Breaking The Rules: Book 2

Chapter 12: Life Moves On

𝚃𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟸𝟹𝚛𝚍
Parker POV

Instinct, even after all of these months, drives me to reach over towards the other side of the bed before my eyes can open.

That habit is back and bad as ever. My fingertips are itching for Miles, though it's a small annoyance when compared to the way that the rest of my body feels. Every square inch of my skin is dehydrated for the glorious drink of his touch, especially after the night we shared last night.

Needless to say, we had a lot of catching up to do.

Instead of finding the warmth of his body like I was expecting, my palm slides across empty bedsheets. The comforter beside me is cold to the touch.

A sharp stab of panic instantly wakes me up. Bile crawls up my throat as I sit up fast. So fast, that my body is leaning up before my eyes are even open. I blink rapidly to let my vision clear as I sweep my bed, searching for Miles form. He's not tucked underneath the sheets, nor picking up the mess of clothes that I left on the floor last night, nor sitting at the desk in the corner. Nowhere. His clothes aren't on the floor anymore, either.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me. No way, no way, no way..." I repeatedly mutter and get out of the bed so suddenly that my legs nearly crumple under me. A terrible feeling of dejá vú turns my blood into glue.

Did I finally spiral into insanity last night? Were these last twenty-four hours a dream? I knew that I should've asked my doctor to lay off the dosage on my medications.

A trembling gasp bursts out of my lips and I slap a hand over my mouth as I exhale oxygen in quick bursts. My toes and fingers are numb. If I tear this house apart to look for Miles and don't find him again, I might finally follow through—

The bathroom door on the other side of the room flies open and fluorescent light from the vanity soaks the carpet. Miles steps out, a green toothbrush, my toothbrush?, dangling out of his mouth like a joint. His shirt from yesterday is on backwards, a pimple patch is stuck on his chin, and his forehead is creased in a wince as he pulls a wide-toothed comb through his tangled curls— no doubt that that's the aftermath of how I manhandled him a few short hours ago.

He is such a magnificent sight that I'm taken by surprise, paying no mind to the hot tears racing down my cheeks.

Miles grunts as he finishes picking out a knot, followed by sticking the comb so deep in his curls that it stays. He then keeps brushing his teeth, using the other hand to blindly feel for my closet light. As the two lights from the rooms merge together, he finally glances up and notices me on my feet, making a small noise of surprise. Or maybe shock.

"Whath goimph on?" Miles mumbles his question around a mouth full of minty foam, his eyebrows immediately drawing together again.

I know that if I were to open my mouth right now, I would immediately start sobbing harder than I already am. Instead, I simultaneously shrug my shoulders and shake my head. Miles may be standing right in front of me, though no amount of breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth is making the nerves return to my arms and legs.

Miles scowls and retreats to the bathroom, where I hear the sound of spit hitting the sink and the faucet quickly turning on, then off again. When he comes out again, he looks a little less crazy without the toothbrush in his mouth and comb in his hair.