Frigid Flora

twenty-one - bad dreams

Chapter Twenty-One

"Well this isn't embarrassing at all." I heard Parker mutter to himself from behind me.

I might have smiled at his words if it weren't for shock having complete control over me. My feet were rooted to the spot, hand frozen around the handle of the drawer I'd just opened, and my mouth hung agape. Within the rectangular wooden space was concrete evidence that the boy who I'd known had a hidden caring streak in him also had a massive sentimental one. Folded into a neat square was the cropped tank I'd worn to his party those long months ago. The one that Quinn had 'accidentally' drenched in alcohol and I'd forgotten to take back home. I was forced to borrow Parker's shirt (which I had yet to return because damn was it soft and roomy and nice to sleep in) so that I could get home wearing something dry. Next to my tank was a spoon. Not just any old eating utensil, but the one I'd thrown at Parker's nose when he'd first made an appearance at my house and I thought him to be an intruder. The one he'd accidentally left with. There were also another few knick-knacks like some pens I'd let him 'borrow' in class and even this scrap piece of paper I'd thrown at him ages ago after I'd doodled him as a stick man on it. Save for those few items, the drawer was completely empty. He'd dedicated the entire thing to me.

"Parker..." I trailed off, unsure of where I was even going with my sentence. All words seemed lost. All I knew was that the guy was making it the most difficult task on earth to stay mad at him and he wasn't even trying. He was just being himself: a tad bit creepy and a whole lot adorable.

"My shirts are in the next one down." He grumbled.

I reluctantly shut the drawer, opening the next one in search of possible nightwear. It was nowhere near as neat. In fact, all of his shirts were crushed and looked as though they'd just been crammed in without thought. Not to mention that once I'd selected what seemed to be the smallest shirt he owned - which was probably still six sizes too big - it was difficult to close it again because it had been so overly packed. A stark contrast to the neatness of the other which he clearly needed for storage purposes.

"Parker-" I started.

He looked angry with himself as he snatched a pair of basketball shorts that I presumed he'd be sleeping in. "Don't. Don't say anything. I'll go get changed in the bathroom. Shout me when you're finished getting dressed so I can come back in." With that, he slammed the door behind him.

There were too many things that my brain wanted me to think about at once that I was beginning to get a headache. What would Parker do about Ian? What did Ian have over him other than drugs? Was Jason back for good now? Why did the stranger send me those pictures? Who was the stranger? Why did Parker ignore me for an entire month? What was with the cute sentimental drawer? Was he angry because he was embarrassed? And back to one of the things that had been haunting me for what felt like a life time: what was I going to do about touching now that I seemed to be completely fine with Parker? Was it possible that it could apply for others, too?

My goodness, did my brain hurt.

I decided that ignoring my endless list of problems was much better than dealing with any of them, at least it was for now. Things could be talked over in the morning, I thought to myself as I stripped down before slipping on a grey tee of Parker's. It rested just below mid-thigh so I hurriedly wriggled under his duvet so as to not feel exposed before calling Parker back in. The door opened seconds later and he turned the light off, settling down onto the inflatable bed without so much as a glance my way. He definitely looked embarrassed. It was kind of endearing. Even more so when he was shirtless and his toned torso was on display. I was grateful for the darkness of the room when I felt my cheeks heat up.

Parker was tossing and turning for god knows how long, grunting incoherent things under his breath whilst I stared at his ceiling. He had these glow in the dark stars stuck to it. He'd told me once that they'd been up since he was a kid and that his dad had helped adhere them to the ceiling. I suspected that's why they were still there seeing as he loved his macho façade, and the stars... Well, the stars sort of brought it down a few notches.