Chapter Twelve

"I think I'll have a dinner party," My mother mused as I came into the kitchen cocooned in my blanket of misery. I looked over her shoulder to see what she had her head buried in. She was reading Cosmopolitan. "The people throwing this party look so happy. We need to do this."

"Mum, that's an advert."

"Throwing a party might be fun." She continued as if I hadn't spoken, lifting her head out of the magazine to look at me.

Throwing a party most definitely did not sound fun. My experience from last night was enough to put me off any kind of social gathering for a lifetime, especially if they were labelled as a party.

"What's got you looking so grumpy this morning? Have you split up with Beckett?"

I frowned at her. "What? Mum, Beckett and I were never together."

"But he took you out and seemed like such gentleman! Even knowing that you didn't like touching he appeared fine wi-"

The image of Beckett lying bloody across our dinner table sprang to mind.

"Mum," I cut her rambling short. "Beckett and I aren't together, nor will we ever be."

She began mumbling things under her breath that I couldn't quite hear though it seemed to be related to cooking as she focused on her magazine again.

I made myself some Nutella toast before retreating back to my room where I intended to stay for the foreseeable future. Perhaps I'd raise a pug farm instead of going back to school the next day. An abundance of pug puppies was sure to keep my sadness at bay.

As the day progressed, the more my phone got clogged up with missed calls and unread text messages. When it reached three o'clock, curiosity got the better of me and I decided that I'd see who even cared that I'd left the party early.

Skylar.

Every missed call, every slurred, worried voicemail, and the vast majority of texts had been from Skylar. Everything had been from her, all except a single message.

You looked very pretty tonight.

That's all it read. It had been sent at around twelve last night, the time I roughly got home. I didn't recognise the number.

It was probably some kind of joke but it was still creeping me out. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I debated whether or not to reply to the stranger.

The only people I'd properly spoken to the previous night had been Skylar, Axel, Parker and Quinn. I had talked to Matthew in passing but it obviously wasn't him; he couldn't count how many fingers he had on one hand, much less get my number from someone and type out a text message.

It clearly wasn't Skylar.

Axel wouldn't. The boy had been freaked out enough as it was having said a provocative comment that Parker might have somehow overheard. I could hardly imagine Axel sending me a message that voiced his thoughts and could have been found by him.

Parker's number was already saved to my phone and with the way we had left things the night before, I couldn't envisage him sending me a creepy looking message from someone else's phone just to pay me a compliment. Not only was it a little too creepy (even for him), but it wasn't his style. He'd much prefer to say it to my face just to see how much he could make me squirm in discomfort.

If I denied that I had expected to receive at least one text or call with an apology from Parker then I'd be lying. In fact - much to my alarm - I had been tossing and turning for the majority of the night thinking about why he hadn't just apologised straight away. I wasn't certain what I wanted an apology for. Sleeping with Quinn? Yelling at me for rejecting him when he didn't give me enough time to do so? Yelling at me in general? Hurting my feelings? All of the above? My head was a jumbled mess. Making sense of one train of thought was like trying to make a sentence out of Alphabetti Spaghetti in the dark.

I wasn't sure why he was suddenly playing such a large part in my life. I had been doing just fine and dandy not really knowing him before I hit him with my stupid car and he decided to stick around and toy with me.

I knew there was a reason as to why I was feeling so betrayed by this. In fact, it was a rather obvious one that I was only just beginning to understand might be a possibility, but that thought in itself was ridiculous. I wouldn't allow my brain to seriously think it over. At least not now.

That left Quinn. I wouldn't put it past her to mess with me after her stunt with the accidentally-on-purpose drink spillage.

I sent Skylar a quick message to say I was fine, that I had just felt ill so I left early and that partying wasn't the life I wanted after all. She sent one back immediately explaining her killer hangover in depth. I then decided to focus on the mysterious number and ignore my best friend's complaining for the time being. I began to type.

Very funny, Quinn.

However, it truly wasn't. It was the exact opposite of funny because within seconds I had received another message from the stranger and they didn't seem so friendly anymore.

Wrong. Guess again, Frigid Flo. The redheaded bitch you were hanging out with last night doesn't have the brains to mess about with you like I do. I should know, she is my ex girlfriend after all.

Something told me this wasn't Quinn. She hadn't been at our school long enough to know people referred to me as Frigid Flora because it hadn't been happening as often now - Parker had pretty much put a stop to it. Was it a coincidence that the Quinn I had spoken to had also been a redheaded bitch? Had they just made a lucky guess? Or had this person really been watching me? Was this actually Quinn and she was just playing me for a fool? My palms were sweating as I typed a reply.

Who is this?

I never received an answer.

***

It had been roughly three in the morning when I finally managed to fall asleep that night. I was thankful that it was the weekend for I had only rested my eyes for an hour before I was forced awake with my ringing phone. My fingers fumbled over the device, trying to answer it quickly in my groggy state before I woke up my sleeping mother.

"Hello?" My voice sounded gravelly even to my own ears but I was past the point of caring. I felt exhausted.

"Uh, hello." A gruff, masculine voice replied on the other end that I didn't recognise. I immediately sat upright in my bed, taking my phone away from my ear to check the caller ID. Apparently it was Parker.

I hesitated. "Parker?"

"Eh, not quite. The name's Andy, but I'm with your Parker. The boy's been drinking his sorrows away for quite a few hours now and keeps on grumbling about a girl called Flora and whether he should call her. Thing is, I'm closing the bar up now and he isn't budging. Thought I best take things into my own hands and call you up myself. I've called the right Flora, yeah?"

"I- yes," I was already rubbing the sleep from my eyes and lacing up my sneakers. "What bar?"

He rattled off the name and directions before hanging up.

Sneaking out of my house had been easier than expected. I quietly padded down the stairs and grabbed my keys before closing the door behind me. I could only hope that my mother didn't check on me before she left for work seeing as she woke up at six and left at seven. I'd stuffed pillows under my duvet in a pathetic attempt to make it look like a sleeping form in my bed just to be on the safe side.

As I brought my sputtering car engine to life, I let my tired brain catch up to what I was actually doing. Driving to pick up a drunk Parker who sat in a bar on the outskirts of town. I looked down to see that I was still wearing pyjamas and cursed.

With the help of my car's Sat-Nav, I managed to make it to the place in just under twenty minutes. It was then that I realised I also hadn't put a jacket on. It was approaching winter and at half past four in the morning, the air wasn't exactly pleasant for a thin tank and boy shorts. I couldn't believe I was doing this when so exposed.

The bar Parker had apparently been in for the entire night was one in the back of a place called Andrew's Arcade. It was a relatively grotty looking building from its exterior and only slightly improved when inside seeing as it provided warmth.

It smelled faintly of stale cigarettes, the plaster walls were peeling and a few of the ceiling lights flickered as I entered. The front half of the place was an arcade filled with retro looking gaming machines. I caught sight of an old fashioned Mario and the classic Tetris. It even had one of those small basketball games that you usually saw at fairgrounds, where you slotted in your money and got a chance to throw some balls through a hoop. However, if you managed to do so I couldn't see where you'd collect a prize. I doubted this was the place to collect your winning stuffed toy.

As I made my way to the back, the atmosphere quickly changed. The stench of stale cigarettes was more profound there and the air slightly foggier. There was a pool table and a bar. Where the front of Andrew's Arcade had been empty, the back still had people lingering- or rather, staggering about. Some sat at the few tables there were, packs of cards in hand and thick cigars wedged between their lips. Others were arguing with an obviously angered bartender, demanding another drink.

My steps faltered as I felt the weight of customers' eyes upon my half naked self.

The bartender looked up, relief visibly plastered to his weathered looking features. He appeared to be in his late forties, black hair already thinning and wrinkles drawing his mouth slightly downward. He cracked me a toothy smile as I approached. I guessed that this must have been the Andy who I'd spoken to on the phone, Andrew presuming he was the owner of the arcade.

He took in my night attire with a small shake of his head. "I doubt you're here for a drink. Must be Flora. God knows how you've ended up being the one burdened with this drunk lad." He nudged a figure that had their head slumped against the counter of the bar.

The person groaned and I had to do a double take. It was Parker and he seemed to have lost his shirt, shoes and sanity.

I looked back at Andy with a confused frown. "You burdened me with him."

"Now that's true," He chuckled. "But you were the one he kept whining about. Something tells me you're burdened with him whether I'm calling you to come pick him up or not."

I thought that over for a moment before looking at Parker who still had his face pressed against the counter. "How much has he had to drink?"

"A fair bit," Andy mused. "Came here late afternoon mumbling something about regret. By early morning the boy was telling me his entire life story. Never heard him talk so much in my life. Usually sits here and listens to my problems. Silent, brooding, he likes to throw a snarky comment in every so often. Never usually the other way around. Roles sure were reversed today."

"He comes here a lot?"

He nodded and slid over Parker's phone, the one he must have used to call me with.

"Anyway, I need to get the rest of these stragglers out now that I've sorted this one. Sorry for waking you up by the way. Take care of him and... take care of yourself. Your clothes aren't the best for a place like this." He slapped Parker on the shoulder affectionately before moving the multiple empty glasses away from him - he had to prise one from Parker's fingers - and I managed to count eleven before Andy had them behind the counter.

I was about to turn my attention to Parker when he started to speak again, "Oh and Flora?"

"Yeah?"

"It might not look like it, but that boy really cares about you." And then he was busying himself with other people, demanding in a much harsher tone that they get out.

I sighed, beyond exhausted and confused. "Parker? Parker, can you hear me?"

He grunted something incoherent but rolled his head slightly so that his cheek was pressed against the counter and his face was turned in my direction. His eyes were closed.

"Heywood, I'm going to kill you for bringing me to a stinky bar when you're awake enough to realise that I'm mad at you. Now open your eyes and walk to my car so that I can drive you home before I abandon you here."

"Don't be mad at me." He mumbled, hand slapping about the counter as if supposedly looking for mine. I stared at it unsurely until it flopped limply to his side again.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't be mad at you. It's almost five in the morning and I'm really tired and grumpy and in a god damn flipping bar that doesn't know whether it's for children or adults that like to place bets." I huffed.

He frowned with his eyes still glued shut and it caused wrinkles to appear between his eyebrows. An odd and overwhelming urge coursed through me to run my fingertips across his worry lines in order to smooth out the creases, to return him to his peaceful state. I clasped my hands together instead. Being thoroughly fatigued was doing strange things to my brain.

"No," He tried to open his eyes but just ended up squinting at me through small slits. "Not about this, about-about the, um..." He seemed to be struggling to grasp his thoughts. It didn't surprise me if he'd consumed over eleven alcoholic beverages. "Quinn?"

"Look, we can talk about that another time. I'm too tired for this. Can I just drive you to your house please?"

He muttered an unintelligible response that I took as consent seeing as he stumbled off the bar stool he sat upon. I didn't know how to support his weight without holding him upright so I just had to slowly walk beside him and pray that he didn't fall over as we left the arcade. If he did, I'd have to call Andy to come haul him into my car because I certainly wouldn't be able to carry him to it.

Luckily we made it to my car with no fatal injuries, just a scrape to Parker's knee (he decided he'd sit on the ground to wait on the three second job of unlocking my car door and had trouble getting back up afterward) and my quickly disappearing patience.

I didn't want to think about what we looked like. A girl in her sneakers and skimpy pyjamas walking next to a tall, shoeless and shirtless drunk guy. We were most definitely a sight to see at such an early hour. At any hour, really.

"Sit still, Parker." I commanded through gritted teeth. I felt like I was babysitting an infant as I tried to buckle his seatbelt. He kept bending forward as if he were about to vomit and each time he did so, I was forced to push him back in case he actually did spill the contents of his stomach over the inside of my vehicle. That would have been the icing on the cake to the worst day in history.

"Do you forgive me?" His bloodshot eyes were wide open now, intently staring at me like a guilty puppy that's just gnawed through your favourite pair of slippers. I hated the fact that I compared something so cute to Parker.

"No." I replied stiffly, moving to sit behind the steering wheel.

Parker quickly grabbed my hand as if scared I'd sudenly leave. He turned it over so that my palm was facing skyward and softly pressed his lips against it. "Please?"

I looked between my hand and his face, panicking about the fact that my body wasn't fighting his touch. I tried to even my breathing, calm myself down.

Touching was normal, fearing it was irrational.

Count to ten, count down from ten.

Even breathing, even breathing.

He was using one hand to lightly hold my wrist. The index finger of his other hand was tracing the outline of my own, travelling along my fingers and following the dips inbetween them . He'd done this action once before, when he'd asked to touch me in one place and it had been profoundly awkward. However, just like it was then, the touch itself wasn't particularly uncomfortable.

He was scrutinising my hand, oblivious to my internal struggle. "I like holding your hand. It's really soft. I always want to hold your hand. How weird."

I slowly retracted my hand in an attempt to calm my laboured breathing, placing it back onto the steering wheel before me.

The drive stretched on for what felt like hours. Probably because I was tired or maybe because all I had to think about was Parker's drunken confession. Or perhaps it was because my car radio no longer worked and Parker had fallen asleep. It was probably all of the reasons mixed together along with the fact that I had to circle his block twice to find his house. I had only seen the place when crowded with intoxicated, hormonal teenagers.

"Parker, wake up." I demanded as I unbuckled his seatbelt, eventually having found his home. "Parker!"

"I'm awake, I'm awake." He groaned, ungracefully clambering from the vehicle and slamming the door shut behind him. The brisk morning air seemed to sober him up a little as I walked to his door with him stumbling by my side.

"Pass me your keys." I exhaled as I watched him miss the keyhole time and time again. With each failed attempt, he managed to gouge out part of the thick wooden door.

I snatched them from him when he didn't respond, opening the door with ease and handing them back after the simple task was done.

"We need to be quiet," Parker stated in a not-so-quiet voice. "My mum's home."

"Want to lower your voice a bit then, stupid?" I whispered in response.

We crept upstairs in silence apart from the few muffled cries from Parker stumbling into things. Like the wall. Or the floor. Basically anything that he could walk into, he did. He loudly apologised after every trip up and after a while I gave up on trying to hush him. I'd come to accept that everybody within a one hundred mile radius would have known of our arrival to his home.

A door opened from down the hallway to reveal a woman with short blonde hair. She had an open bag of Cheetos in one hand and a beer can in the other. Her shirt had seen better days, the remnants of whatever dinner she'd eaten had been spilled down the front. She looked warily between the pair of us, exhaustion clear on her face. It didn't look like the type of tired that was caused by a bad night's rest, it looked like the type of fatigue one got after going through many years of stress and worry. To say she didn't look happy would be an understatement.

"Are you drunk again? I thought we'd stopped this." She sounded weary and was apparently asking no questions as to who I was and what I was doing with her son before it had even reached six in the morning. I was relieved for the time being but I'd probably worry about her lack of questioning later on. Was this how he usually behaved? Was it normal for him to bring a girl home at this time?

"Don't mind her," Parker gestured toward the woman who I presumed to be his mother, dismissing her. "She's a pig."

"We'll talk in the morning." His mother snapped before stalking back into her room.

"No we won't!" He yelled so she could hear him.

I winced when she threw something at the door so it would shut from wherever she was situated in the room without having to move. The noise sounded far too loud.

Parker was about to continue stumbling to his room when I stopped him.