But my body doesn’t seem to agree. It doesn’t seem to hate them like the rest of me does. My body is curious about girls, which only adds to my confusion and insecurity.
As Gwen continues to try and lift my shirt higher, a familiar voice breaks through my heightening shame.
“Hey! Witch Face,” calls the voice. “You better go fly off on your broomstick before I shove it up your bony butt.”
Bree storms over to the willow tree, dropping her own backpack to the grass and rolling up the sleeves to her blouse.
Gwen steps away from me, cowering slightly. “Oh, look, Parker’s bodyguard to the rescue.”
“Hardly,” Bree snips. “Parker can easily knock your lights out. I just like to intervene before it gets to that point.”
“Are you trying to be my bodyguard now, too?” Gwen goads.
“No. I want the honor of doing it myself.”
Bree holds up her fist as she wiggles her eyebrows with menace.
Gwen looks between us, deciding if she wants to keep tormenting me or busy herself with other forms of enjoyment. Sighing, she spears me with a cool glare before folding her arms and stomping off to the other side of the yard. “Whatever.”
I let out a mouthful of air and smooth my t-shirt back down, waiting for my heartbeat to slow as Gwen skips out of sight.
“She’s vile,” Bree says, her chestnut curls bouncing as she shuffles over to me. “Do you think she’s actually a witch?”
My sense of humor has faded over the years, so I just shrug at the jest, while Bree stops beside the tree and props her shoulder against it. She’s eighteen now, finishing her last week of high school, and she’s still the only person in this house who treats me like a human being instead of a monster.
A gargoyle.
I’m not sure what I’ll do when she moves out and starts a new life.
“You know that’s all bullshit, right?”
I lift my eyes to my foster sister, noting the warmth shimmering in her amber irises. “What?”
“The stuff she says about you. About your scars.”
“She’s not wrong.” I scuff my sneaker against the freshly mowed grass, kicking at the loose blades. “They’re hideous.”
“No, they’re not. Scars mean you survived something terrible. There’s nothing ugly about that.”
I gulp back the tight lump in my throat. “I’ll never have a girlfriend one day. I’ll always be alone.”
Bree’s thick eyebrows crease, almost like she’s absorbing my pain, and it hurts her, too. She straightens from the tree. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s the truth.”
“It’s not the truth, Parker. You are so much more than your scars—you’re smart, you’re funny, you’re creative. And look at those dazzling green eyes and that dreamy bone structure.” She leans in to ruffle my mop of dark hair, shooting me a wink. “You’ll have no problem getting a girlfriend one day.”
A smile slips out when I duck my head, but it fades as the dark cloud rolls back in. It does that a lot lately. Bree’s presence and kindness will always be a welcome reprieve from the storm, but she’s only one person. My ghosts and devils seem to be multiplying, and she’s far too outnumbered.
Fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, I reply, “Once she sees my scars, she’ll leave.”
A weighty silence settles between us as a light breeze blows through and the willow branches dance to life.
A zephyr.
Bree reaches out and takes my hand, pulling it away from the fabric of my t-shirt, the only thing that hides the truth, and dusting her thumb along my knuckles. When I look up, she is smiling. “No, Parker. Once she sees your scars, she’ll love you even more.”
—TWENTY-FOUR—
I’m not sure what to expect when we pull into the long, gravel driveway after a silent trip over from the bar, but a charming, ranch-style house with ruddy bricks, dark gray shutters, and simple yet effective landscaping is a pleasant surprise. Even though the sun has set, a light shines ambience onto the quaint front porch as my eyes roll over the large property.
There’s a carport to the right, housing what looks to be pieces of furniture in progress, as well as a separate one-car garage. The yard is well maintained despite a scattering of tools, and the home is quiet and secluded, settled far back beyond the main stretch of road. A little oasis.
My feet crunch atop the gravel as I hop out of Parker’s truck and meet him around the front of the hood, hardly able to make out his expression against the shadowy night. The silence stretches from inside the vehicle to the space between us, and while the air is dense and muggy, the tension between us is thicker.
Jitters coast through me, dancing along my skin and tickling my insides. A subtle glow from the moon and stars above illuminate two dithering green eyes boring into me.
I swallow. “Your house looks nice.”
Parker slides his hands into his pockets, glancing towards the house, then back to me. “I built it.”
I feel my breath catch as his words register. “You did?”
His mute nod is barely visible as his eyes skim my face.
“That’s…” The humidity almost chokes me, or maybe that’s my heart in my throat. I can’t help a smile from breaking through my nerves when the thought of Parker building his home from the ground up assaults me like a bear hug. “That’s really remarkable.”
“It was something to do at the time, I guess.” He dismisses the exceptionality of such a feat with a sniff and shuffles past me towards the front of the house. When I continue to stand there, a little bit slack-jawed, he pauses to inquire, “You coming?”
Am I?
My head turns to face him, lip caught between my teeth. He’s nothing but a tall shadow beckoning me further into the unknown.
He brought me here for sex. I knew that when I got into his truck, ditching my date for the evening like a total jerk and frantically sending Leah a text of apology, begging her to tell Shane and my brother that I wasn’t feeling well and decided to head home early.
Yeah, right. There’s no way they’re going to believe that after I walked out of the bar with Parker, who left no mystery as to what his intentions were.
Leah texted me back almost instantly:
Leah: GET IT GIRL! I got your back. *a dozen eggplant emojis*
A sigh escapes me, another smile lifting, and I nod my acquiescence, trailing behind him as he resumes his trek to the front door. Following him inside the darkened house, Parker flips a light on when we enter, and I notice movement out of the corner of my eye.
My head shifts to the right.
A dog.
Blinking, I stare at the animal just standing there a few feet away on wobbly legs. “You have a dog?”
“Yeah. That’s Walden.” Parker tosses his keys and wallet on the side table, then scratches at the base of his neck, stepping forward and following my gaze. “He kind of just sulks around all day and keeps to himself.”
“Like you.”
Glancing at Parker, I don’t miss the twitch of his mouth as he tries to hold back a smile. He ducks his head to hide it, shrugging his shoulders. “I suppose there’s a likeness.”