Breaking The Rules: Book 2

Chapter 10: Happy Birthday To Me

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟸𝟸𝚗𝚍
Parker POV

It has been 186 days since Miles left. A little over half a year.

Over half a year.

The realization hits like a train as I wake up. It feels as if he left yesterday, yet also 40 years ago. I don't know which timeline is worse.

I slowly stretch out my arms and crack my back, sore after tossing and turning all night. Even after all of these days, I find that I still reach for the empty side of my bed while waking up. Instead of warm skin, my fingers brush against his old navy tshirt from his old highschool that he left behind on my closet floor.

It's the only thing he left behind.

I grab the shirt before getting out of bed.

As I pull it over my bare chest, his scent washes over me like the first time, simply from my refusal to wash it. The after effect of the smell is like the first calm wave after a tsunami. It's the buzz you feel after a hit, the few seconds of oblivion where everything feels okay. And for a few seconds, if I shut my eyes, I can feel his hands brush against my sides, tiredly whispering that goddamned language as he slowly wakes up. I would kill to hear his voice in my ear again.

His accent follows me outside of the bedroom, his absence pressing so hard on my soul that I forget how to breath for a moment.

At one point, a month or so after he left, Rose came over and tried to talk to me. She mentioned something about everyone being worried that I wasn't eating as much, plus her and Griffin were extra worried because I either wasn't sleeping at all or I slept too much. Rose mentioned something about how sorry she was, how she was always there for me, sappy stuff like that. But when she mentioned that she knew what I was going through, I snapped. I don't think I've been able to breath properly at all since then. Not even Reubens familiar cadence could truly soothe my heartache.

With the thought of Miles pressing extra heavy on my mind today, my feet land heavy at the bottom of the stairs.

"Good, you're awake! I was worried I was going to have to lure you out of bed," the voice of my dad comes from the kitchen.

I scoff as I plod over there, adjusting the hem of the tshirt over my pajama bottoms. My dads smile falls a little as his eyes flick over the logo on the shirt, putting two-and-two together. I've heard him and mom talk quietly at night for months about how worried they are for me that I'm not getting better. Almost like losing Miles was a sickness to shake, not the most important person in my life.

I've started to shut their opinions out.

"So, do you feel any older?" he casually continues when I don't reply and sips his coffee.

I shrug and sit on the barstool at the counter, dragging both hands back over my hair. If anything, I feel like shit. "Not yet, it hasn't really hit that I'm 18."

The smile in my dad's voice is audible. "Me neither. You've grown too fast. I'm still waiting for the fact to hit me that you're actually my kid," he teases.

I smile, but it's so fake and forced that when I look up, he isn't smiling anymore. The sensible part of me wants to make him feel better. Preach some shit like I actually feel okay today, that I'm starting to forget him. Maybe I could start to live without him. But I can't get the words to form, because I would be lying out of my teeth if I said that.