What I Wish You Knew | ꪜ

Chapter Twelve

To Parker,

12. I wish you knew that it's okay not to be okay.

Hayley's POV

"Parker, are you okay?" I don't know Parker. I don't know his story, his past, nor his present. But one thing I do know for a fact is that behind that smile lies a lot of dysfunction, unchecked anger and sadness. How did I know that? I'd have that exact same look plastered on my face whenever I stared at my own reflection. 

Every second and every hour before today, even when I never said one word to him, Parker Nguyen would always have a smile on his face. I know that deep inside everything is crumbling to pieces. That's what therapy is for. . .anger management?

They're all a means to an end.

He's seeking an end to something.

If you look closely, just hard enough, you could see the frown hidden behind that smile. Your eyes are the window to your soul. Someone could say one thing with their words and mean another with their eyes.

His spoke volumes to me: Angry, sad, alone. . .and yet, he smiled. "I'm okay," he responded, his lips stretching wider. I know that this was his sad attempt to convince me that he doesn't need help, even if that help is a few words of encouragement.

I'm just guessing here but based off of what Milton just told me, I'm suspecting that whenever Parker says he's okay everyone just takes his word for it and doesn't push to find the source of his sadness. In hindsight he's dishing out what he's not getting in return.

A shoulder to cry on.

"No, you're not." He snapped his gaze towards me and stared for a few seconds as if disbelieved by the words that just left my mouth. "What?" I chuckled humourlessly, "you heard me. You're not okay, you say it but it's not true. If there's anything that I despise more than people eating my food, it's a liar. We don't know one another well, but don't lie to me. It's okay to not be okay, Parker."

His lips parted then clamped shut as if he was incapable of comprehending what I just said and forming a proper sentence based off of that. Instead of responding he tore his gaze away from me and peered down at his hands.

My gaze travelled along with him and I held back a gasp at the sight of his bloody knuckles. He didn't seem fazed by it, especially when he began to flex his hand, his face remaining stoic, void of any emotion. "Parker, you're hurt," he nodded his head and chuckled, "no shit."

Silence enveloped us once again. Milton was long gone to god knows where, leaving me here alone with Parker. I'll deal with him when we meet again for putting me in such a tight spot. I can't run although this entire situation is unnerving. But, I don't want to run because Parker needs someone, even if he denies it.

Against my better judgement, I slipped my hand gently over his, "do you wanna get that cleaned up?" I couldn't decipher the look on his face accurately. Was it anger? Annoyance? Frustration or shock? It seemed to be a little of all but mostly astonishment. It's a sad sight, because to me it just looks like no one has taken that initiative before.

"Okay," he whispered.

"Lead the way," without another word he stood up and stumbled towards the doubled doors left ajar which meant Milton was probably around somewhere.

As we entered inside, I took a second to marvel at the interior for a few seconds. We stood in what I could only describe as a huge hall or what would usually be the foyer of a normal modern home. The floor beneath my feet was all marble, shined to the point where I could see my own reflection.