"Well this isn't embarrassing at all." I heard Parker mutter to himself from behind me.

I might have smiled at his words if it weren't for shock having complete control over me. My feet were rooted to the spot, hand frozen around the handle of the drawer I'd just opened, and my mouth hung agape. Within the rectangular wooden space was concrete evidence that the boy who I'd known had a hidden caring streak in him also had a massive sentimental one. Folded into a neat square was the cropped tank I'd worn to his party those long months ago. The one that Quinn had 'accidentally' drenched in alcohol and I'd forgotten to take back home. I was forced to borrow Parker's shirt (which I had yet to return because damn was it soft and roomy and nice to sleep in) so that I could get home wearing something dry. Next to my tank was a spoon. Not just any old eating utensil, but the one I'd thrown at Parker's nose when he'd first made an appearance at my house and I thought him to be an intruder. The one he'd accidentally left with. There were also another few knick-knacks like some pens I'd let him 'borrow' in class and even this scrap piece of paper I'd thrown at him ages ago after I'd doodled him as a stick man on it. Save for those few items, the drawer was completely empty. He'd dedicated the entire thing to me.

"Parker..." I trailed off, unsure of where I was even going with my sentence. All words seemed lost. All I knew was that the guy was making it the most difficult task on earth to stay mad at him and he wasn't even trying. He was just being himself: a tad bit creepy and a whole lot adorable.

"My shirts are in the next one down." He grumbled.

I reluctantly shut the drawer, opening the next one in search of possible nightwear. It was nowhere near as neat. In fact, all of his shirts were crushed and looked as though they'd just been crammed in without thought. Not to mention that once I'd selected what seemed to be the smallest shirt he owned - which was probably still six sizes too big - it was difficult to close it again because it had been so overly packed. A stark contrast to the neatness of the other which he clearly needed for storage purposes.

"Parker-" I started.

He looked angry with himself as he snatched a pair of basketball shorts that I presumed he'd be sleeping in. "Don't. Don't say anything. I'll go get changed in the bathroom. Shout me when you're finished getting dressed so I can come back in." With that, he slammed the door behind him.

There were too many things that my brain wanted me to think about at once that I was beginning to get a headache. What would Parker do about Ian? What did Ian have over him other than drugs? Was Jason back for good now? Why did the stranger send me those pictures? Who was the stranger? Why did Parker ignore me for an entire month? What was with the cute sentimental drawer? Was he angry because he was embarrassed? And back to one of the things that had been haunting me for what felt like a life time: what was I going to do about touching now that I seemed to be completely fine with Parker? Was it possible that it could apply for others, too?

My goodness, did my brain hurt.

I decided that ignoring my endless list of problems was much better than dealing with any of them, at least it was for now. Things could be talked over in the morning, I thought to myself as I stripped down before slipping on a grey tee of Parker's. It rested just below mid-thigh so I hurriedly wriggled under his duvet so as to not feel exposed before calling Parker back in. The door opened seconds later and he turned the light off, settling down onto the inflatable bed without so much as a glance my way. He definitely looked embarrassed. It was kind of endearing. Even more so when he was shirtless and his toned torso was on display. I was grateful for the darkness of the room when I felt my cheeks heat up.

Parker was tossing and turning for god knows how long, grunting incoherent things under his breath whilst I stared at his ceiling. He had these glow in the dark stars stuck to it. He'd told me once that they'd been up since he was a kid and that his dad had helped adhere them to the ceiling. I suspected that's why they were still there seeing as he loved his macho façade, and the stars... Well, the stars sort of brought it down a few notches.

"I think it's cute." I confessed eventually against my better judgement, hoping to make him feel better.

The constant sound of crackling sheets moving underneath his fidgeting body stopped. "What?"

"That you kept my hideous tank and lethal weapon and all that other rubbish. I think it's cute. I like it."

"You do?" He sounded relieved. "Christ, I thought you were thinking I was some kind of weirdo."

"I'd never think that." I replied, my arm dangling from the side of his bed. A few moments later, Parker's fingers found mine. Common sense told me to retract my hand until he'd explained why he'd been ignoring me but I shut it out.

Things can be talked over in the morning, Flora.

Frowning, I continued, "But I hope you washed the damn spoon. That had milk on it."

"Good night, Flora Montgomery." He laughed.

I yawned, squeezing his fingers. "Good night, Parker Heywood."

***

The voice was deep, adenoidal, and as familiar as the back of my hand. Trustworthy, I thought without truly thinking, because I knew who it belonged to.

Then there were flashes. A friendly smile, a hand untying my plaited hair and brushing along my collar bone to scoop the loose locks to one side, a whisper in my ear.

Double digits. Double digits. Double digits.

That's what it kept saying.

Double digits. Double digits.

It wouldn't stop. The images of the face I now knew not to trust. They kept hurtling toward me, each one hitting me like a boulder. They left me gasping for breath, panic-stricken. I couldn't move.

You're a big girl now, it was saying, double digits.

I wanted to escape but there were hands keeping me in place, restricting my movements. There were hands everywhere and they wouldn't stop. I wanted them to stop. I wanted my parents.

You're ten years old. That's double digits. You're a big girl now.

The weight was too heavy, I couldn't move it. My face was damp, wet with tears and water. My arms were tired and I couldn't push the weight off. I let them fall limp to my sides instead as I shut my eyes. There was no point in fighting it.

"Flora! Honey, wake up right now. Flora? Fuck. Fucking hell." The voice didn't sound the same as his and the weight from my chest had been lifted but I kept my eyes closed just to be on the safe side. Out of sight, out of mind. "Flora, please tell me that you're alright. Just open your eyes or punch me in the nose or something."

There were hands on me, on the small of my back and underneath my knees, but not like the pair that had been there previously. These were more careful, gentle, cradling me closely to them. I had room to move and breathe. I squirmed and let out a sob of relief, my eyes flying open as I tried to make sense of myself and my surroundings. It took a few moments of blinking and scrutiny to recognise the worried face before my own. It had visibly blanched, pallor as pale as parchment, with hazel eyes that seemed to have lost all of their playfully warm shine and lips pressed into a thin, white line. He was barely recognisable, but he was still my Parker.

"Parker?" I croaked, and somehow voicing his name turned on the waterworks.

I burrowed my head into the crook of his neck and looped my arms around him as I let the tears flow. He didn't miss a beat, reciprocating my actions with what I felt was an equal amount of desperation. He pressed me closer into his chest as though he could squirrel me away from the world in the folds of his bomber jacket. If the option was there, I wouldn't decline it.

"Don't ever do that to me again." He kept repeating it, planting furious kisses to the top of my head and rocking me from side to side like a baby. I didn't even care. "Ever. I mean it, Flora. You scared me. Are you alright? What's wrong? You can tell me anything. Christ, I'm so glad you're alright. Don't ever do that to me again. Shh, it's okay. Shh."

I sniffled, closing my eyes and inhaling his scent to try and calm my laboured breathing. "I-I'm glad you're here."

He wound his arms around me and squeezed. Hugs terrified me and I deemed them the worst of all contact. It was like being stuck inside a white hot cage that you couldn't escape. Today, however, it felt completely different. I needed it - his closeness. I needed to know that he was there. I needed Parker. I tugged on the front of his jacket, trying to pull him closer. He began to stroke my hair, muttering soothing words in my ear until I eventually caught my breath again. Hiccups began soon after, a terrible side effect that I suffered from after a serious crying episode, but he didn't seem to notice.

I don't know how long we stayed like that, wrapped up in one another on his bed with him whispering comforting things and softly rocking me back and forth, but it was long enough for my tears to dry. I eventually tried to disentangle myself from him but Parker was having none of it. I settled for resting my head against his chest instead, curling myself into a ball on his lap. I felt exhausted.

"What was that?" He asked in a hushed, almost hesitant tone.

"Bad dream." I mumbled. He was so warm and soft, like a heated personal pillow that moulded to my shape and enveloped me in comfort. I snuggled in closer and let my head rise and fall to the steady intake of his breath as he lay back.

"Do you have them often?" His voice was barely above a whisper as he nuzzled his face into my hair, nose brushing against my ear. It was oddly comforting, his touch. I knew he meant no harm by it. He was always so careful with how he held me; my body couldn't not trust him.

I hesitated. "Sometimes."

He drew back slightly to see my face and (much to my extreme embarrassment) I let out a sound of disapproval that fell somewhere between a forlorn sigh and a cat being strangled. He rested his forehead against mine as if to make up for the loss of contact. "Flora," His tone held warning. Parker clearly knew what I'd said wasn't strictly true. "How often?"

It was impossible to lie or fabricate excuses when his hazel eyes were boring into my own mere centimetres away. "I- well, I might have them annually. I think. Maybe. Yes?"

"Annually?" He frowned.

"I don't like talking about this." I blurted before attempting to pull away from him. He quickly brought me back to his lap with one arm around my waist, his other hand finding its way back to my hair. He resumed the stroking when it was obvious I was beginning to get anxious again.

"I'm not a pet you know." I informed him, changing the subject as I referred to his comforting gesture.

"I know." He hummed, continuing anyway. Probably because I was leaning into his touch and letting a content sigh escape my lips every now and then. "Flora?"

"Mmhm?" I let my eyes flutter closed. I didn't want to go back to sleep, I was scared of what my dreams would bring, but I was absolutely zonked as Parker would say. Bone-dead tired.

"You were yelling things whilst you slept..." He trailed off and I didn't need to see his face to know he was doing that squinting thing with his eyes like there was a bright light shining in them. The look that came over him when he was thinking about something too hard. There might have even been one of his characteristic I'm-angry hair tugs if it weren't for his hands being occupied with me. "Telling someone not to touch you."

I stiffened, and if I could feel every inhale and exhale of Parker's breathing, then I knew he felt me do it. I attempted to act nonchalant anyway. "Is that so?"

His hand had stilled, resting upon my shoulder. "Look at me."

I kept my eyes shut. "No, I'm sleepy."

"Flora."

"Parker."

I felt his fingers, firm underneath my chin as he turned my head to face him. They moved away to trace feather-light lines down my nose (which I'd scrunched up when I'd screwed my eyes shut) and around my lips. He was taking advantage of the moment, no doubt. I'd never really allowed him to get this intimate with me save for the few - and very brief - kissing moments. His thumb pressed down on my lower lip, forcing them to part ever so slightly. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes to see what was going on. His gaze was focused intently on my mouth.

"You're really beautiful, Flora, whether you realise that or not. It wouldn't surprise me if some people wanted you. Wanted you so much that despite your... Inability for certain things, they'd do what they wanted anyway. You see what I'm saying?"

I shifted awkwardly on his lap, no longer comfortable being there. "Afraid not."

He frowned, eyebrows drawing so closely together that they almost bumped into each other. "Honey, who hurt you?"

"You're not making any sense."

He looked at me, long and hard, and his eyes blazed. His hazel irises looked aflame, almost golden, like liquid fire. "You can't tell me not to lie when you do the same with me. You're lying to evade the truth, just like I did. You know I see straight through you."

I disentangled my limbs from his and drew away from him completely choosing to sit on the inflatable bed instead to get some distance between us. Being so close to him was distracting and made it impossible to think. "I'm not lying."

"Honey, if somebody hurt you I-" He breathed deeply through his nose, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he gulped. "You have to tell me."

I glanced at the clock. "I need to skedaddle. My mum expected me back home for breakfast like an hour ago. You know, when it wasn't lunch time already."

Momentarily distracted, he furrowed his eyebrows. "She wanted you back for breakfast?"

I waved my hand about in a dismissive gesture, standing upright. "She wants to do something for my birthday."

"It's your birthday?"

I shrugged as I collected yesterday's clothing from the floor. Luckily the sky outside looked a clear blue, the only evidence of the previous night's torrential downpour being the puddled pavement.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I shrugged again, unsure of what he wanted me to say. "I don't know? It's not like it's a big deal."

"But you'll be eighteen. That only happens once." He was saying it like it was important. Like in the grand scheme of things, turning eighteen was vital to celebrate and not just like any other day of your life.

"And I'll only be eighteen years and a day old once. Or eighteen years and two days old. Three. Four. Nineteen and a half. Do we celebrate those days? No, but what's the difference?" I sighed, heading to the bathroom to get changed.

Once I'd gotten myself dressed, I splashed my face with cold water in the hopes to cool it down. It was puffy from sleep and tears. I couldn't help but feel embarrassed when re-entering the room after having glanced in the mirror and knowing how terrible I looked.

"Here." I threw him his shirt back and he held it for a while, staring at the wrinkled material with a frown.

"I would have bought you a present."

I rolled my eyes even though he wasn't looking at me. "I didn't get you a present for your eighteenth either. We're even, amigo. No biggie."

"But it is a big deal!" He protested. "How am I supposed to woo you or make you swoon without a romantic gift to help?"

I couldn't help but smile a little. "You're stupid."

"Anyway," He groaned as he carelessly threw his shirt to his unmade bed. "You didn't even know me when I turned eighteen. You weren't on my radar then and I was out partying. Of course you wouldn't have gotten me anything, you'd have hated me."

I ran a hand through my hair. "Fine, I won't get you anything for Christmas."

He pouted. "Now let's not be too rash."

"Parker, I need to see my mum now." I shook my head, stifling a laugh. "Text me when you've made up your mind about what protocol we'll follow to fix this difficult problem of ours."

He walked me to his front door. To my utmost relief, we didn't have another run-in with his mother. If we had, with the mood I was in I don't think I would have been able to handle the stress she brought me, or watch the stress that she brought Parker.

"Wait." He said as he disappeared back into the house as I stepped foot outside of the threshold. He came back a few moments later with a waffle lathered in Nutella. It took a great deal of strength on my part to refrain from drooling as he handed it to me. On closer inspection, I could see tiny little slices of freshly cut strawberry on top. "Breakfast."

"I haven't had any kids but I reckon this is on par with having your first child." I moaned through a mouthful of deliciousness to which Parker smirked.

"You sound pretty satisfied." He winked suggestively.

I shot him a glare before taking another large bite. "Shut up." I mumbled, covering my mouth with one hand. "When did you even have the time to make this? It's still sort of warm."

"I went out for breakfast when you were still asleep," He tugged on his bomber jacket. "If you hadn't already noticed my missing pyjamas. I'd just finished making it when I-" He hesitated. "Heard you calling."

I wiped my mouth in case I had Nutella smeared over my lips (which I probably did because I was one hell of a messy pig when I ate) and averted my gaze. The chilly winter's breeze swept my hair into the chocolatey waffle goodness and I had to spend a few minutes complaining and scraping it out. Unfortunately it didn't do any help with distracting Parker from the topic of conversation.

"We still didn't talk about that."

"We also didn't talk about you ignoring me for a month, your point?"

He sighed. "This is different. I think we need to talk about this."

"Well, maybe we shouldn't."

"Maybe I want to." He challenged.

"Maybe I don't." I snapped back.

There was a noise from within the house which I guessed had to be Parker's mother. For once I was okay with the interruption. Seeing my obvious chance to escape, I took it.

"Looks like your mum is awake. Probably best if I leave now." I turned around and marched through his small front garden before he could respond. Unable to stop myself, I snuck a glance behind me just as I closed his garden gate. He was staring, the expression on his face a mixture of frustration and concern.

I attempted to send him a small, awkward wave to bid him adieu but forgot about the waffle in my hand. It slipped through my fingers and sailed through the air before landing on the front of a baby in a stroller which was passing by. The man pushing the stroller, the infant's father I presumed, was oblivious as he barked something into his phone which was wedged between his shoulder and ear. The baby, however, had noticed seeing as my breakfast was now blanketing its chest. Its ear-piercing shrieks filled the air as it bawled its eyes out.

I shared a wide eyed glance with Parker before stalking off, licking my fingers clean of all evidence.

-_-_-_-_-_-