Chapter Three

The sky above had a blanket of slate grey draped across it. It was the type of sky that made everything seem much darker, the remnants of sunlight barely existent. It would rain soon, that I was certain of. Little did I know that a storm wasn't the only brewing mess that had rolled into town that evening.

"You," I said, taking an immediate step back once I had collected myself. I tripped over an uneven paving stone, nearly toppling backwards as I tried to put some distance between the arrogant boy and myself. "Why are you here?"

Parker opened his mouth, the glint that sparkled in his hazel eyes telling me to prepare myself for a witty comeback of some sort. However, his original response never came. His easy going nature evaporated as he took in my rather frazzled looking appearance and watery gaze that was undoubtedly rimmed with red. "Have you been crying?"

"No." I denied brusquely. I hated people seeing me cry, even my family. This was worse. If I had to write a list of the top ten people I'd least like seeing me in a vulnerable state such as this, Parker Heywood would be very high up.

"But you're upset." He furrowed his eyebrows looking somewhat uncomfortable and if I wasn't mistaken, maybe even a little panicked. If I were simply looking in on this conversation, not partaking in it, I might have laughed at the fact Parker was for once completely out of his depth and unsure of what to do. Maybe he didn't like tears either.

"My eyes may have been leaking but that's only because I was cutting onions for the homeless. I was making uh- making them soup. Onion soup." I began walking toward my car, wanting nothing more than to leave before another awkward conversation ensued. Who was I kidding, it already had.

"How nice of you." He was going along with it but I knew he wasn't buying it.

"I know," I stalked ahead of him a little bit in order to discreetly wipe at my eyes as he tried to tag along beside me. "Those unfortunate souls don't know the art of gourmet cooking."

Parker lingered like a bad smell outside my car as I clambered inside.

"Wait," He paused, staring at something I couldn't see. I didn't care. I revved the engine, trying to drive off so that I could express my feelings in peace. The vehicle didn't move.

"I said wait," Parker said again in a slightly sharper tone, disappearing as he crouched down by my car. Curiosity got the better of me and I peered outside my open window to watch him examining my tires. "They've been slashed."

"What?" I scowled, getting back out in order to stand by his side.

"Your tires," He replied. "They've all been slashed."

"What do you mean?" It was a dumb question but his words just weren't really sinking in. Oakton was a fairly small town and around these parts, everyone was relatively friendly. Crime rate was miniscule and the chances of someone purposefully slashing your tires just out of the badness of their heart was next to none.

"Your. Tires. Have. Been. Slashed." He pronounced every word deliberately clear and I glared at him before inspecting them myself. Unfortunately he wasn't wrong. Quite honestly, I didn't know how my day could get any worse.

"Well," I paused. "This complicates things."

"I could give you a lift to wherever you're heading?"

I spun around on my heel to face him and watched as he smirked at me, lifting up one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. It seemed convenient. Too convenient. Maybe even planned. "You did this, didn't you?"

"Don't flatter yourself. Of course I didn't. Though I'm sure you'd have gotten in my car whether your tires were slashed or not. You can't resist my drooling charm and good looks." He winked.

"You have about as much charm as a slug. A dead one."

He studied me for a moment, his smirk never faltering. "You're so confident when you talk," He took a step closer resulting in me taking a tentative one back.

"There's this thing called personal space," I stuttered. "How about you respect mine?"

"Yet you freak out when it comes to something as simple as-" He talked as if I hadn't uttered a word and proceeded to back me against the wall of the brown bricked building next to us. My shirt must have ridden up slightly at my stomach in my haste to get distance between the pair of us because the next thing I knew, he had his hands resting lightly on my sides with the pads of his fingers against my exposed hip bone. "-touching."

I pushed his hands away, trying to muster as intimidating a glare as one can when their eyes have welled up with tears once again and are threatening to spill down their cheeks. Parker must have realised he crossed the line because his face took on a look of extreme concern.

"Oh shit," He cursed, his hands clasped around the back of his neck in awkward worry. "Shit I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- Don't cry. Hey, wait up. Montgomery wait, I'm sorry-"

I punched him.

It happened so quickly I barely had time to register the thought even passing through my brain before I curled my fist into a tight ball and threw it at his nose. Maybe it came down to that deep rooted instinct of fight of flight. Some people ran when bad things jumped out at them whilst others stood their ground. It seemed as though I fell into the latter category seeing as I had just propelled my fist at the boy's face before me.

I unfurled my clenched fingers, staring at my hand as if it weren't my own. Judging by the shocked look plastered to Parker's face, I wasn't the only one surprised by my sudden burst of violence.

"I just punched you." I blurted, stating the obvious.

"You sure did," He groaned, his voice slightly muffled by the hand that was covering his nose. "Fuck, you sure can throw a punch. I think I can feel my nose in the back of my throat." He let his hand drop to his side and apart from it being slightly on the pink side, his nose seemed relatively fine.

"My lawyer will call your lawyer." I stated before deciding to let my feet carry me away, side stepping around him and taking off into a flat-out sprint down the street, sneaker soles loudly slapping against the pavement. What was I meant to say after punching him in the face? Oops?

And then I remembered my car.

I slowed to a stop, getting an odd look from a boy leaving a newspaper store. I glared at him and he looked at me as if I were crazy before averting his gaze and hurrying away from the odd dishevelled girl who was panting (clearly in a super attractive way) (that was heavily sarcastic I was sweating like a pig) even though she had only ran down half a street. Unfortunately that girl was me and to be quite honest, I probably did look fairly crazy.

I almost jumped out of my skin when Parker seemed to materialise in front of me.

"Look, I'm sorry. I won't do that again-"

"Damn right you won't." I spat.

"Just let me drive you home." He insisted, the venomous glare I was sending his way apparently having absolutely no effect on him. It seemed that his only Kryptonite was tears. I was tempted to force myself into crying again in order to scare him off. I figured it best not to.

"Why the hell do you think I'd get in a car with you after that?"

"I touched you, you punched me. We're even," I was about to protest that we were far from even but he continued to talk. "And really, do you want to walk for about half an hour to get back home? You know I'll just drive slowly beside you for the entire time."

I looked at his serious expression and grimaced at the thought of another half an hour with the guy. He must have read the defeat in my eyes because he wore a triumphant look on his face and sauntered off saying, "Come on, my car is just over here."

I was expecting Parker to be like the others in our year and have some fancy sports car of some sort that left me baffled as to where they got the money from. Much to my surprise, he didn't. Instead he had an almost retro looking black pickup truck. It was a bit rusty and had a large dent on one of the doors but I had to admit that I grudgingly quite liked it. Not that I would ever tell him that. His ego was big enough as it was without me inflating it more by approving of his car.

Parker quite literally looked like a kid on Christmas morning as I clambered inside. He cranked up the volume of his car radio with a grin, Muse playing at the loudest possible level. Meanwhile, I buckled my seatbelt wondering what exactly I'd gotten myself into.

***

I was awoken the next morning feeling groggy and disorientated and for a good five minutes I was under the impression that Billie Joe Armstrong himself was by my bedside serenading me in order to awaken me from my slumber. Alas, he wasn't there in the flesh, only in the soul. It had been my iPod blasting my Green Day alarm of 21 Guns.

I felt around the floor with my eyes half open, fingers fumbling over the device to silence it. It may have been a Saturday but I felt like the human version of Monday. Most likely because I had to be driven home the night before by Parker Heywood. The journey had been full of screeching tires, abrupt turnings and chaffing seatbelts. I was still surprised that we hadn't ended up crashing into something and dying. Calling me a bad driver for tapping him with the bonnet of my car was hugely hypocritical seeing as he drove like a madman in a car chase.

When I finally got home (he had accidentally taken the long way back) I had to tell my mum about my stranded car. She wasn't happy. She'd left for work this morning in a mood, mumbling something about calling a company to pick the vehicle up and fix it.

I stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen holding my blanket around my shoulders like a cape. I got myself a bowl of cereal before sitting down on a stool at the kitchen island. I could hear the faint murmur of television voices coming from the living room but I didn't think much of it, presuming mum had forgotten to switch it off before leaving.

However, as I scooped a spoonful of Lucky Charms into my mouth I heard a snort of laughter emanate from the room. I spat out what I was about to swallow, leaving a puddle of regurgitated milk and cereal on the kitchen counter. It definitely hadn't been the television and it sounded nothing like my mother.

I tiptoed to the living room, peeking around the door to see if I had imagined the laugh or if there was actually an intruder in my house.

There was.

I couldn't see the stranger's face but I could clearly see the back of his brown haired head and a pair of broad shoulders. He sat laughing at what looked like some kind of couple therapy programme. The woman sat in a plush chair and whined to the presenter about her husband not paying enough attention to her whilst the enraged looking husband started pointing at her face and shouting foul words. The presenter calmed him down before sassing them both. The audience started cheering and clapping enthusiastically. The stranger laughed again.

It was then that it clicked. I was beginning to know that laugh all too well.

"Why the fuck are you in my house?" I yelled, storming over to the couch and blocking Parker's view of my television. "How did you get in?"

"So Sleeping Beauty is awake at last. How lovely."

I flung the spoon I had been wielding in my hands as if it were a weapon at his face. It bounced off his nose and he winced, picking it up from the place it had fallen on his lap. He stared at the spoon for a moment, milk from my cereal still dripping slightly from it, and then he met my eyes. He was amused. It really irritated me that he found everything I did funny. "Honey, I'd really prefer it next time if you aimed for another part of my anatomy to hit. If we continue going this way I'll be Voldemort soon."

"Would you like to explain what you're doing in my house apart from adding to my electricity bill?" I snatched the remote from the arm of the couch and switched off the television. He huffed something about me being a party pooper which I ignored as I stood with my arms crossed, awaiting a proper response.

"I needed to give you this." He rummaged around in his jean pocket before handing over a small, white electronic device. I took it from him, examining it.

"You're giving me a phone?" I questioned with a frown.

"You don't recognise it?" He chuckled.

I looked at it again, thoroughly confused. Then I noticed the slight scrape to the top right corner from the time I'd dropped it on a moving bus and was forced to run to the back as it slid across the floor. That was a dark day. "Did I leave this in your car?"

"No, I took it from your jacket pocket." He shrugged as if it were no big deal.

"Wait a minute," I seethed. "Not only have you broken into my house but you've also stolen my phone? Are you kidding me?"

"Your face is turning an alarming shade of red."

"No shit," I snapped. "It's because I'm angry. Why did you steal it?"

"To exchange numbers of course," He tried to reach for the remote controller again but I quickly picked it up before he got the chance. He gave up, slouching back onto the couch. "You wouldn't have willingly done it so you left me no choice."

"Maybe that's because you're being a creepy ass stalker and I only started speaking to you like- two days ago." I was having trouble processing that Parker was actually in my house, in my living room, at 10am on a Saturday morning. His black jeans and shirt along with his dirty sneakers made him look even more out of place than he already was in my pale pastel coloured interior of a living room. "How did you get in here? Get the heck out!"

"Such vulgar words coming from such a sweet looking girl." He tutted, knowing full well that his care free attitude was winding me up.

"How did you get in?" I repeated.

"The door. Your mum didn't lock it right," I knew my mum. She was someone who liked to check, double check and triple check something. The day she left our door unlocked would be the day that pigs could fly. At the look I gave him, he caved in. "Alright, well I might have picked the lock but that's basically the same thing." He waved the spoon he still held back and forth in the air in a dismissive gesture.

If I was normal, I'd have been forcefully shoving him out of my house... but I wasn't. Instead, I was unable to get him out without having it be on his own free will so all I could do was demand that he leave.

"Can you please leave?" I sighed, hugging the blanket that still sat on my shoulders closer to myself.

"I think we should be friends."

"Are you being serious?"

"I know," He sighed. "It'd be better if we were friends with benefits but I have a feeling that we'd be moving things a bit too fast, you know? But that will come in time."

"Get out." I pointed toward the door.

"Don't you enjoy my company?"

"No." I huffed.

"But why? I was such a chivalrous gentleman yesterday escorting you home."

"But then you proceeded to steal my phone before I got in and the following morning you broke into my house. Chivalrous. Right." I pinched the bridge of my nose, sensing an oncoming headache. "What could I say or do that would make you leave?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment, placing a hand on his chin and slightly scrunching his eyes. "Go out with me tomorrow."

"No."

"Too bad," He sighed, swinging his legs up onto the couch and stretching them out. "Guess I'm here to stay."

"If I say yes will you actually leave?" I asked after a moment.

"If you agree, then yes I will." As if he read my mind, he continued with, "But if you don't show up, I'll annoy you for the rest of time and make your life miserable."

"Deal." I agreed, having absolutely no intention of going anywhere with him the next day. I needed to get him out of my house, I'd tackle the annoying and miserable hurdle later on. It wasn't like saying deal was some binding oath and we hadn't exactly pinky promised. It was fine if I didn't go.

"It's a date then." He put extra emphasis on the word date and smirked.

"It's an outing," I corrected automatically. "Now for goodness sake, get out of my house."

Once he reached the front door he turned around and said, "I'll pick you up at seven thirty."

I slammed the door in his face.

Then I remembered he still had my spoon.