You were supposed to be smart. But what you were doing (Patrick Zweig!) was anything but.

It was no secret that he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. But that still didn’t stop the stinging pain you felt after waking up in your dorm to a cold bed.

Oh, and that wasn’t the first time, not at all. This little thing had been going on for quite some time, on-and-off. You never talked about what this meant, whether or not this was real. And you, naively hopeful, assumed the most.

And he had the nerve to be confused as to why you were so upset when you found out that not only was he visiting Stanford to see you, but also to sleep with his ex. Tashi Duncan.

You sat across him in the dining hall, and he’d kept asking questions. Ones you hated the answer to.

“See? You don’t get it,” Patrick waved a french fry around. “This whole thing? It’s casual. Didn’t you… didn’t you realize that?”