My heart throbbed with the pulse of the music, still emanating from next door, even though it was probably past eleven. My pillow wasn't helping to block the sound either. Sure, let's say TGIF and keep the entire neighbourhood up past everyone's curfew. Every Senior, except me and probably those few who never get invited to partied - so, me - had gathered at Parker's house to very loudly celebrate getting through the first week of Senior Year. I wonder how the party for actually getting through the entire year would be. I got up, not wanting to be right next to all this, I got up and walked out of my room. Dad, as usual, was out late with Parker's dad, working on their business deal.

I flipped on the light and my gaze immediately fell to the hardwood floor, where a puddle of water had collected. I frowned and then it hit me. Parker had been way too busy playing host to turn the stupid tap off, so now the tank was leaking. Great. I went back into my room and looked out the window. The party didn't look like it was anywhere close to finishing. I sighed, scanning the open areas of the house for Parker. Even the light in his room wasn't on, which was amazing because I would have thought it was time, by now, to take Chanel up there.

Shaking my head, I resolved to going to the party Hanna, Jackson and Blake had tried to get me to go to. I'd never live this down. Slipping a pair of sandals on to my feet, I pulled the hairband out of my hair, grabbed my phone and walked out, determined to get the better of Parker. I walked in through the open door and looked around. Immediately, Hanna was by my side, staring at me with wide eyes. I smiled at her sheepishly.

"I can't get you to come to a party to save your life and here you just saunter in like nothing?" she asked me.

"I have to deal with Parker," I told her. She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. "Just give me a second," I said to her and disappeared into the crowd. I didn't get to go far since Blake showed up near me, smiling like flower which found the sun after a long time.

"Hey, Blake," I said, smiling, not wanting to be rude.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

"The idiot hosting this stupid, extremely loud thing," I replied, looking around for Parker, "I need to find him."

"He's not here," Blake said, grabbing my hand, "At least, not down here. He went upstairs with Chanel some time ago."

"But, he's ...." I trailed off. He's not in his room. Where is he? On the landing taking off his clothes? "OK, Blake, thanks. I'll just look around."

As I walked around, I realized that it had been years since I set foot into this house. Hardly anything had changed. If you took out all the inebriated teenagers, it's still the house which I used to call a second home. The pictures of the family were still the same and so was the furniture. I knew this house like the back of my hand. I could close my eyes and walk through it without bumping into anything. I know I actually can because Parker dared me to do it, once. I walked into the kitchen, hoping to find some sort of haven, because the music, obviously, was even worse and was making my head ache. When I did walk into the kitchen, however, I immediately regretted it. True, there were only three people in there, but they were the three worst people to be in there: Eric, Dylan and Bryce. I rolled my eyes and hoped they'd give me what I want.

"Well, well, well, looks like Cinderella finally decided to come to the ball," Eric said, a smug smile on his face, almost like he expected me to come.

I glared at him. "Where's Parker?" I asked, cutting to the chase.

"Why would you want one person, who is actually with someone, when you could have all three of us?" Dylan asked, leaning across the kitchen counter to me.

I picked up the drink closest to me and threw it in his face, a deep red liquid, staining his shirt. "You're disgusting," I told him, "Get me Parker."

He looked at me once, wiping his shirt and then looked at his two friends and left, hopefully going to get Parker. I crossed my hands over my chest and waited. Eric smirked at me, despite my outburst. "Why didn't you wear a white one?" he asked, nodding to my t-shirt, "Parker's pool is as good as any."

I scoffed at him, turning my head away. "Get a life," I told him, "All of you."

"What the hell do you want?" Parker's deep voice demanded, as he walked into the kitchen and caught sight of me. He didn't have a shirt on and I could see that he had two tattoos: one of the left side of his torso, written down vertically and the other, written on his chest, over his heart. I couldn't read them, but I wanted to. I had the undying urge to read almost everything. And by the way Chanel wriggled up behind him and put her hands around his waist and glared at me, I had definitely interrupted something. Parker was holding the door frame with his hands and leaning forward, making his muscles tense as he pressured them.

"First of all I'd like you to turn down the music,"I told him.

His indifferent gaze turned cold. "I'm not here to take requests," he snapped, making the idiot wrapped around his smirk at her triumph, "Tell me what you want or get out."

I stuck my chin out. "The tank is leaking," I told him, turned on my heel and left. That's when I noticed that most of the party had crowded near the kitchen door - not the one he was leaning against; the other one - and listening. When I left, they parted, still staring at me. I didn't wait to see if Parker was coming. I didn't need him. I'd do it on my own and Parker would never need to come into my house anyway.

I went into my house and slammed the door, climbing the stairs, two at a time. Tears threatened to fall. How could he talk to me like that?

Tell me what you want or get out.

I shook my head, not wanting to cry for him. Not again, but I knew that tears had already collected on my eyes. I opened the door that lead to the roof and went up. The rooftop was my second favourite place in the house after my room. It was so peaceful. You could hardly hear the aching sounds that came from Parker's speakers. I went over to the stationary ladder that went up to the railing, leading to the tank. I took a deep breath and started to climb. I had reached the small strip that went up to the tank, when I almost fell off.

"Are you freaking suicidal?" Parker demanded, his voice low and deep. I grabbed the railing to keep from tumbling down. I didn't dare look over it. "You're freaking crazy. Would you get down from there? If you die, your dad'll kill me. And I have better things to do than die at eighteen."

I wanted to turn and see him. I wanted to see, even though his tone was infuriated, whether his eyes cared. I wanted to see if there was any softness in his green eyes. But I couldn't. I was frozen because of the wind gushing through my hair, threatening to push me over, the narrow strip on which I was standing and the railing that didn't even reach my knee. I wished I had left my ponytail in because the wind was blowing my hair around and I could hardly reach up to brush it away.

"Alex, get down from there. I'll turn the tap off. God!" His voice was angry and exasperated.

"I can't," I said, in a small voice. I could hardly move.

"What?"

"I can't move, Parker."

"For the love of God," I heard Parker say, all the patience leaving him. I heard his footsteps of the ladder that lead to the railing and him muttering, "I don't even know why you try."

Soon enough, he had put one of his arms around my waist and was hauling me off the ledge with ease. He pulled me towards him so that I could feel the warmth of his skin through my t-shirt. All I wanted to do was hug him. He put me down on the seat that ran right around the four sides of the rooftop and looked down at me. Without thinking, as the corners of my vision became blurry, I reached into the pocket of my shorts and brought out a small bottle of pills, took one out and tossed it into my mouth. I had taken it so much I didn't even need water.

I waited, unable to move, till my vision cleared up again and by that time, Parker had turned the tap off and come back to stand beside me. "Get back inside," he told me, in a low voice. I raised my head to see his face. His bright green eyes were clouded over, making them appear darker, and his straight, dark, dark hair and was standing up in places, probably where Chanel had run her hands through them. I felt a pang of jealousy.

Parker turned to go. "And next time, just remind me," he snapped, "I don't want to play the night in shining armour to your damsel in distress."