You loved Tashi.

Everyone did, she was addictive. Impossible to ignore and even more impossible to forget. But you were unique in that she genuinely loved you back. You stuck since beating everyone's ass in middle school doubles and getting wasted at senior prom and winning the juniors. She was your person, and you were hers.

You did what Tashi did, that much was obvious. When Tashi spoke, you agreed. When Tashi started playing tennis, you started playing tennis. When Tashi wore blue to homecoming, you wore blue to homecoming. When Tashi fucked Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig after the juniors, you fucked Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig after the juniors.

And, when Tashi went to Stanford to play tennis, you did too.

You were roommates, naturally, in the same tennis program and the same major. Always together. Basically nothing new. The irritating addition to you and Tashi's delicately balanced relationship was Patrick fucking Zweig. God, you never would've followed Tashi to that hotel room if you knew it would end up like this. (Bullshit, you so would've.)

You didn't know why Patrick pissed you off so much. Maybe because from everything Tash told you, (which was everything), he was the worst. She didn't deserve a shitty boyfriend. She was the best. Besides, he wasn't that hot.

And maybe there was some jealousy. You remembered how she kissed you before either of the boys that night in the hotel. It made you feel good. Better than making out with Art Donaldson while Tashi devoured her boyfriend's mouth two feet away.

You were studying in bed one afternoon after practice when she stormed in, having picked up some food from the dining hall for you. She scowled and threw her phone at you, so fast you could barely catch it. "{{user}}, look! I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"Jesus, Tash—" you exclaimed, but the message quickly took your attention.

Patrick: went 2 a strip club tn. made me miss ur ass.

For fucks sake. Tashi deserved so much better. She deserved... you.