Chapter Thirteen

Determination was a great trait to have. To be firm in your decision or action, unwavering. I liked to think that I was pretty determined myself when it came to things that I needed to have. However, when put next to Parker it became crystal clear who had more of the quality in them. In cases like this, I couldn't say I was so fond of it. If the roles were reversed and I had been put in Parker's shoes, I'd have given up with me a long time ago. Parker had shown no sign of defeat. The boy was resolute in his decision that following me (more so than usual if you could believe that possible) increased the likelihood that I'd begin talking to him again.

"How long are you going to keep this up?"

I continued to walk, my sneaker soles slapping loudly against the pavement. It was at times like this when I longed for my crappy car.

The vehicle had finally met its inevitable end. It had initially been my mother's old car so it wasn't in the best condition when I first began using it myself. After an almost death with Parker on its bonnet and the small incident of slashed tires, I didn't think anything could defeat the thing. It may have been old with one hell of a sputtering engine, but the model was reliable. Reliable up until last week where the entire lump of metal decided to break down completely for no apparent reason, unreparable, leaving me to stalk home from the supermarket in a torrential downpour of rain.

I would have sold my soul to get my trusty and rusty old friend back. It could have saved me from the situation I was stuck in.

"You have to talk to me at some point, Flora." Parker sighed.

I sent him a sideways glance, watching as he drove at a snail-like pace so that he could keep in time with my walking next to him. "What do you want?" I snapped.

"You know what I want," He left one hand on the steering wheel, the other raking through his tousled chocolate brown hair. "To talk to you."

I did know. He'd made it obvious, trying in vain to gain my attention for weeks and pleading for me to speak to him. I wasn't sure if it was because he remembered about the night I'd brought him home from the arcade-bar and wanted to explain himself or if he had no recollection of it whatsoever and was wanting to talk about when I stormed off at the party, to discuss Quinn.

What he didn't know was that I couldn't. I found myself unable to pluck up the courage to speak about any of it. Each topic seemed just as daunting as the other.

One possibility was that the memory of his drunken night might be patchy, or perhaps not even there, completely wiped from his brain. Having absolutely no idea that I'd sacrificed my precious hours of sleep to pick up his sorry ass even after he'd acted like a jerk would hurt. Not to mention I'd have no idea whether or not to let him know I was aware of what happened to his sister. That possibility also led to an alternative outcome of him believing my silence was down to the Quinn drama at the party, not because of some drunken confessions he'd made and was unaware of.

The other possibility was that he remembered everything and that he wanted to either deny or verify things. Would the handholding admission be true? The statement about liking me? Enjoying my company? Would he insist it all had been fabricated in his intoxicated state? Would this harsh truth upset me?

"Flora, talk to me."

I sent him a glare and forced my legs to pick up the pace.

"Flora."

"I am talking to you. What's your problem?"

"My problem is with you snarling at me all of the time!" He exclaimed. "I don't understand why we can't just talk like normal people. You're being immature."

My feet skidded to a halt. "Please don't call me immature when I distinctly remember a few months ago leaving you alone in my closet for all of two minutes only to find you wearing my bra. As for the not understanding part, is it so hard to believe that I just want some time alone?"

"Yes. You're the first person I've met that prefers their own company rather than mine. It's quite silly actually because I'm so charmi-"

"Parker," I groaned. His engine was idling next to me, just like it had been when I found it after leaving my therapist appointment. Following me around hallways and to my front door was one thing, following me to my therapist and waiting outside when he was supposed to be in school was another. It was like we were back to square one again, when he hunted down my workplace and sabotaged my temporary job along with the shop itself. "This is why I don't want to talk to you. You're incapable of a serious conversation." As was I but that wouldn't help my point any if I said it.

"So you're avoiding me because I'm unable to hold a serious conversation, not because of the night you drove me home from that bar and all the shit I said during?"

I tried my best to pretend as though his answer hadn't shocked me but I didn't compose myself quickly enough before he noticed my wide-eyed glance. So I began walking again, willing him not to comment on it as I started counting the paving stones I walked over. I reached forty-two before he gave another futile attempt at conversation.

"Is what I said really so repulsive to you?" The question caught me completely off guard and my left foot hooked on an uneven paving stone, forcing me to stumble rather than walk.

"What you said?" I echoed.

"Don't play dumb, Flora." He heaved another exasperated sigh. "Just get in the car so we can talk all of this through. As fun as it is to play stalker, it's beginning to get a little tiring."

"No."

"You can't avoid me forever."

"I'm not getting into that car with you."

"Do you really want to leave it so long that I give up? Is that what you want? To never talk to me again?"

I hesitated.

Noticing my uncertainty, he continued. "You don't even have to reply. You just need to sit with me and hear me out, that's all I'm asking. You can leave whenever you want."

I paused. "You won't lock me in the car or do anything stupid like that to get me to listen to you?"

"I swear."

I nodded mutely before climbing into the seat next to his own.

He drove for a while in order to find a parking spot. Once he pulled over, he angled his body toward me as much as the limited space of his truck would allow him to and opened his mouth as if he were about to begin speaking. He closed it soon after.

I waited for him to begin, picking at my cuticles in discomfort. My nails were far more grubby than usual. A thick layer of charcoal was stuck underneath each one thanks to my morning art class and it gave off the impression that I'd been digging through mud like some kind of wild animal. I made a mental note that once this terrible conversation was over I'd lather my hands with soap.

"I'm sorry." He said eventually.

"For someone who was making out that they had so much to tell me, I must say, that was pretty anticlimactic." I said evenly.

"Honey..." He trailed off and I watched as he ran a hand down the length of his face. His hazel eyes were tired and they reminded me of his mother. "I don't know where to start."

"Really? I was under the impression you'd have some cute little speech sorted out and-" I cut myself off as he sent me a look. The look that told me he was trying his best to be serious and I wasn't helping. I already knew that, I just wasn't good at dealing with serious. Neither one of us were and it made the situation ten times worse.

Giving him the cold shoulder had been surprisingly difficult, especially when every two seconds he was trying to murmur apologies and was staring at me with those big hazel eyes. I wondered if he was aware of just how well he'd mastered the puppy dog eyes, wide, saucer-like and extremely hard to not forgive when filled with guilt. When looking at them now within such a close proximity, I wondered how I'd managed this long without crumbling.

His internal struggle and silence began to grate on me. "Why don't we start with an equally important issue. Why the heck did you follow me to my therapist?"

He tugged at the hair on the nape of his neck. "You weren't talking to me. You weren't showing any kind of emotion with me. You were being distant and... weird. I know you sometimes take the afternoon off school to come here and I thought, well... if I showed up it was bound to get a reaction from you of some sort. Maybe one strong enough to talk to me."

I was mad at him for doing it (I really was, even more so for the fact that his plan had worked) but when he sounded so unsure, so careful with what he was saying, it was hard to stay that way. Parker was always so adamant with his opinions. Something told me that it was only I who got to see him any other way.

"What classes are you skipping?"

"Double physical education."

I frowned. "But you like sports."

He shrugged. "Can't really concentrate on the game if you're mad at me, though."

"I thought that was how sporty guys cleared their heads? Letting off steam on the field, running and stuff." I mused, side-tracked for a moment.

"Yeah, maybe with less important things."

"Is my being mad at you really that important?" I was genuinely baffled. "Maybe your friends were right. You are going soft and losing your edge."

He winked. "Only with you."

"Right," I grimaced. "This is becoming sickeningly flirtatious. Go run off back to school and play lacrosse or whatever it is you do."

"How did you know I played that?"

Despite the situation, I could feel my face heating up. "I still have your shirt. The one you, uh, let me borrow."

"Right. Makes sense." Thankfully he seemed oblivious to my embarrassment, looking as if he were deep in thought. "Look, we need to talk about that night."

I fiddled with a lock of my hair and began studying one of my many split ends. I made a second mental note that after I'd thoroughly washed the charcoal from my hands I'd give my hair a good conditioning treatment.

"I know you're obviously uncomfortable with what I told you but I have no reason to deny any of what I said, even if you don't reciprocate my...feelings toward you. Before you ask, yeah, I remember everything. I'll admit that I was out of it at the bar and the only thing I really remember from that is Andrew demanding to have my phone and calling you from it. Then you showing up half naked. That's all a bit hazy though." Parker paused and I grimaced at the memory of having to show up in my relatively skimpy pyjamas. "I remember everything clearly from the car ride onwards."

"So you remember when you..."

"Held your hand?" He asked. I tore my eyes away from my hair to steal a glance at his face. He was already looking at me, eyes burning into my own. "Bit hard to forget. Just wish I'd been sober for it."

An undetermined period of silence settled within his truck. It wasn't necessarily awkward, but I wouldn't have classed it as comfortable either.

"You didn't seem frightened, not like you normally are. You were letting me hold it. Properly." His voice was quiet, thoughtful.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Really? I don't recall that. Must have slipped my mind or maybe it was just the incredulous amount of alcohol you'd consumed playing havoc with your brain and-"

"Are you saying I hallucinated?" He was grinning from ear to ear, knowing fine well that I was lying my pants off. It was the first smile I'd seen that reached his eyes in a long time and I came to the sudden, rather peculiar realisation that I had both the power to make that smile disappear as well as bring it back.

"That may have been what I was implying, yes."

He laughed, seeming genuinely amused. I could tell because of the almost musical twang to it.

Like his smile, I knew when he was faking a laugh. There was his boastful chuckle, usually he was making fun of someone when you heard it and it was as loud as a foghorn; his quiet snort, often used when he found something or someone quite ridiculous or when he felt he was quite the comedic genius but was reluctant to show he thought as much; and his amused laugh, used when he found something that genuinely entertained him. If it wasn't one of the three, it was forced.

It alarmed me that I'd picked up on his little habits. Perhaps Skylar was right, I really was spending far too much time with Parker.

"You really are the worst liar I've ever met." He shook his head, a soft smile quirking the corners of his lips upward.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"Can I-" He cut himself off, opening his mouth before shutting it again as if he was wondering how exactly he should have been wording his next question. "Can I do it again? Hold your hand, I mean."

I froze, surprised. I wasn't sure what I had expected him to ask, but it hadn't been that. I hesitated. "Why?"

"Well if you're okay with touching-"

"I'm not." I hastily interjected. "I'm just- I'm not sure why the, um, your handholding thing doesn't bother me as much but I still don't like touching. I-" I fumbled for the right words, not daring to look at Parker in fear of embarrassing myself further.

Thankfully he didn't urge me to continue my rambling, nor did he say anything more. Parker simply stared at me, meeting my gaze with the most tender look I had ever seen on his face. For some reason, it soothed my nerves and gave me my much needed confidence to slowly inch my hands toward his.

His own moved to meet mine half way so that our hands hovered over the truck's gear stick. His fingertips had barely grazed my own and yet my breathing had already rapidly increased. Spur of the moment touches didn't include this much time to think about them, to worry about the feeling I'd become so accustomed to when another person's skin came into contact with my own. This was unrushed, leisurely, and my brain was being given far too much time to run away with itself and panic about what was to come.

Ever so slowly, he moved his hands so that they sat over the top of my own. Only when he unfurled my fists did I realise that I'd subconsciously clenched them. As he flipped my hands over he never once broke eye contact with me. He was wary, looking at me as if I were a small animal that he didn't want to startle.

I tore my gaze away from his, focusing on breathing in and out as his fingers moved to trace over the small crescent moons my nails had left indented upon my palms.

"How is this feeling?" He asked slowly, moving my hands together and holding them within his own. He pulled them closer to him, resting them upon his knee which forced me to move my body nearer. "Good, bad?"

How was it feeling? Honestly, I had no clue. Fingers had always felt like fire when met with my skin. It had been like that for years. They left scorching, uncomfortable trails in their wake and made me feel as though I was under some kind of attack, as if a severe threat of danger was present.

With Parker? I couldn't describe it. The fire was still there, I could feel it. However, when given time to think about it I realised that it was a different type of fire. Not fundamentally wrong... it was strange, foreign, other. The new feeling was still a little uncomfortable, but whether that was because I was treading on new territory, I had no idea.

In a way, it felt warmer. Not quite fire, but a heat like molten rock was moving between our hands. It was more than tolerable. Oddly enough, it was comforting. It was as though my body had forgotten what real physical contact felt like and had been secretly craving it for all of this time.

This moment that I had never experienced before was melding us closer together. It probably didn't hold as much meaning to Parker, but for me it was significant.

"Flora?" His thumbs were making circular patterns on the backs of my hands.

"Hm?" A metallic taste filled my mouth and I quickly released the lip I'd been gnawing on.

"Good or bad?"

"I don't-" I was hardly going to tell him my thought process. "What- what you're doing. It's- distracting." I stuttered, gesturing with my head to his moving thumbs.

"Do you need me to stop?"

I nodded mutely and he carefully loosened his grip, dragging his hands back to his lap. I was about to protest and say that I only meant the gentle movements of his thumbs were muddling my mind, not the entire feeling of his hands. I thought better of it, not wanting to raise his hopes or make him too eager. So I too returned my hands to my lap, desperately hoping that the abnormal tingles shooting through my fingers would disappear.

I couldn't stop the hope that swelled in my chest. I knew it was dangerous, to hope for something I'd already ruled out and labeled impossible, but didn't this change things? If my body had for some reason - God knows why - subconsciously began to trust Parker to not be seen as harmful when touching me, was there a possibility that it could improve? That maybe I could stretch to two people? Three? More?

The chances were slim, but until now, the likelihood of it ever happening hadn't even been an option in my brain to ponder. The question was, what made Parker so special? To a certain extent, Parker was still a stranger to me. We spent so much time together that it felt like I'd known him for more than a few months, when in reality it was just that. This boy had somehow managed to work his way through the wall I'd put between myself and others in such a short space of time and yet, to this day I still didn't know if we even classed ourselves as friends.

"What are we?" I blurted, my mind still reeling.

Parker flashed me a cheeky smile. "Well, we have this thing going on where you play hard to get and I hopelessly chase after you."

I felt no clearer understanding on the topic. Frowning, I asked, "Are we friends?"

He paused and raised one of his shoulders into a halfhearted shrug. "If that's what you want to be, but you know that I want more than that."

"I'm trying my best to be serious here, Parker." I exhaled, biting the inside of my cheek. "How many times have I said that I'm not doing friends with benefits?"

"I am being serious."

I raised an eyebrow. "Right, well the answer is still no. I think I'd rather savagely slice my foot off with a-"

"I. Am. Being. Serious." He cut me off, his tone laced with annoyance. "What's the point in denying what I confessed that night? I like you, as in, more than that sort of thing. Like-" I'd never seen Parker turn such a bright shade of crimson before and to say it was amusing to watch would have been an understatement. Dare I say it, it was rather endearing. "I want us to be exclusive."

I tried not to do my hysterical laugh that sometimes happened at the worst possible moments. Take my grandmother's funeral for example; I had been genuinely upset but I felt uncomfortable around the people mourning for their loss when I'd only really known her a few years and they had all known her for decades. So I laughed. I laughed uncontrollably and had to leave whilst all of her friends and my family glared at me.

"What are you thinking about?"