Parker
PARKER
He doesn’t look a thing like I expected him to.
The boy I remember has grown into a man that’s unfamiliar to me—even with those eyes, that faltering smile, and the warmness he’s trying so hard to maintain, I don’t know him.
I look away for a moment, then step awkwardly into my apartment, slapping at his hands to let go of my bike.
“Come on in,” I say quietly as I turn my back to him and start leading the way into the kitchen. Instead of taking my bicycle to the bedroom where I normally keep it, I lean it against one of the kitchen counters, then hoist myself up next to it and begin to slowly swing my legs. “Long time no see.”
His chin moves forward as he presses his tongue against his teeth, and I smile. That’s something I remember him doing often, too. It’s almost like a fever dream to have him in front of me again, and in a weird way, I kind of want to wake up from it.
My eyes shut tightly for a moment, and I swallow the grunt of pain. My forearm is starting to sting a little more, and I can feel a bead of sweat pooling on the side of my face.
“Did you get my letter?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“What did you think of what I said?” Opening my eyes, I can see Brando’s eyes resting on my bandage, and he looks none too pleased. “And what happened there?”
“Hm?” I ask, glancing down and then waving off his concern. “I fell off my bike. Ran into a couple of kids that weren’t paying attention when I was coming around a corner is all.”
His lips twitch, and I can tell he’s not buying it.
“Right …” He pauses briefly to blow out his breath and run a hand back through his hair. “Anyway, Parker. My letter.”
I shrug.
I had never received such a frantically scribbled letter of all the things someone wanted to do to me before. I also have never read something so many times that the paper has been left looking like it’s been through a windstorm.
“Is that the only reason you’re here?” I ask Brando, pursing my lips.
He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything further. It’s almost as if he wants me to pull it out of him, and I don’t know if I can. He may be a man now, but I doubt his being able to hold things in until he explodes and just acts on them has changed much.
“Why me? Out of all the women in the world that you can clearly have?” I press, gesturing at him. It’s true; he’s so damn tall, devilishly handsome, and from what I can tell, has a strong, disciplined body.
He furrows his brow, a look of complete confusion on his face, then says something in such a way that he’s almost offended that I don’t already know the answer to it. “Because you’re the only girl that I’ve ever loved.”
Well, I think as I finally smile at him for the first time, that’s a good a reason as any.