“I like the bloody kind.” Her grin broadens, a metal retainer and silver lip ring gleaming back at me. “But thank you for that. I won’t forget it.”
I send her a curt nod, feeling mildly uncomfortable with my foray into sensitivity. But it also feels sort of… good.
Ms. Katherine interrupts our weird bonding moment, turning her attention to Amelia while she clings to her leather-bound journal. A soft expression decorates her made-up face, and she bobs her head with encouragement. “Why don’t you finish off the starting points for today, Amelia.”
Amelia twists the hem of her dark lace dress, sending me a final smile of gratitude before facing Ms. Katherine. She breathes out a contented sigh. “My hamster, Nutmeg.”
—TWENTY-SEVEN—
“My hamster, Nutmeg.”
The room fills with Amelia’s willowy voice, her familiar response causing a smile to tip on my mouth. She really loves that hamster.
Parker’s vulnerable words to the troubled teen gallop through my mind as I straighten in the plastic chair, my head shifting left to peek a glance at him. His expression mirrors his stance, a little rigid and contemplative, lost in thought. Pensive. He’d apologized to Amelia only moments ago, releasing his burden of casual disregard to the girl with a beautiful old soul and ugly stories on her skin. My heart warmed.
Parker is changing, evolving before my eyes, and the hardened man I’d been drawn to for reasons unexplained is slowly cracking, his shell disintegrating little by little. I spent a lot of time studying him, trying to learn him, taking notes—he carried his pain so well, and I was desperate to know his secrets.
But his pain was never tempered.
It was buried.
He was a master at hiding, camouflaging in the dark, and if I’ve learned anything over the past year, it’s that there is no healing in the shadows. Parker’s graveyard of broken bones is breaching the surface, coming up for air, while golden shafts of sunlight rupture through the soil.
He called me a revolution that night in my rain-soaked backyard beneath angry clouds and black skies, and I’d been offended at the time. It sounded like an insult—anarchy, riots, disorder.
But maybe he didn’t mean it like that at all.
Maybe I’m… reform.
Maybe I’m those glimmering sunbeams, eager to reach beyond the dirt and warm the cold, hollow remains underneath.
His confession slices through me as I study him. His past. His horrible, horrible past. Parker gave me a gift on his couch one week ago, and it was more than just his first kiss. It was more than his body molding into me, moving with me in perfect time, as his palms cradled my face like I was truly special to him.
He gave me his trust.
And as I watch him from my perch in the red chair with Ms. Katherine’s voice posing as a comforting score to my musings, I know that I’m falling for him, too.
Parker finally feels the heat of my stare, lifting his chin and meeting my thoughtful gaze from around Amelia. They blaze into mine, flickering green, and visions of my backseat grip me in a hot hold.
My thighs clench.
I wonder if he knows what I’m thinking about because his lips turn up, another smile surfacing. It’s a smile that evaded me for months, one I craved to witness, to experience for myself, and now it’s mine. It’s just another offering of trust he’s given to me.
I promise to keep that smile safe.
Smiling back, I duck my head, trying not to be ambushed by images of working Parker to oblivion with my mouth while I’m sitting in the middle of a suicide prevention meeting.
The class ends a short while later with Ms. Katherine issuing us her parting words. I’m not exactly sure where to go from here, considering the only time Parker and I really see each other is at these meetings. His communication leaves a little to be desired, and I understand why now, but there is already a part of me that’s yearning for more—a part that’s desperate to run with the connection we’ve been building, to keep it blooming and growing.
I want to water it, so it never wilts.
Knowing that will likely take initiative on my end, I rise from my chair, only to be hindered by Amelia.
She stands with me, tucking an inky tress of hair behind her ear. “What do you think is in there?” Amelia nods over to Ms. Katherine, who is flipping through her journal pages. “Do you think it’s a secret diary?”
The curiosity grips me. “I’m not sure. I figured it was probably class notes. Ideas for the meetings. Projects or homework assignments.”
“Maybe.” Her dark eyes narrow thoughtfully before she blinks back over to me. “I’m going to make a coffee for the road. Come on.”
My eyes move over her shoulder to Parker. He still remains seated, watching our interactions with his legs outstretched. He nods his head, just slightly, a fleeting gesture to reassure me that he’ll wait.
I follow Amelia over to the table with coffee and snacks, clearing my throat. “I like your dress,” I tell her, making conversation. I do like it. It’s long and lacy, black as per usual. Kind of witchy. “Where did you get it?”
“I made it,” she perks up. Amelia’s obsidian eyes glide over to me when we reach the table, glowing with a purple hue beneath the recessed lighting. “I like your dress, too. It matches your personality.”
“How so?”
“It’s sunny and warm. Inviting. Beautiful.”
A smile blooms with gratitude.
Amelia flicks her finger at my mouth, her nose crinkling. “Just like your smile. I used to think it was too cold for you here… in this sterile space with all these ghosts.” She returns her attention to the coffee selections, fiddling with the flavors. “I was afraid we’d haunt you. Scare you away. But you stayed, and you’re exactly what we needed.”
I watch as she twists around in place, her gaze darting to Parker before landing back on me. Swallowing, I wonder, “And what’s that?”
“Sunshine, of course. You make these eternal winters so much more bearable.”
My heart soars with affection. Amelia sends a crooked smile my way, then pops her vanilla coffee into the Keurig and turns on the machine. I observe her thin frame, collarbones protruding through the sheer fabric, while a spattering of jagged scars poke out beneath her three-quarter length sleeves. She wears her pain with pride, and it’s a peculiar thing. This young woman is far too young to be so riddled with trauma and terrible stains. I swallow. “You have a beautiful heart, you know.”
A chuckle greets me, almost self-deprecating. “That’s sweet of you to say, but my heart is all wrong.”
“What?” My brows pinch together with alarm. “Why do you think that?”
“My mother told me. She said she wished for a princess daughter with fairy wings and a heart made of sugar and spice, but she got me instead. A shadow. A funeral.” Amelia lifts dark-tipped fingers to her breastbone, inching down the low-hanging collar of her dress. “I got this tattoo when I turned eighteen.”
With eyes glistening with unshed tears, I dip my gaze to her chest, pale and skeletal. A broken heart tattoo stares back at me, placed right above her own perfect heart. My head sways side to side with disbelief. “No… your mother didn’t mean that, and if she did, she’s sick. She’s unworthy of a daughter like you.”