Page 93 of Twisted Needs

“I don’t feel bad for you.” I fold my arms across my chest.

He just stands there quietly and takes it like a good fucking boy…Jesus. “I don’t care if your intentions were…noble, or whatever. The problem—” I scoff. “Your problem is the fact that you’re a coward. You kiss me when you're jealous. You touch me when you want attention. But the second the real world catches up to you, that's when you pull away. This trying to be friends thing never would’ve worked,” I murmur as the thought crosses my mind. “And I deserve to be with someone who doesn’t wait until it’s dark inside or when we’re behind closed doors to give me a shred of attention.”

“You’re right,” he nods. His face softens apologetically. “About all of it.”

“Cool,” I nod. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

At first he doesn’t say anything. I step aside and walk in the direction of the steps, but he stops me. “I was terrified that if I let myself have you, I'd ruin your life."

He means it. I know he does. I can hear the pain in his voice as he speaks. But, like I said, it’s too late. I’m done waiting for him. I’ve given him three years. He’s given me nothing.

I exhale sharply. “I think you already did."

CHAPTER 25

I’LL WAIT

ANDERS

The next morning, I wait until I know he’s left for morning skate to head downstairs.

I usually have something small for breakfast. Some eggs and coffee. A bowl of oatmeal and chai.

This morning, the first thing I see when I come down the stairs is a brown take-out bag from my favorite breakfast place. Delores’ has always been my favorite place to go because they make the most incredible egg-white omelette with vegetables they grow on their own patio. Inside the bag, I find not only an omelette, but also some pancakes with house-made blueberry syrup, and my favorite morning mocktail. Everything house-made. Everything in glass containers, which is odd considering the fact that each time I’ve ordered take-out, it comes in those cheap plastic take-home boxes.

There isn’t a note, but it’s obvious it’s Parker’s doing.

I leave it all on the counter and have a pop tart instead.

Two days later, I come home from class to an empty house. Parker’s in California I think. Or maybe it was Seattle. I’ve stopped keeping track.

“Aww. This is cute,” Charlie pouts, picking up the coffee mug that’s been left on the kitchen island. It's one of those handmade mugs you only find at farmers' markets. She holds it up to my face. “Same color as your eyes, too. Where’d you get it?”

“It’s his,” I mutter. “Amazon, probably. Fucker loves Amazon.”

My eyes drift off across the kitchen, landing on the coffee maker. There’s another sitting beside it on the counter. This one, though, is an icy blue color.

That same afternoon is the first time he texts me.

Pet’ka

www.luckydoganimalrescue.org

This one is cute

I leave him on read.

Less than a day later he texts me again after his game in Vegas.

Pet’ka

I miss you

Game sucked. We lost

But at least I get to come home tomorrow

I miss you so fucking much angel