Having a safe haven to escape to in a time of need was an incredibly reliving thing to have. I'd never had one before now. Nothing disastrous enough had ever occured in my life. When school or other matters got bad my home was always a constantly comfortable, reassuring place to get back to - but when was it not? I was always looking forward to getting home, I wouldn't have necessarily deemed it a safe haven. Anyway, it was certainly the opposite of that now what with World War Three brewing in the form of my mother's new lover.

But I had a place of refuge now. It was a surprisingly pleasant feeling to know I had a home away from home where the door was always open to my visits, whether it be the dead of night when things plagued my mind or as early as when the birds came out of hiding to sing their morning songs because I dreaded facing breakfast. Parker's house was my safe haven. My new constant. The only place where I could escape Ian.

"Looking forward to work, love?" The very man who'd turned my world upside down and forced me to seek homeliness from somewhere other than my actual home asked my mother as he buttered his toast at the table.

His spreading was getting on my nerves. It was making that horrible gravely sound a knife against a piece of bread did when it had been in the toaster for just that moment too long. As if he could tell it annoyed me he proceeded to slather more butter on and scrape louder. I glared at him over the rim of my mug as I brought it to my lips. He caught my look and sent back an actor-worthy grin. Therapist, cool guy (when Parker and the guys had first met him), drug dealer, stay at home boyfriend to my mother - all of his personas were acted and carried out just as good as the last, as utterly genuine looking as that mega-watt smile he'd given me unless you had reason to believe otherwise.

Yikes, somebody give this red head an Oscar. Or more preferably, lock him behind bars.

"How kind of you to ask!" My mother's voice was sickly sweet and she had the audacity to send me a look as if to say see, look how lovely he is. "Work's been wonderfully laid back for the past couple of months what with the hoard of new employees we've got. Most of them are fresh from school with a passion for baking. It's brilliant! So inspiring-" I tuned out, thinking of all those 'I'm working late - so sorry, so understaffed' excuses she'd given me for those weeks and belatedly realised just how often she'd spent time with this man.

I knew Ian had stopped listening, too, what with his steady gaze focused on me. His dark, beady eyes gleamed with something akin to amusement. How hilarious it must be for him to have had the sheer luck of supposedly helping a struggling girl that just so happened to be close to one of his dealers; to have managed to wriggle his way into her life just to keep tabs on how the relationship proceeded; to have had the upper hand on the situation since day one but been able to act through his shock, cover up any trace of recognition, and formulate a plan without anybody suspecting a thing.

I wanted more than anything to tell my mum everything about Ian. True, it would land me in a spot of bother seeing as I'd have to reveal I'd been hanging out with Parker, but if it put my mother out of harms way then I could deal with it. If it meant throwing Ian out, slamming the door behind him and restoring our house back to its former glory - a time where my mother's king sized bed was half empty, we didn't have his rusty car in our garage and there wasn't his creaky bookcase in our living room - then I'd do it. I'd do it without a second's hesitation. Unfortunately when I'd declared this to Parker he'd poked holes in the plan and shown me all of the flaws and repercussions I'd overlooked.

"I'm going to tell her," I'd said last week after I'd closed his front door behind me. I'd just returned from a nasty brunch with the pair and it had me contemplating whether I should pluck my own eyes out so I didn't have to see the fake displays of affection as he toyed with my mother. "I can't do this anymore. Having that sicko in my house, I-I'd rather scoot down a slide or razor blades."

Parker wrinkled his nose at the imagery. "Don't do either. Have you thought this through at all?"

I was panting slightly, no doubt looking dishevelled and slightly unhinged having ran all of the way there from the cafe I'd been in. I told them both I was going to Skylar's (she was on holiday but they didn't know that) and as soon as we parted ways, I took off at a run to his house.

"No," I choked out, doubled over with my hands on my thighs as I tried to catch my breath. "But I'm going insane."

He sat me down on his bed before disappearing for a few minutes. He came back with an apple juice box. I smiled gratefully as he handed it over, knowing he'd stocked up on my favourite beverage because I'd insisted he do so. He was missing out big time, guzzling away on that crappy orange juice when this stuff was out there.

"Thanks," I sighed contentedly as I took a sip.

He sat down next to me with his orange one and I looked at disdainfully. He mirrored the expression with my own drink so I stuck my tongue out at him.

"You do realise," He'd said. "That if you tell her that then you'll have a whole lot of explaining to do about other things. Everything will unravel. Not just us going ou- hanging together." He corrected himself with haste as colour tinted his neck and ears a rosy pink.

I ignored the mistake. "Like what?"

"For starters, you'll need to tell her how you know the information you do which will reveal us being... Friends," His voice dripped with bitterness as he said the word. Admittedly, I didn't much like the term myself. "If she involves the police they'll want to know where I got that information. What's more, if Ian goes down it's not exactly rocket science to understand he won't want to go down alone. He'll drag the guys and I down with him..." He trailed off, no doubt imagining the rest of his days spent in a grubby old cell.

He'd already put me off with the prospect of visiting Parker in prison rather than at his home. I was about to say as much, tell him how I'd never dream of putting him in danger like that, but he continued as if his argument wasn't strong enough.

"Forget that, though. More importantly, Ian's a violent guy. Your mum will refuse to believe you at first if you tell her he's a criminal. She invited him into your home. She's smitten with the guy. Breaking to her that he's a drug dealer will seem ridiculous and she'll refuse to believe it. She won't want to. Even worse, when she does she'll confront him before doing anything else. Who's to say how he'll react to that? What if he hurts her? Hurts you?"

I'd finished my apple juice and as he'd talked I'd been subconsciously crushing the carton in my fist. He gently prised my fingers from the rubbish, setting it aside and replacing it with his warm hands.

"We'll think of something," He reassured me as he scooped stray strands of my windswept hair back behind my ears. He let his hand linger at my cheek afterward, palm cupping it, before gently rubbing my jaw with his thumb. "We'll make a plan. I promise we will. I won't let him hurt you."

I shut my eyes and tried to let his soft voice fill me with hope. The only thing it succeeded in doing was trying its best to open the faucets to my waterworks. His damn soft touches and low voice and sad face were too much, too kind. Why was he still here? Still with the frigid girl who now posed as a threat to bring down his entire life?

"Don't cry," Parker had sounded pained as he brushed tears from my face. So much for holding them back. They'd just escaped through my closed eyes. "It's going to be fine- hey, look at me?"

I did what he asked, but did so reluctantly. It was almost like if I couldn't see then it wasn't happening. Alas, it was, and I had to get a grip.

"You should be half way across the country right now," I'd sniffed, wiping away fresh tears furiously with my sleeve. "You clearly haven't watched enough action movies to know the ending's never happy for your character."

He laughed. "Why would I do that?"

"To get away from the villain before he ruins your life or pumps your guts full of lead."

"What, and leave you?" He ruffled my hair teasingly. "Never. Anyway, I won't have my usual character's ending. Nobody can pretend to be me. I'm unique and I'm too sexy for anybody to live up to whilst impersonating me. Have you seen these arms?" He flexed them.

"I'm serious, Park." I mumbled, the last of my tears having dried.

Something changed on his face. It was like watching my own little short film as the emotions played out before me. Parker's playful expression left, first to be replaced with surprise, which quickly morphed into realisation, before finally transitioning into a really pleased sort of smile. I watched, if not a little confused, as he chewed on his cheek in this satisfied, maybe even verging on cocky, sort of way.

"What?" I asked, completely sidetracked from our important conversation.

"I like that," He smirked. At my no doubt baffled look, he elaborated further with, "You calling me Park. You've never done that before. I like it."

"Your friends call you Park, what's the big deal?"

He shrugged, still smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "It's different when you do it. The way you just said it. The way your mouth moved around the name I- It's-" He searched for the right words looking a little embarrassed. "I don't know, I find it kind of hot."

Now it was my turn to laugh. "You like my mouth?" I asked before frothing aggressively.

He shook his head, amused. "Love it."

"So matey, if I call you Park are you going to get all hot and bothered? Why didn't you say? And all this time I've been cooking you wieners for your hotdogs to try and subtly hint that I wanted your sausage or reenacting a snake shedding its skin. How foolish I've been!" I threw my hands in the air dramatically.

Parker, chuckling, bumped my shoulder with his. "There's the Flora I know and love."

It'd been said as a joke, but the word still had my heart racing and had done wonders with cheering me up for the rest of that day.

"Are you even listening to your mother?" Ian's adenoidal voice brought me back to the present, snapping me out of my reverie and into the nightmare that was now my everyday breakfast.

No longer was I allowed to eat my cereal in my room - oh no, that was rude. We were to treat Ian politely as though he were a guest even though he was living here now. We didn't want to be rude or have him feeling lonely! Heaven forbid. The company of my mother wasn't enough at breakfast time for I was never around at dinner, and how very much he wanted to get to know me. Oh, and where did I go during the evenings? Why was I never around for the family to have dinner together?

The family. Just let that sink in.

"Oh, it's fine. She's always been a day dreamer," She stared at me expectantly as though she actually thought there was a sliver of a chance I'd jump in at this point and make friendly chit chat with this stranger at our table. "Haven't you, sweetheart?"

"Oh- yes," I nodded my head vigorously. "Always."

She gave me a look but didn't give up trying. "Actually, thinking about it now, more so this year than any other," Was she trying to have a therapy session at breakfast? If so, I'd kill everyone in this room including myself. She laughed as if realising something. "You know what, when you went on that date with Beckett would be a good starting point. You've been really- in your head since then. Not telling me much. Maybe you've been keeping a secret of your own," She wiggled her eyebrows. "Love bug bite you, too, huh?"

I was incredibly torn between punching something and spewing the cereal I'd just finished. "Sorry?"

"Beckett was ever so nice..."

"We went on one date," I could feel Ian studying me but refused to look his way, instead choosing to glare at my mother in warning for her not to continue and discuss my love life in front of him. "One. It was awful and it was about- I don't know, like seven months ago maybe? Longer?"

"Well, if not him then who?" Ian joined in. My mother had handed him the most perfect opportunity to question me about this personal aspect of my life right on a platter. "Teenagers always do tend to withdraw when they have something going on with a partner. Is it perhaps another boy? Someone that isn't Beckett, but another in your year?"

I finally let myself look at the man - and regretted it. He was giving me this stare like he could not only see straight through me, but knew absolutely everything. Like my entire life story was inked all over my skin for the world to see and he'd learnt it, memorised it, making sure to read and re-read every minute detail of what there was between Parker and I. Like he was just waiting for the slightest wrong move from me to confirm everything - which I guess he was. I steeled myself up and prayed I didn't do something utterly ridiculous like scream Parker Heywood.

"Excuse me," I snapped. "This has absolutely nothing to do with you. It's my business and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Flora!" My mum hissed, apparently embarrassed by my behaviour. "Manners."

"What? This isn't one of his sessions, mum. Even in his office it's never a requirement for me to allow him to delve into my love life or anything of the sort. It's invasive and it's none of his business. Or yours for that matter."

She'd started over talking me during the last few sentences. "Teenagers," She laughed nervously. "Sorry, you know how difficult they can be sometimes."

"Oh yes," I nodded solemnly. "Being a teenager myself - said teenager you're talking about right in front of, actually - I can assure you just how difficult we are. We're never happy without our essentials and can get cranky if we haven't had enough of them or miss some. You see, our holy water is vodka, and we also often use McDonald's workers as a sacrifice for our weekly ritual of youth-"

"Enough, Flora." She gave me a warning look.

Unable to stand her obliviousness and the fact that she was siding with the enemy over her own daughter, (even if I did look like I was being purposefully awkward - which I was, but for good reason) I stood up and walked over to the kitchen sink to dump my empty bowl in.

"Don't worry about it, love. I'm not taking offence."

No, I thought, as I headed out of the kitchen and made my way upstairs, Ian is taking great delight in this.

I was already dressed and ready to leave even though it was only just past nine in the morning. Post-Ian times this would have been extremely early for me to be ready to face the light of day. It was only because over the course of the past few weeks it had become something of a routine: getting ready as quickly as possible, rushing through breakfast, and making my way to Parker's for whatever we felt like doing for the day. That was the weekend, anyway. Weekdays only differed by slotting school in the middle, where Parker would pick me up at the end of my street in the early hours of morning, I'd rant to him in the car about my current living quarters, we'd suffer through school, and then he'd drive me to his place after it had finished.

Today was a Saturday, and so I had to make my rush less apparent seeing as I didn't have the excuse of worrying about my lateness to whichever class. I tried to think of things to do to make time fly by quicker but I was drawing up blank. The only thing that occupied my mind was the fact that all I needed to do was brush my teeth, pick up my keys and then I'd be free. But I couldn't. I'd already been leaving suspiciously early for days now, and for a person who never liked to go out much until Ian showed up and only had one friend, things were looking shifty.

I lasted a total of fifteen minutes sitting on the chair in my room and watching the clock tick from number to number, bouncing my leg about impatiently. Eventually deciding it was pointless to wait if I was ready to go, I went to the bathroom to freshen my breath. I knew it was going to be my kind of day when I had to thoroughly squeeze the tube of toothpaste to get the last remaining blob on my brush and it ended up half down my front. After scrubbing my black shirt until I had both the unmovable white stain and had added an enormous wet patch right over my boobs, I gave up. I turned the faucets off and tossed the finished tube in the bin - and that's when it caught my eye.

I'm not sure how I noticed the contact lenses in the little bin, for the lid was only open the briefest of seconds before it swung shut again, but I did. Perhaps because there was hardly anything in the cylindrical metal bucket to begin with, or maybe because the bin bag was white and the contact lense was a contrasting dark shade of colour. Toothbrush wedged in my mouth much like it was a cigar, I squatted down next to the rubbish and opened up the lid. It was definitely a used lense, and I was almost positive it looked brown. A really dark brown.

The colour of Ian's eyes kind of brown.

I slipped my phone out of my pocket, took a picture of my findings and finished brushing my teeth with my mind racing a hundred miles per hour.

So not only was Ian's identity a lie, but so was his appearance. Was there going to be an end to these earth-shattering findings? Just how much did this guy lie? Putting on different personas with different people was crazy, yes, but at least you could see some sort of point to it. Yet I couldn't for the life of me wrap my mind around why he wanted to alter his appearance. Was it just a personal thing? An insecurity? Did he just have freaky eyes or was he hiding from someone? The conspiracy theories were endless.

It was one of the easiest departures I'd had from my house of late. I'd shouted goodbye as I left but either I wasn't heard or my mother and Not Brown Eyed Ian were having too much banter on the sofa in the living room to pay me any attention. I say banter, because the giggling emanating from there would only bode well if I convinced myself some seriously rad jokes were being exchanged rather than any other risqué alternative. I mean, did she know his eyes weren't brown? People told each other things like that if they were together, right? Were Parker's eyes even hazel?

I demanded to know as soon as he opened the door to me.

"Parker, are your eyes really hazel?" I stepped over the threshold with hurried purpose, standing on tip-toe to try and get a good look at him. "Those orbs seem legitimate, but are they?"

"What?" He was laughing and it was difficult to see with all of his eyelid and cheek in the way. His height put on top of that made it damn near impossible. "Have you been watching, like, CSI or Criminal Minds again? How many times, I'm not a serial killer in disguise."

"No, no, no. That's another topic for a different day," After studying his irises a little longer and realising that yes, somehow those beautiful hazel eyes with the little specks of glistening liquid amber were real and not artificial, I rocked back on my feet and asked, "Say you had coloured contact lenses and you were going out with someone, would you tell them?"