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A/N: 19. 12. 2020
Hey, Homies! It’s Saturday, so we have another update 🥰
What other genres do you like to read? Fantasy? Action? Adventure?
🌻🌻🌻
Zev and Freddie fell asleep during the second movie. I pulled a blanket over their shoulders so they wouldn’t get cold. There was only one blanket. I hope they didn’t mind sharing. I looked at Freddie whose head rested on Zev’s shoulder, and smiled. I’m sure they wouldn’t.
I wanted to see the movie’s ending, but accidentally fell asleep. When I woke up, the T. V was turned off and someone had cleaned up the snacks. I looked to my right and saw that Zev and Freddie were still sound asleep, but Parker was no longer in the living room. Where did he go?
I stared blankly at nothing before finally getting up, making as little noise as possible. Zev snored, and Freddie’s mouth hung open as he slept. I took a picture of them and smiled at my screen, amazed by how the digital pixels replicated reality so accurately.
For memories.
I then tiptoed out of the living room and wandered around Freddie’s small apartment, wondering if Parker had left or not. The wooden floor creaked at each step I took. I found Parker sitting at the window in Freddie’s room, smoking. It was dark outside, but the moon was bright.
Day or night, Parker’s silhouette always seemed lonely. A cold autumn breeze came through the windows and I shivered. I thought that it’d be best to leave Parker alone. He seemed lost in his thoughts, and disturbing him would only make him scowl. I took a step back, but the wooden floor creaked under my weight, giving away my presence. Parker turned towards the door, raising his brows when his eyes might mine.
My heart fluttered, as if he had caught me peaking. I had nothing to hide, yet I felt shy.
“Good evening, Parker,” I murmured. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“You haven’t said anything.”
“Yes, I guess I haven’t,” I said pensively. “But now I have.”
I was about to leave until he said my name. Well, the name he had given me.
“Dandelion,” he said before nodding in front if him. “Come here.”
I counted up to five before joining him at the window, sitting across from him. The street outside was dark, and a stray cat ran down the parking lot.
“Why are you sitting here?” I asked.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Parker took a drag from his cigarette, looking outside the window. Although, there wasn’t much to look at.
“Parker?”
“Mhm?”
“Why do you call me dandelion?”
“Because it rhymes with Conan.”
I began to silently mouth the two words to find the rhyme.
“Oh.” I think Parker would have been great if he studied English literature. I wondered if he ever thought about changing majors.
After a long pause, he said, “And you remind me of dandelions.”
He looked at me, and a nervous pang shot through me. I could feel my heart thump against my thin chest. It almost hurt. A mix of fear, disgust, and excitement rushed through me. When Parker looked at me, he reminded me I existed, and I thought it was such a terrible power to give to someone.
He continued to smoke his cigarette in silence, but instead of looking out the window, he looked at me instead. I felt myself shrink under his intimidating gaze. I pulled my knees to my chest for comfort, wondering when he’d look away. But strangely, part of me didn’t want him to look elsewhere.
“You scare me,” Parker whispered, letting the cigarette burn between his fingers, which was when I had realized that he had stopped smoking it for a while. “I feel if I close my eyes and let you out of my sight for even a second, the wind will take you away and you’ll become a million particles. I’ll never be able to see again. That’s what dandelions do, don’t they? You make a wish and they vanish.”
He smiled sadly. Well, his lips had the form of a smile, but the muscles in his face pulled as if they were forced.
“You’ll stay, right?”
My chest tugged.
“I’m sorry for being a dick,” he said, now staring out the window.
“You were drunk.”
“Drunk or not, I’m always doing and saying things that I shouldn’t. Especially around you.” A nervous laughed followed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t have a mother to teach me patience.”
I blinked in surprise. “She passed away?”
“She died giving birth to me.”
There was a pause.
“Aren’t you gonna say you’re sorry about her death?” he smirked.
“I don’t think I should apologize for a natural phenomenon. That’s like apologizing for water being clear, or air containing oxygen,” I said. I never understood the concept of apologizing after hearing one’s death. Were they sorry for their loss? But why should one be sorry? It was nobody’s fault whether one lived or died unless it was murder. Parker blinked, then smiled.
“You’re right. I always hate it when people apologize for her death. There’s nothing to be sorry about. I never knew her, so I don’t feel as sad as I would be if I did.”
I nodded. “That’s very optimistic of you.”
He laughed softly.
“Though, I do feel guilty.”
“Why?”
“If it weren’t for me, she’d still be alive, but she refused to give an abortion and wanted to have me,” he murmured, his jaw tightening. “She gave her life for me. I’m pretty sure I’m not exactly the ideal son she dreamt of, but I’m here. Alive.”
He let out a quiet sigh.
“I’m pretty sure my dad would have chosen her over me if he knew I’d turn out like this.” Then he shook his head. “No, I’m pretty sure he would haven chosen her no matter what.”
I could see guilt in Parker’s eyes. He blamed himself for something that wasn’t his fault. I could tell many things weighed in his heart, and I was sure it affected his relationship with his dad.
“I’m sure your dad loves you very much,” I frowned.
“But was I worth losing the woman he loved?”
The question struck me, and I didn’t know how to reply.
“Have you asked him?
“He and I get along, but we aren’t that close. Dads and sons have this strange pride where we barely tell each other how we feel. We only tell each other the good things,” he said. “I’d never be able to ask him.”
“Would you like me to ask him for you?”
It was a genuine question, but Parker looked at me, and laughed. He ran a hand through his hair with a look in his eyes I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
“You’d do that for me?”
“Of course. If it makes you happy, I’d do anything.”
Parker bit his lip, then looked away.
“Maybe in the future, dandelion,” he murmured. “But thanks for offering. It means a lot.”
“Of course,” I whispered.
“What about you? Are you parents still alive and about?”
“They’re doing well, thank you for asking.”
“What do they do?”
“My mother works as a nurse, and my father is a real estate agent.”
Parker raised his brows with a whistle. “You must be rich. How come you settled for this cheap building? You could have lived somewhere better.”
“The same reason you and Freddie chose to stay here,” I said.
“Which is?”
I smiled shyly. “I don’t know.”
And I didn’t. Parker’s father was a successful doctor, and Freddie’s mother was a well-known lawyer. Their parents could have easily helped their children afford a bigger, cleaner, and overall, better apartment to live in. Yet, despite having the means, the three of us chose this place. The “crappy” building. Greg’s building. The one with dirty walls, a broken elevator, and busted pipes. Perhaps we didn’t want to feel guilty using money that wasn’t ours.
Or perhaps the three of us saw a certain charm in this broken down apartment, a charm that you couldn’t find in a newly modernized building.
Or perhaps Parker and Freddie, no matter how much they pretended to despise each other, found comfort and safety in each other’s proximity. They bickered like brothers and treated each other like siblings. It was the purest form of friendship one could find; a family bond.
This old building, no matter how unconventional it was, compensated by making miracles and deliverint security. It was what brought the three of us together. I didn’t know the reason for my choosing of this apartment, but I knew my reason for staying.
“Will you tell me about yourself and your past one day?” Parker asked, his voice quiet. A flame of hope flickered in his eyes. It was like watching stars sparkle in a pitch black sky. “I’ll learn to be patient. I’ll teach myself. Even my anger issues, I’ll try to control them when I’m around you.”
He reached out and gently brushed away my bangs away from my face, and I gulped. He had a very masculine smell, mixed with tobacco and a hint of pine. His face was so close to mine. If he moved any closer, our lips would touch.
Parker looked deeply into my eyes, and I felt as if he was reading all my secrets; and it terrified and excited me, and I couldn’t help but think how tragic and beautiful this all was. I knew what Parker was doing. He was listing reasons for me to stay. Though, whether he gave me more or less, the one I kept pocketed in the back of my mind was the only one I needed — he could change his entire attitude, but the singular reason that Parker was a good man was enough.
Mothered or motherless, alcohol or sober, cigarettes or not, all these elements that ornamented his life were details that merely decorated his existence, but weren’t his existence itself. Nothing could change the essence of Parker’s nature. It had already been pre-determined the day he was created and determined the day he was born.
It was like clothes. Wearing a dress didn’t make you a woman, nor did wearing a suit make you a man. External elements didn’t change one’s being. Parker could drink, smoke, and have sex, but he’d still be him. And as an individual, Parker as a person, Parker as Parker, and nothing but Parker, he was, to my eyes, a good man.
“I want to know your secrets,,” he murmured, his husky voice ringing through my ears. His expression was serious, and I could see the burning look in his eyes. It was killing him not to touch me. Parker was trying. He was trying so, so hard, and all I could do was sit in front of him, afraid. “I want to know who you are, Conan.”
There was a horrible thumping in my chest, as if someone was beating a wild animal to death.
“You’ll be disappointed,” I replied.
“I won’t,” he answered in a heartbeat.
“You’ll hate me.”
He wanted to know who I was, but even I didn’t know who I was. I felt sad that I didn’t know who or what Conan was. There were a million different fragments of me, and I couldn’t tell which one was the real one. I dug my nails into my palms, feeling an overwhelming sadness wash through me as I sat there, unconsciously torturing Parker and hurting him. Maybe that was the real Conan. The broken one.
“Conan,” he said, his voice softer but strained. “What-“
“I’m homophobic.”
The hurt look in his eyes made me immediately regret my words because I knew Parker would never look at me the same again.
🌻🌻🌻
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