The Arrival | The House of Voices #3

Eleven - Showing

Showing

 

Parish:

He wasn’t so much roused from his slumber as he was yanked from it.

Parish had been buried in a chemically induced sleep, content inside the safety of the dreams he has already forgotten now. Only the fast-fading feelings of comfort and warmth lingered as he jerked upright and looked around the room, searching for the source of the laugh that had plucked him out of his dreams.

The room shimmered and swam around him, blending into a large swirl of random colors and shapes before fanning out and returning to normal. Except for the fact that, nestled in the corner of his dank, white cell was a little table that looked like it belonged in a café. And two people were sitting in it.

He could see their profiles clearly, too sharp and too clear to be anything real, Parish knew. But a little voice in the back of his mind told him he was wrong; that what he was seeing was real.

And then Parish heard them laugh and he knew the voice was right.

Her laugh was just as he remembered; soft and warm, like melting butter on hot toast or marshmallows in hot chocolate. She even touched the side of her cheek the way she always did when she laughed.

Parish didn’t think she even knew she did it.

The October seated in front of him looked startlingly real. She was dressed in a light pink t-shirt and light wash jeans. Her shoulder length brown hair was pulled into a firm low ponytail with the thin black hair-tie she had a habit of wearing around her wrist. Behind her, something green was draped across the back of her chair.

My jacket, Parish realized, noticing the scuffed-up bronze buttons.

Parish watched as she dropped her fingers from her cheek and touched a drop of condensation on the glass of the drink she was nursing. Parish was close enough that  he saw a slice of lemon wedged into the rim of the glass and a few seeds floating in the liquid.

Lemonade.

She’d mentioned that she it was her favorite drink, back in that abandoned shop.

In front of October, Darren finished laughing and leaned in a little closer to October, subtly angling his head until he was peering into her eyes.

Annoyed with himself, Parish tried to shake grip of jealousy that always seemed to seep into him whenever he watched Darren and October interact with each other. He knew he had no right to feel jealous; had no right to act as if she saved her kind smiles and happy laughs were for him alone. They were not a couple and she was not a possession.

…And yet, Parish could never shake the feelings of possessiveness that overcame him whenever he watched Darren watch October; the uncontrollable urge to put his arm around her and hold her close. He didn’t like the way the doctor’s gaze lingered on her face, hunting for secrets she didn’t want to give. How he always looked as he was searching her.

Parish would have liked to claim that this was the only reason Darren’s behavior towards October bothered him – because he didn’t like the way Darren was constantly trying to learn more than October was ready to share.

That would have been a lie.

Parish liked October, plain and simple. He liked her enough that he was already missing her, after only three days apart, and longing to see her again. Liked her enough that he was seriously considering asking her out once they got out of the giant mess they were in. If they ever got out of it.