Frigid Flora

thirteen - serious talk

Chapter Thirteen

Determination was a great trait to have. To be firm in your decision or action, unwavering. I liked to think that I was pretty determined myself when it came to things that I needed to have. However, when put next to Parker it became crystal clear who had more of the quality in them. In cases like this, I couldn't say I was so fond of it. If the roles were reversed and I had been put in Parker's shoes, I'd have given up with me a long time ago. Parker had shown no sign of defeat. The boy was resolute in his decision that following me (more so than usual if you could believe that possible) increased the likelihood that I'd begin talking to him again.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" 

I continued to walk, my sneaker soles slapping loudly against the pavement. It was at times like this when I longed for my crappy car.

The vehicle had finally met its inevitable end. It had initially been my mother's old car so it wasn't in the best condition when I first began using it myself. After an almost death with Parker on its bonnet and the small incident of slashed tires, I didn't think anything could defeat the thing. It may have been old with one hell of a sputtering engine, but the model was reliable. Reliable up until last week where the entire lump of metal decided to break down completely for no apparent reason, unreparable, leaving me to stalk home from the supermarket in a torrential downpour of rain.

I would have sold my soul to get my trusty and rusty old friend back. It could have saved me from the situation I was stuck in.

"You have to talk to me at some point, Flora." Parker sighed.

I sent him a sideways glance, watching as he drove at a snail-like pace so that he could keep in time with my walking next to him. "What do you want?" I snapped.

"You know what I want," He left one hand on the steering wheel, the other raking through his tousled chocolate brown hair. "To talk to you."

I did know. He'd made it obvious, trying in vain to gain my attention for weeks and pleading for me to speak to him. I wasn't sure if it was because he remembered about the night I'd brought him home from the arcade-bar and wanted to explain himself or if he had no recollection of it whatsoever and was wanting to talk about when I stormed off at the party, to discuss Quinn.

What he didn't know was that I couldn't. I found myself unable to pluck up the courage to speak about any of it. Each topic seemed just as daunting as the other.

One possibility was that the memory of his drunken night might be patchy, or perhaps not even there, completely wiped from his brain. Having absolutely no idea that I'd sacrificed my precious hours of sleep to pick up his sorry ass even after he'd acted like a jerk would hurt. Not to mention I'd have no idea whether or not to let him know I was aware of what happened to his sister. That possibility also led to an alternative outcome of him believing my silence was down to the Quinn drama at the party, not because of some drunken confessions he'd made and was unaware of.

The other possibility was that he remembered everything and that he wanted to either deny or verify things. Would the handholding admission be true? The statement about liking me? Enjoying my company? Would he insist it all had been fabricated in his intoxicated state? Would this harsh truth upset me?

"Flora, talk to me."

I sent him a glare and forced my legs to pick up the pace. 

"Flora."

"I am talking to you. What's your problem?"

"My problem is with you snarling at me all of the time!" He exclaimed. "I don't understand why we can't just talk like normal people. You're being immature."