Reliving Yesterday ✔

Chapter 25.

As I lay awake, the entire house was in absolute silence, allowing me to hear every sound that came from inside and outside. This was how I knew that Parker wasn't home yet. It was past midnight and closing upon one in the morning and I had been lying awake worrying for almost an hour now.

The concern, however, wasn't totally unselfish because today was a day that Parker had to check the tank and I was pretty sure it would overflow if he didn't come soon. I would venture out on to the rooftop and check it myself, but the last time I did it, I'm pretty sure I almost died, so that was an obvious no go.

I threw the covers off of my legs in frustration that Parker hadn't come home. I reached for my phone on the nightstand and check it. No messages from anyone. I blew out a long breath and closed my eyes, not sure whether I was waiting for sleep or Parker more eagerly.

The familiar roar of Parker's motorcycle engine and my immediate leap out of bed proved that it was the latter. I ran to the window to watch him. He had clumsily parked his bike in the driveway and clambered off of it, unsteadily. He then staggered in the direction of his house. He was about half-way up the driveway, he suddenly stopped and looked over in the direction of my house. Instead of taking the next five steps to get to his door, he began to stagger this way. Whatever happened to him, he always seemed to remember what he had to do. It came from years of forced independence after his mother left and his father's business always keeping him away.

I flew downstairs to open the door for him. I flung the door open even before he had the chance to fish in his pockets for the keys. As I looked up at him, he stared back looking utterly confused as to how I got there and how the door opened without him doing anything.

"Why the hell were you out so late?" I asked, as he staggered into the living room.

"None of your business," he snapped at me and I was immediately hit with a strong smell of alcohol drifting off Parker and filling the air around us. All his staggering suddenly made sense.

"Parker, you're so drunk," I pointed out, which only seemed to anger him further, but he said nothing, "How the hell did you get your hands on alcohol?"

"Someone got it for me," he said, point blank.

I blinked at him. This sullen boy who never volunteered any information unless you practically pried it out of him, was suddenly being very easy. It had to be the drink.

Parker took an unsteady step forward and looked down at me before his face broke out into a lopsided, dizzy grin. "You're short," he chuckled.

I was way too concerned to even point out that I was pretty tall for a girl. I stood there and watched as his grin slowly faded as he lost sight of me. His gait faltered and I moved to hold him.

He brushed my hands away, scowling like he used to when he was small. "No," he said, in an indignant voice that little boys used, "I can stand."

I held up my hands in defense and moved back. "OK," I smiled, watching him sway unsteadily on his legs in his inebriated state. "Parker, will you sit? Or lie down? You're very drunk."

"Don't tell me what to do," he scowled, looming over me. He then eyed the couch. "But you know what? I'm going to sit." He turned to go and then swung back and swayed for a moment. "Not because you want me to."

"Sure," I said, shrugging, "Didn't think you were doing it for me."

He padded over to the closest end of the couch and let himself fall on to it. He looked around, while smacking his lips. "Got any snacks?"

I sighed long and loud, slightly amused by this display of Parker's. "Sure," I said, "I'll get you some snacks. But do you promise not to move?" I put on a stern face.

He eyed me for a moment or two before straightening up and holding up his left hand instead of his right. "I promise."

I rushed to the kitchen so that I didn't have to leave him alone for too long. I grabbed a packet of potato chips and a packet of Doritos and made my way back to him. He was sitting in the same position I left him, but he had a picture in his hand. One of me, Dad and Mom taken a long time ago in Parker's backyard.

"I've seen this place before." He said, vaguely.

I didn't venture to enlighten him. Instead I held the snacks to him. He immediately swapped them for the picture. He had been stuffing his face silently for a few minutes before I asked him anything.

"Parker, where were you?" I asked, softly.

He looked at me. "You know there's not one - not one - diner open between here and the Lake Town at this time of day? Like, hello, people, what gives, right?"

"Parker what were you doing in the Lake Town at the time like this?" I asked, shocked. People didn't really venture to the Lake Town after dark, unless they'd rented the cabin on the island in the middle, but even that was hardly occupied.

"I'll tell you what I wasn't doing," he said, pointing a chip at me, "I wasn't fishing, that's for sure." He then proceeded to chuckle at his not very funny, apparent joke.

"I know you weren't fishing. You say that's sadistic. What were you doing?" I prodded.

"You know this thing on my shoulder?" He asked, shaking off his jacket and pointing to his hurt shoulder, "I got it in the Lake Town," he confessed, like it was nothing.

I bit my lip, quite worried now. If he had some kind of business in the Lake Town that warranted nasty wounds, it wasn't really the best of news; in fact, it was very bad news.

"Parker, can I patch up your bandages while you snack?" I asked, tentatively.

"Sure," he said, hardly paying attention. He was looking around the entire house like he'd never seen it before.

I scurried off to get the first aid kit before he came to his senses and changed his mind. When I came back, he was alternately stuffing his face with chips and Doritos, an apparent Dorito and chip dust mustache coating the skin around his mouth. He looked utterly happy; something I hadn't seen in too long.

I sat down on the coffee table in front of him and cleaned his fast disappearing wound and put a new bandage. He was as silent as a child as he vaguely watched my face as I worked. To say that even in his inebriated state, his gaze was intimidating would be an understatement. I faltered when I finished and looked at him to tell him I was done and saw that he was watching me intently.

"You still have three freckles on your nose," he said, the slightest smile crossing his lips.

He then leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. He tasted of Lays and Doritos. It was the softest thing; so unlike how he had been so long ago at the party. I immediately pulled back, just in time to watch a confused look plague his face. His bright green eyes questioned me. All I wanted to do was sink my fingers into his blackish crisp hair, but I didn't. I looked into his eyes.

"Parker, why are you hurt?" I asked, as softly as I could, as not to break the moment, "Why do you need Michael? I know it's not because of your Mom."

He looked at me and scoffed like he wasn't drunk for a moment. "My Mom," he repeated, stressing the word 'Mom' in a way that implied that she wasn't a Mom at all, which she wasn't, "I could totally do without seeing her."

"Seeing her? Parker, do you see her now?" I asked.

He blinked at me for a moment. "Wasn't I supposed to do something here?" He asked, looking around.

I dragged my palm down my face. I could so do without drunk Parker right now, but then again, this was the only way I was going to get any kind of information out of him.

"You know I sleep in our tree-house sometimes?" He said, chuckling to himself and eventually almost choking on a chip.

I got up to put away the first aid kit and get Parker the coffee that he so needed.

"Where you goin'?" He drawled to me like he had when we were younger.

"To put this away and get you a coffee, jackass," I informed him.

His face lit up with a smile. "You take good care of me," he stated and leaned back into the couch.

When I got back with his coffee, he was out like a light.