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A/N: 09.11.2020
Hey, Homies~ Another chapter of CTD. Chapter 11 is already available on Patreon and chapter 12 will be uploaded there tomorrow. Link is in my Wattpad bio, as always.
Btw, I’ve decided to host a contest! If anyone would like to create a “Conan The Dandelion” cover, please send it to me on Instagram. I’ll post all the reader covers in the upcoming days, and if I have a favorite, I’ll choose it as the official Wattpad book cover.
(More details on one my recent Instagram post for those who are interested).
Ig: @letsgohomehidee
OH AND IMPORTANT QUESTION: are you a rice, pasta, or bread person?
Oki enjoy~
🌻🌻🌻
I heard a door slam shut and my eyes flung open. The noise was followed by heavy steps, as if there was an elephant trudging above my ceiling. I thought I imagined it at first, that I was just tired, but then I heard glass breaking and knew that I wasn’t dreaming. I climbed out of bed and left my apartment house, heading upstairs to the upper floor. Parker’s front door was left open. He must have come back from a party. I gently knocked on the wooden surface.
“Parker?”
No answer. Then I heard someone puking, which I guess was some form of answer.
“I’m coming in,” I said, even though he probably couldn’t hear me. My nose wrinkled as soon as I walked in. The stench of cigarettes and alcohol invaded my nostrils. His house was dark, and the living room light was the only source of light.
Empty bottles were aligned against the wall, some were cracked, others were toppled over each other, very few contained liquid. It looked like a tornado had came in and destroyed everything. The furniture was flipped, books were scattered on the floor, and broken glass glistened under the dim light. I followed the noise of vomiting which led me to the bathroom. Parker was crouched in front of the toilet seat, expelling the content inside his stomach.
“Good evening, Parker.”
He looked up breathing heavily. His complexion had gone a ghostly ashen shade that contrasted with the dark strands of hair that fell over his forehead. I looked into his eyes. It was like staring into an endless depth of ink, sorrow, and pain.
“Get out,” he hissed, his voice scratchy and ragged. He groaned in pain, leaning his back against the tub and sliding onto the floor.
“Parker, you can’t sleep here,” I said, but he wouldn’t open his eyes. I picked up a toothbrush and poked his cheek. “Parker, wake up. You’ll catch a cold if you sleep on the floor.”
His eyes flung open with anger.
“Parker this, Parker that, stop telling me what to do!” He barked, pushing me away. I tumbled back and fell on my bum. His brows furrowed in worry, and he was about to reach out to help me, but he stopped himself.
“So fucking weak,” he muttered, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing! It’s not your god damn fault!”
“But you’re upset.”
“What does that matter to you?!” He shouted. His face went from ghostly pale to Freddy red.
“You’re my friend. Of course you matter to me.”
Parker’s dragged his hand miserably down his face.
“Get out,” he spoke, his breath ragged, desperate.
“I don’t want you to die.”
His voice rised again. “We’re all fucking dying!”
“I know.”
Freddy told me that Parker could get violent on his worst nights. Parker didn’t deserve the punishments he gave himself, and I wish I could tell him that he deserved much more than he gave himself credit for, but I think that would only make him angrier.
“Just go. I don’t want you seeing me like this.”
“Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.”
Parker narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“It’s a quote by Homer from The Iliad,” I said.
“I’m too drunk for your philosophical shit. Just go,” he growled.
I stood up, but when I did, Parker quickly caught my hand. My body stiffened at his touch, and I tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let me go. The Parker in front of me wasn’t the Parker from this morning. The normal Parker would have released me. Right now, he was a different Parker. The drunk and angry one. The one who wouldn’t let me go.
“Wait,” he whispered. His warm hands felt like magma, and I wanted so badly to pull away. My lungs felt clogged and I felt like I could breathe.
“Parker-“
“Does this really kill you?” He asked, his dark eyes drilling into my gaze. “Would you hate me if I said I want to hold you?”
His husky voice and intense gaze aroused me. His dark eyes were like their own cosmos, two universe’s inside inks of black. Excitment and pain coursed through me. I felt increasingly sick and aroused, and the two overwhelming emotions clashed.
I shook my head silently, shaking in his grasp.
“No, I could never hate you,” I murmured, staring at his hand that was still wrapped around mine. A familiar numb feeling grew inside, and I felt like my body was no longer mine. I repeated the same words that I’ve told myself countless times. Stay still and wait until it’s over. It’ll end eventually, Conan, it always does.
“I could never hate you,” I repeated. “But I’d never forgive you.”
As if he shocked by electricity, he immediately let my hand go. He looked at me, noticing for the first time how badly I was shaking, and swore under his breath. His face fell into his hands.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dandelion. Fuck, I can’t think properly like this. I’m too drunk.”
I could hear the remorse and guilt in his voice.
“Go before I do something stupid again,” he muttered.
“Okay, but you should go to bed and rest. It’s cold here,” I said.
Parker bobbed his head. He clutched onto the tub to help himself up. The movement made the muscles in his arms more prominent, which made me realize how much stronger Parker was than me and how he could have hurt me if he wanted to.
Parker went to his room, and I followed his staggering steps. His room was the only place that didn’t smell of alcohol and cigarettes. Parker collapsed onto the bed, and I stood at the doorframe.
“Did you come back from a party?” I asked. He was quiet for a second, and I thought he had fallen asleep.
“Yes.”
“Did you drive your motorcycle?” I asked.
“Yes, mother, I drove my motorcycle.”
I frowned. “I’m not your mother.”
“It was a joke, dandelion.”
“I’m Conan.”
I expected him to scowl and call me an idiot, but instead, his eyes softened and the smallest smile turned up despite the tortured look in his eyes.
“I know,” he whispered. “I like calling you dandelion, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“I just do.”
“Oh, okay.” I suppose this is what people do when they become friends. I read it in a book that giving each other nicknames was quite common. I tried to think of a nickname for Parker.
“Can I call you Park?” I asked.
“Do that and we’re no longer friends,” he deadpanned.
“Oh, okay.” I guess Parker didn’t like nicknames. That was fine. I liked his name anyway.
“Did you drive drunk?” I asked.
There was a long pause.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t do it again, okay? Don’t drive when you’re drunk.”
“You care about me?” He smirked.
“Yes, I do. Very much.”
He cast me a menacing glare.
“Then stop,” he said harshly.
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can.” But I shook my head.
“I can’t. I can’t because you’re my friend. You’re already here and here,” I said, pointing to my head, and then my heart. “Freddie too. He’s here and here.”
I pointed to a different side of my head and then the left side of my chest, but a few inches away from Parker’s spot. Parker turned his back towards me.
“So fucking stupid,” I heard him mutter, but his voice was soft, and I imagined him smiling.
“Why did you drive drunk?” I asked. It was the first time I had so many questions; questions that weren’t pre-written in books on how to socialize.
There was a long pause, and then he finally spoke.
“Swallowing vodka is easier than remembering.”
His voice was raw and full of pain, but he tried to keep it as light as possible.
“Remembering gives me headaches. It hurts so much that I’d rather burn my throat with vodka and black out with a hangover than stare blankly at my hands remembering what it was like to be with me, and what it’s like to not.”
“But do you know what’s even more tragic?” He laughed darkly. “I drink and smoke until four a.m loving him, and I wake up with a headache still in love with him. He’s gone, but I’m stuck here, and the feelings are the same.”
Beneath his leather jacket and condescending smirks, Parker was heartbroken. I didn’t know what to say to comfort him. There was nothing I could say that would make him feel better.
“I drove drunk because I wanted to see him again,” he whispered. “I want to be with him.”
The room fell silent. Parker fell asleep, but I wished him goodnight nonetheless. His house was a mess and there were cigarettes and empty bottles of alcohol and then my anger began to grow, so I did something terrible.
I went to my apartment room and grabbed a garbage bag. I returned to Parker’s house and threw away everything he used to slowly kill himself. The empty and unopened bottles of alcohol, the packs of cigarettes, the crushed powder and the pills, and everything that made me want to cry.
Then, I heaved the garbage bag outside and recycled the plastic, threw away the bottles in the green bin, and then put the cigarettes in a trash can. I went to my apartment room, and I began to cry. I did something bad. I shouldn’t have touched Parker’s belongings without his permission. He was going to hate me for wasting his money, for doing something without his permission, but it all made me so angry that I couldn’t stop myself.
I cried because I was upset, I cried because I was crying, I cried because Parker was sad, I cried because he could have died in so many different ways, and that if he was still here, asleep and not dead, it was because fate had mercy and spared him a day more. And then I stopped crying because I was tired.
I remembered how he held my hand in the bathroom and despite the nauseous feeling it gave me, I wanted to hold his hand a little longer. That’s never happened before. I curled into a ball and hugged my knees against my chest. I brought my hand to my racing heart where Parker and Freddie were, I fell asleep dreaming of dandelions.
🌻🌻🌻
A/N: Please don’t forget to leave a vote ❤
Thoughts on Parker? I’d love to know.
P.s: Lots of you in the previous chapter were like “The Zevie ship sunk quicker than the Titanic.” 😂
P.p.s: I loved reading your theories on the prologue letter 🤭
P.p.p.s: for those of you who’ve followed my ig story, I decided to go with “Freddie”
P.p.s: bye 💕
P.p.p.p.s: you probably didn’t notice that the p.s above was missing a p.
Okay, I’ll stop now 😂
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