Trying To Heal

Chapter Seven

SONG: NF - My Life

❀

Derek Matthews

I asked Hamilton to obtain details of Parker's whereabouts. He sent a message on WhatsApp, guiding me to a forsaken warehouse in the outskirts of Northcroft. Scraggy and squalling trees, boiling at the strident beats vibrating their roots and rattling the birds. The worn-out, blackened walls are decorated with artistic graffiti. Aromas of weed swarm my senses into nostalgia, reminiscing my old, reckless self. Teenagers stagger and giggle, eyes bloodshot, grappling vodka bottles, making out in discrete corners, groaning and moaning in lurking sex.

I have to shout over the music to a couple of youngsters.

"Do you know Parker Branson?"

"Where is Parker?"

"Have you seen Parker?"

At last, "I saw him at the back with Noah."

If they were weirded out by my black face-mask, they did not show it. I thank the girl and squeeze through the humanoid labyrinth.

Look, I am perfectly fine with partying. I mean, I used to indulge in this shit for instant gratification. Depending on the person, it can be accepted as a part of life to grow and mature. It should not be used for fun. If shit goes wrong, shit goes downhill. It is a waste.

Harlow wants her brother, and her brother is in this goddamn place doing fuck knows what. If I come across Parker hooking—

There he is.

He is a carrier of the gene, although it does not show. Hence, he looks nothing like Harlow. Yet, the sole feature that is evidently comparable between the Bransons is the shape of their eyes. Hooded, like Lin's, and no double-eyelids. Their mother was Korean. Their father was English. A jaw sharpening into a chiselled cut. His hair is silky and ebony, scuffled and tousled as if he has never brushed it in a thousand years. His dark shirt of merchandise is oversized for his lean and slim frame, wrinkled cargo pants, large combat boots, and a blunt in his left grasp.

"Come on," urges a fair boy. "It's fun."

I follow their gazes to three boys surrounding a girl. One has his large hand on her neck in a chokehold, the other is caressing the inside of her thighs, and the last has his lips pecking down to her clothed breasts. The sight causes me to scan the surroundings. Is this what fifteen-year-olds are doing? There were replicas when I was this age. Still, they are too young. The least they could do is read porn instead of doing it.

Parker shifts his weight to his left foot. "I don't know, Noah."

Noah smacks Parker's back. "Dude, this is my birthday present for you."

Parker watches and listens to the soft moans slipping. "A foursome?"

I really should not be here. Why did I come? I was frustrated that Parker could not give two fucks about his nine-year-old sister. I observe Parker, comprehending that he, too, does not want to be here. His posture is tense, his facial muscles scrunched in bewilderment and internal conflicts of conformity. I quickly sent a text to Hamilton, requesting the police to come here. A few individuals look older than sixteen. That does not sit right with me.

"You should not feel or be forced to do anything."

Parker gyrates. Despite the face mask, he recognises me in an instant. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?"

Parker breathes heavily, enraged. "Fucking pervert."

I raise a brow. "Interesting misconception."