.