"Why would he lie about it then?" he asked, suddenly unable to stop himself. He stood up when she offered him a drink, shoving his hands into his pockets. He wasn't mad. He<span style="font-style: italic">shouldn't</span>be mad anyway, but he knew that he was coming off as accusative. But honestly, she knew his name, he said he remembered her, the way he<span style="font-style: italic">looked</span>at her. And he even knew who Tracy was! That was supposedly based off of his brother, but to Tracy's recollection he hadn't seen any baby Klebolds or Harrises around his classroom. "Des said he recognized you. He recognized you, and you knew his name."<br/><br/>On a hypothetical list of 1 to 10 as to why Tracy was upset, the idea of Cynthia cheating on him was like a negative 22. They say not to put your full trust in anybody, but she just wouldn't do that. He knew her well enough to be confident in that fact, but there weren't supposed to be secrets between them, and so far for the past couple of weeks, everything had been secret. Her family, this<span style="font-style: italic">house,</span>and now Des?<br/><br/>Sighing deeply, Tracy fell back down to the couch, taking the proffered wine and drinking deeply. Setting the Solo cup on the table in front of him, Tracy cupped his face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he apologized, though it was largely muffled by his palms. There wasn't much use in getting agitated. If she said she didn't know him, then who was Tracy to not take her at her word? Downing another drink, he turned in his seat to face her. His agitation wasn't on her anymore. "Why would he lie about that? What sort of asshole just pretends to know someone?" he asked, more to himself than to Cynthia. It just didn't make sense, and to a person where everything<span style="font-style: italic">has</span>to make sense, it was a logical hell.<br/><br/>Tracy, to all of his credit, kept quiet about the car. He was by no means a superstitious person, but knowing Des' name and then just<span style="font-style: italic">happening</span>to speak Tracy's thoughts was kind of unsettling. If he had been looking down on himself, he would have laughed. Here he was, drinking wine in the early afternoon, chastising his girlfriend about someone she may or may not even know, worried that she's reading peoples' minds. All this, with a box of<span style="font-style: italic">blue candles of protection</span>sitting on their table. Oh Christ, what even was his life right now?<br/><br/>He was going to ask her another question about Des, maybe if they'd played together when they were little, but Tracy thought it better to drop the matter entirely. Sighing again - he'd been doing that a lot lately - he gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry," he said again, sincerely this time.