He finds himself floundering.
He's always been so sure of himself, the things he wanted (Ellia), but watching her across the room, all dark-eyed and hesitant – it has his mind racing, his heart hammering.
And when Ellia comes to wind her arm around his, to rest her cheek on his shoulder, he finds himself numb.
He looks down at the blonde, at his mother's ring on her finger, and fights the urge to cuss.
He must be some sort of masochist, to finally get all the things that he's always wanted, only to have the intense urge to throw them all away.
"Happy birthday," Parker tells Jannah shyly, loathing how flustered he wounds, and hoping – praying – that Ellia doesn't notice.
As Jannah fidgets with the end of her braid, he finds himself fiddling with his cross, like the Lord could give him strength.
It's an art kit – from, naturally, Ellia and himself, because when you're about to be married, you're no longer a person anymore, but an extension of somebody else.
And it used to be a nice feeling, but now it feels suffocating.
Which is why he also got her a book filled to the brim with Greek Myths, which is more his interest than hers, but he thinks Jannah could use some escapism given –
Given what she told him, while drunk.
Given what she told him, but doesn't remember.
Given the state of her father, that apartment, and the drunken stench that covered everything.
His father had been a lot of things, but never that.
The only person who could really understand would be Ellia, but almost instinctively – the two girls do not see eye to eye.
Jannah unfolds the purple wrapping paper, her eyes lighting up at the sight of all the paints, the new brushes.
He takes in her expression like he's a starving man and she's food.
"Thank you," she tells them both, hands tentatively winding around the gift.
He wishes he could cross the room, pull Jannah into a darkly lit room, and worship her until she screamed.
Parker thinks he'd like to hear Jannah scream, to wipe that flat emotion right off of her face. He wonders if Tyler makes Jannah feel the way she makes Parker feel, which he must, given the way Tyler winds his hand around Jannah's slender waist.
His stomach shifts. He tries not to look too put out, tries to salve the intense urge to call his therapist – again – and beg for an answer.
Leave Jannah alone, had been her only advice. Create space.
"You're welcome," he murmurs back, hazel eyes flitting down to her thin lips, wanting to kiss her so harshly that he's certain they'd puff.
Like he could ever leave her alone, his little witch, especially after taking in the grief-ridden sheen to her gaze.
All in all, he thinks he has to call off the wedding.
YOU ARE READING
We Never Lived I 18+
RomanceTwenty-eight year old Parker Colborn has just been cheated on. They're trying - against what may be his better judgement - to make things work. Enter Jannah Parson, his younger sister's best friend. 'Parker's jaw is slack, then it clenches, his ha...
