Page 62 of Twisted Needs

“You tell yourself you’re trying to help me,” Anders mutters. His eyes lock onto mine. “You always do.” A crack appears in the kitchen window behind him. “I’m leaving.”

“No.” It’s almost revolting the way my voice echoes from the distance. “You don’t mean that.” He can’t leave. I need him. I fucking need him.

“I’m leaving,” he repeats, giving me a stern look. “And you’re going to be alone.”

The crack in the glass spreads.

“You can’t do that,” I beg. “Anders—sweetheart. Don’t say that.”

He can’t leave me. I’m the only person who knows exactly what he needs. He needs me just as much as I need him.

Anders shakes his head. “Everyone leaves eventually, Parker.”

The room begins shaking. The overhead lights burst, casting darkness across the kitchen. Anders takes a step backward, shaking his head before he takes another.

“You just give them a reason.”

And then I wake up. My eyes land on the hotel phone sitting on the nightstand. For a while, I just stare at it. The dream is still sitting heavily in my chest, clinging to me in an unshakeable way, and no matter how many times I remind myself that none of it was real, I can’t seem to get rid of the lingering image of Anders standing in that kitchen looking at me like I was the reason he’d fallen apart. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m already reaching for the receiver.

One second I’m staring at the phone, and the next, the number is already being dialed. As soon as the first ring sounds, regret begins creeping in. By the second, I feel ridiculous. And by the third, I’m wondering what the hell I’m supposed to say if he actually answers. It’s after three in the morning. He’s probably asleep. If he even notices the missed call tomorrow, he’ll assume someone dialed the wrong number. By the fourth ring, I’m reaching for the disconnect button. Then the ringing stops. “Hello?”

Every thought in my head evaporates. For a moment, I can’t breathe. I haven’t heard his voice in weeks. Not really. Just on the rare occasions we’ve passed each other at home.

Sleep has roughened the fringe of his voice, turning it softer and lower than usual, and hearing it unexpectedly feels like somebody reached inside my chest and squeezed.

“Hello?” he asks again.

I should hang up. Or maybe I should apologize. I should say literally anything, but instead, I just sit there holding the receiver against my ear like an idiot. A few seconds pass before I hear a subtle shift on the other end of the line, as though he’s sitting up in bed. “Parker?” I immediately drag a hand down my face.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

There isn’t a single good explanation for this. I called him in the middle of the night because of a dream.

A fucking dream.

The silence settles between us again and I can hear him breathing. He’s waiting and probably wondering whether I’ve finally gone off the deep end.

“I just…” I stop and shake my head even though he can’t see it. “I needed to make sure you’re okay.” The words sound pathetic the second they leave my mouth.

Anders doesn’t answer right away. At first, I think he’s deciding whether or not to hang up on me. When he finally speaks, whatever softness had been lingering from sleep is gone. “No, Parker.” The sharpness in his voice catches me off guard. “I’m not okay.”

His words hit harder than they should. It’s just pure, unfiltered honesty. My grip tightens around the receiver. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I mean—what apology could possibly fix everything that’s happened between us? What reassurance could I offer that wouldn’t sound completely hollow coming from me? The line disconnects before I can figure it out, the dial tone humming against my ear.

I stare at the opposite wall for several seconds before slowly lowering the receiver back into its cradle. The putrid feeling arrives almost immediately. I sit there for a while with both elbows braced against my knees, replaying the conversation over and over again. I wish hearing that he was fine would’ve allowed me to go back to sleep and pretend things weren’t as bad as they actually are. Instead, all he’s done is confirm what I already knew. He’s hurting, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

Eventually I reach for my cellphone. The screen illuminates the dark room immediately, forcing me to squint as I unlock it and open our text thread.

Anders

LOOK AT THIS ONE

PETKA COME ONNN MAN

genuinely going to cry if you say no to this one

Me

He’s cute