Parker was missing from school the next day.

However, as the world would, it went on without him. Hanna was her bubbly self, Jackson was smitten even though he tried to hide it and Blake was still worried about his grandmother and also tried to hide his worry from me.

My Dad had left this morning, promising that he'll be back the latest, by the end of the week. I hadn't seen Parker or his father since the day before.

The four of us were sitting in the cafeteria having our lunch and laughing over recollections of our favourite Friends episodes, when Chanel stalked over to our table. She gave us all a once over and then fixed her heavily made up eyes on me. "Where's Parker?" she demanded, rather than asked.

I was just opening my mouth to tell her that I had no idea, when Hanna beat me to the punch, narrowed her eyes at Chanel and said, "Why the hell do you care? He dumped your ass a long time ago."

Chanel's eyes narrowed further. "I was talking to her, Blondie," she sneered at Hanna.

Hanna smirked. "You should really look in a mirror before calling me Blondie. At least mine is natural." Hanna turned away.

"I don't know, Chanel," I told her.

"Hell of a neighbor you are," she spat before walking over to her table again.

I rolled my eyes.

*

Parker wasn't at home, either.

His house was quiet and his room was empty, which I could see because the curtains were open. I threw open my window and crept across the railing to his window and peered in. There was no sign of him. I tried the window and it was locked. I sighed and crawled my way back home.my gaze lingered on the closed window for a while before I turned and walked downstairs to make myself some dinner. All through making spaghetti I couldn't stop being worried about Parker and where he might be. If he was hurt, there was no way of knowing. After I got home I had tried his cellphone, but it was turned off. He seemed so okay over the weekend, even when he had come charging through the woods to comfort me that night, that I never thought he'd just disappear like this.

After dinner and cleanup, I locked up and wandered upstairs to do some homework. When I got up there, out of habit, I looked over at Parker's house expecting the darkness I'd been seeing all day, but I was wrong. There was a light coming from the landing upstairs and then from Parker's room. I saw him walk in, which was the exact same moment that my phone beeped. I turned my attention from Parker to my phone.

It was a message from my father: Hey, princess. I hope you've eaten. I just got back after a meeting and I'm very tired. I'll take a rain check on our video chat. Will be dining with Fred and hitting the sack. Love you, sweetheart. Have a goodnight.

I typed back a reply: No problem, Dad. I've had dinner and I'm about to get some work done. Enjoy dinner and get some sleep. Love you, too. Night.

When I put my phone down and looked back across the yard, Parker was gone and his room was in darkness, but the light downstairs was on and Parker's window was open very slightly. Not wanting to unbolt the door which I had carefully locked earlier, I opened my window and went across the railing and slid into Parker's room through the window. It smelt heavily of Parker; his aftershave intertwined with his usual scent of new leather and fresh mint.

I went out on to the landing and went downstairs. All the lights weren't on; there was only one light that was lighting up the entire place and that was the lamp on the table in the foyer. Parker was seated on the ground, with no shirt on and a bottle in hand which was filled – well used to be filled – with what I was pretty sure wasn't iced tea.

"Parker," I said, in a kind of choked up voice, "What the hell are you doing? Where the hell have you been?"

He slowly lifted his head to look at me, looking annoyed. His eyes were bloodshot. He was holding a bunch on polaroid photographs in the hand that wasn't holding the bottle.

"Go home, Alex," he said, in a tired voice. He was clearly drunk, but not so drunk that he wanted to confess a bunch of things to me I would have other never even have been able to get out of him even if I tried prying his mouth open.

"No, Parker. I'm not going anywhere. I'm your friend and I'm not going to go home and let you sit here in the dark and drink yourself silly," I said. I wrenched the bottle out of his hand and ran to the kitchen where I dumped the remaining contents of the bottle down the sink. Parker growled from behind me. When I had finished, I turned. His usually bright eyes were dark and deadly. He looked angrier than I'd care to remember.

Parker pushed me back against the sink. "What the hell, Alex?" he shouted. At that moment, with a clap of thunder, rain started to pour.

"What the hell to me, Parker? Really? What the hell have you been doing all day? Where have you been? Why do you look like shit, Parker?" I yelled back at him, "This isn't how a normal high schooler should behave, dammit. You're way too young to deal with whatever you're dealing with."

"Like you care," he scoffed.

"Like I care?! Of course, I care, you idiot. I've always cared about you. Even when you made it so difficult. Why don't you just tell me what you're going through?"

"You wouldn't understand," Parker brushed me off.

"Well I'll never even know if you don't tell me," I tried to reason with him, "Nothing is worth all this, Parker. All the bruises and the fear and the drinking – especially the drinking. I'm not going to watch you dig your own grave, Parker."

"Well, I've already got halfway without your help," he spat.

"Parker," I pleaded, "Please just tell me. We could go to the police?"

"No, Alex, you don't get it," he said.

"Then tell me!"

"God. Why can't you just be my friend, Alex?" he yelled.

"I AM being your friend, Parker. I've always been your friend, but you're making it so Goddamn hard to help you right now!" I snapped at him.

"Then why don't you just leave?" he demanded.

I stared at him, red faced and heaving deep breaths. "You know what, I will." And then I stormed out of the kitchen, up the stairs and made my way back into my room through the rain and slammed the window shut. And then I broke down. I'd always hated fighting with Parker. I'd almost always cried after I yelled at him. A few minutes later, I shook myself off and went to change and dry my hair and then to do some homework.

From time to time, the lights in Parker's house would switch on and off and I'd look up every time something caught my eye, but Parker didn't come or call or do anything. By the time ten rolled around, I had finished my work and I was getting ready for bed. I switched off the lights in the bathroom and switched off the lamp on my table.

I had just grabbed my book off my table and turned to close my curtains when I noticed figures on Parker's lawn. There were two men standing there in the pouring rain dressed from head to toe in black thrown into a little light by the lamppost on the street. A few moments later, the door opened and Parker walked out, waving his hands around and saying something to them. Very soon he was soaked. I couldn't really make out what was going on because of the rain, but I could tell when one of them pulled something shiny out of their pockets.

I panicked.

I ran out of my room and down to my Dad's study and grabbed the decorative dagger that he had bought years ago. I unbolted the door and ran out into the rain, getting drenched and barefooted. "Parker," I called over the rain.

The three men stopped. The two guys looked at me, looked at the dagger in my hand and turned and shouted something to Parker and fled before I could get a glimpse of their faces. I slowly dropped the arm that held my weapon, feeling feeble and useless. Parker stared at me through the rain for a while and then started advancing on me. I backed up towards the house and up the two steps on to the porch. I couldn't really make out Parker's expression.

I had backed up all the way to the table in the foyer. My back hit the wood and I stopped. Parker came close to me. "That was stupid," he said in a low voice. His breath smelt alcoholic; he had probably found another bottle after I left.

"I know," I said, in a small voice, unable to face him.

He stepped closer so that his hips were against me. "No, it was really stupid," he rumbled.

"I know," I repeated.

"No," he said, and lifted me off my feet and on to the table, "That was crazy. You could have died, you know."

"I know."

"And yet, you came out because I was in trouble," he said, leaning forward into me; probing me to look at him, but I couldn't.

"I wanted you to be OK," I whispered.

He lifted an index finger to my chin and raised my head to meet his gaze. "You wanted me to be safe," he said, a crooked smile playing at his lips.

"Yeah," I breathed.

"And why's that, Alex, hmm?" he asked, softly, trailing his fingers up my wet skin, scorching my arms. He moved his head to try and meet my eyes every time I moved it, but I tried to keep my head down, knowing that with the proximity and Parker's inebriation, I was in trouble. "Why did you want me to be safe?" His breath and presence surrounded me. I looked up at him under my eyelashes and his deep, green eyes were watching me intently, questioning me, teasing me.

"Because," I faltered, "Because you're my friend." I was pretty much frozen in the spot, unable to think much, or do anything.

"Am I just your friend?" Parker teased, moving his nose against my forehead, one of his hands under my thigh and the other on the small of my back, pulling me flush against him.

I let out a shuddering breath.

Parker lowered his mouth to my ear, his breath hot against my skin, warming every inch of my skin.
"I know I get to you," he whispered, his voice low, deep and smooth, his lips lightly grazing the sensitive skin of my ear, "I know you want me to touch you. If I do, you won't want me to stop."

I gulped, hoping he didn't notice. The heat that radiated off his bare chest, even though we had just got drenched, warmed me all over, making me want to pull him closer and feel him through my dripping wet clothes. His head dipped and his lips teased mine before he pressed his lips against mine, making my heart jump.

He lifted his head, his arms still holding me hostage on my table. A sinister smirk crossed his lips. I stared at him. He lowered his head to my neck, but didn't touch me, only his minty breath hitting my skin. A shudder ran through me and he raised his head, smirked at me and walked away.

He knew he was right.

I sat there frozen for longer than I'd have liked to be. Slowly, very slowly, I slipped off the table and walked towards the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water and went to bolt the door. After everything was locked up, I went back to the kitchen and went to the fridge. I got out my leftovers of spaghetti and meatballs and put it in the microwave and heated it for two minutes, giving myself 120 seconds to think. Nothing I said to myself could dissuade me from what I was about to do. I grabbed the spaghetti – and closed the lid on the box – and a fork and went upstairs.

I opened my window and shimmied across the railing for the fifth time that night, which was more difficult this time because of the box and fork I was holding, and pushed Parker's window open and slipped in.

He was lying on his bed, his room illuminated by the lamp on his nightstand. He sat up the moment I landed. He had discarded his shirt and changed his pants. He watched me for a while and then ran his fingers through his hair.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Alex," he breathed, "I'm so sorry."

He looked up at me and then got up and went to his wardrobe. He came back holding a hoodie of his. "Change," he said, quietly, "You'll catch pneumonia."

He turned away and tossed me a clean pair of new boxers from a packet in a drawer. I set the box and fork down on his table and peeled off my wet clothes and changed as fast as I could. I dumped my wet clothes on the ground by the window and picked up the box and fork again. The hoodie smelt like him and it was like coming home.

When he realized, I had finished, he turned to look at me and sat down on his bed. He gestured for me to come sit with him. I moved to sit next to him. "I thought you might be hungry," I said and handed him the spaghetti and fork.

He looked up at me, gave me a small smile and took it out of my hands. "Thanks," he said, softly.

He took a bite and then looked at me expectantly. He thought I was going to ask his questions. I lifted my feet up and brought my knees up to my chest and looked back at him. "We don't need to talk and you don't need to tell me anything," I said, "But I'll just sit here while you eat."