Escaping Parker, page 9
“Can I tell you something? I want to be honest about the situation we are in. Do you think you can handle it if I told you?” he asks, sizing me up in the mirror.
“Sure.”
“Well, after I spoke with Andrew, he called someone he knows at the police department. Since they are investigating your disappearance out there, they are in the loop of leads that might come in from out of state. Your parents’ line is tapped, and they know about the phone call. They were responding to the area to check it out. They know exactly the time the call came in, and I’m sure they’ll be looking into see if they have security footage of the area.” My fucking heart drops.
“We’ll change cars very shortly, just to make certain that they don’t go around looking for this one if they have it on camera. I’m not sure if they will be able to see anything, or if they even have cameras. Now I need you to be more vigilant than you have been before. Continue to look over your shoulder anywhere we stop.”
I take in all this information, grasping the reality of the situation I have put us in. “I will. I won’t mess up again, I promise.”
We continue our journey, and after a while I can’t keep my eyes open, eventually falling asleep.
We drive for days until we end up at this small cottage-like house, we stopped at different hotels, and made huge circles making sure nobody was on our trail. Nobody is here when we arrive. This is not a house occupied by others, which makes things different than the other places we have been, more like the hotels.
Things pretty much have gone back to normal, if you call it that, after the day I called my parents’ house. Rig has done everything to contain his reactions, knowing my background.
Sometimes I wonder who he really is, if he always has to hold his tongue and watch what he says, not wanting to make me fear him. Even though I know he is nothing like the monster I’m hiding from, and I want to know him.
We hide out inside, and the place is so stocked we may never have to leave. Rig and I have been talking more, but every time he gets close he catches himself and shuts down. So I continue to try to get him to open up, see me as a friend instead of just a person he is helping to hide out. I want him to see the true me and show me parts of him too. I can always tell he is holding back something.
I have a rabid case of cabin fever. I want to get out, do something, even though I kind of ruined that the last time we were out. He does the cooking and the cleaning up. He never asks me to help, and when I do, he tells me not to worry about it.
I found out once we got here, how close we actually were to being caught. Steven and his people went right to the location after the police were there, and they have been pretty much trying to follow any trail they could find. It makes me nervous, but I trust when Rig tells me he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. It’s a little weird having this trust with someone I barely know, and it pushes my limits in knowing what I should and shouldn’t be doing.
After sitting on the couch for hours, flipping through endless channels, I wonder where Rig has been, so I get up to go find him. I knock softly on his door, waiting for a response. Curiosity gets the best of me and I barge right in. As I open the door, he walks out of the adjacent bathroom in nothing but a towel around his hips. My cheeks heat. I can’t say anything and I just stare at all scars scattered across his back. One huge one to the left side, and little ones around it.
He halts abruptly and snugs his towel tighter. “Do you mind?”
But all it does it peek my curiosity, wanting to know how he got these. “I’m sorry, I just haven’t seen you in a while, and I was getting a little nervous.”
“I was napping, and decided to take shower. Let me get dressed and I’ll be out in a bit.”
“Where did your scars come from?” I blurt. “I felt them the other night. What happened to you?”
“You don’t need to worry about it. It’s there to remind me to always be on my toes. I don’t really want to talk about it.”
I walk over to him, watching him become rigid, like he doesn’t know what I’m doing. He doesn’t even realize the scars that I have hidden under my clothes, ones I pretend aren’t there. “Tell me, I want to know. I’m not someone who judges.” I’m now just inches from him. I put my hand up, first a little apprehensive, but then I trace the outline of his scars, begging them to tell me where they came from.
“Parker, you are crossing the line,” he protests, but doesn’t move. Maybe this is all some sort of show he is putting on, like a game, or perhaps he’s as confused as I am.
“Just tell me. Where did these come from?” I continue touching every single one of them, examining how some are more raised than the others.
“When I told you I wasn’t who you thought I was, that still stands true. This is what happens when you don’t be careful. That’s all you need to know.” He turns around to face me and grabs my hand, stopping me from touching him.
“Why can’t I know? Rig, please. Just tell me. I can handle it; you don’t have to hide stuff from me.”
“Look, the less you know the better. I’m just protecting you, that’s all this is about,” he says, never letting go of my hand.
“Protecting me from something besides Steven?”
“From me, from what these scars are about. How once I let you in, there isn’t any going back. I can’t do that. I can’t ever put someone in danger again by putting my feelings first.”
“What does that mean? I don’t know what you are saying.” I say feeling confused, and let down
“Parker, if this was any other situation, I would be a fool not to take you in my arms and never let you go. Showing you how special you are and treating you the way you deserve to be treated. But I can’t let that happen. I can’t protect you the way you need to be protected if I let my feelings get in the way. I’ve seen what it did once, and I will never let it happen again.” He drops my hand from his grip.
“Please. Just tell me. Make me want to have nothing to do with you.”
“I can’t. I can’t let you in the way you want me to.”
I bite my bottom lip and let out a sigh. “Ok, but I’m not giving up on you, Rig.”
“You have to, Parker. Trust me when I say I’m not someone you’ll be able to hold onto. I will leave to take another person away, and I won’t be around. You’ll never hear from me once this is done, and you have your life set up. It’s just the way it has to be.”
Nothing feels worse than the fact that Rig is telling me he is going to leave and never come back when this is all done. I don’t know how things will be when I’m finally building my new life, but it just doesn’t feel right knowing I won’t be with him.
“Fine, you don’t have to tell me. It doesn’t mean I’ll stop asking, though. I mean, you act so fucking hot one minute and the next so cold. I don’t ever know when you are mad at me, or when you actually want to be around me. You act like I can’t see how this all affects you. I see it every time we are near each other; you aren’t that good at hiding things. Your eyes tell me everything I need to know.” I turn around to walk out of the room, irritated at this whole situation.
“Parker, wait. Please don’t be upset with me. You have to realize I’m doing this for you.”
“That’s funny, because I know you are doing this for you. Because you’re scared to admit you think about me. I’m fucking terrified that I could even think this way about you. I swore I would never trust again, and here I am trusting you with my life. Do you know how hard that is for me?”
“That’s the reason, because you trust me and I never want to break that with us. You don’t know how it made me feel when I finally saw that. When I did, I knew I couldn’t ever let you down. I can’t be that to you. I don’t want you to feel like you did the first time I saw you.” He takes a seat on the bed.
“I’m not asking you for anything other than to just be you, and not have this barrier up between us. If I’m the only one feeling this, please tell me so I can stop making a fool out of myself.”
“You aren’t. You have to realize you’re vulnerable right now, and you’re grasping on to anything that isn’t him. Soon you will realize that, and where will I be? Knee deep in unreciprocated feelings. I don’t think I could handle that from you.” He drops his head into his hands.
“The feelings are there, and it’s not because I want the first person who has showed me any compassion. I’m not saying let’s jump into a relationship and pretend none of this is going on. All I’m saying is, why do we have to fight something that is obviously there? Why can’t we just go on like we are, and stop denying these feelings?” I beg.
I don’t want something that could be potentially so good to whisk on by, being ignored. Or to have to worry about the what ifs later on.
“I don’t want to hurt you and that’s all I’m capable of right now.”
“I doubt it. I see you, Rig. I see what you try to hide under that façade. I’ll make you a deal. You just try, and if by the end of this we don’t feel the same way about each other, then at least it was something to pass the time.” I know I’m sounding desperate at this point, but I have this feeling deep inside that is telling me not to give up on him.
“Let me get dressed. I’ll be out in a minute and we can get something together for dinner,” he says. I don’t know if he is agreeing, or just pushing my last statement aside.
Deciding to stop pushing, I give him his space and hope he can see how things could be. It might’ve taken me a while to see something good for myself, but now that I do, I’m not letting go.
After a short while he comes out, dressed in some sweats and a T-shirt, and heads into the kitchen.
“We have chicken or shrimp, which would you prefer?” he asks.
“Whatever you feel like making. Do you need some help?” I offer.
“Sure,” he says, surprising me.
He pulls some veggies from the fridge and sets them on the counter. “Can you chop these up for me?” he says, pointing to the cutting board.
“Ok. Do you have stuff to make a salad? I make the best salads,” I say, having a taste for one my grandma taught me to make when I was younger.
“Probably, what do you need for it?”
“Tomatoes, avocado, onion, and a lemon?”
He goes searching through the fridge, pulling out what I asked for. But I finish what he needs done first, then excitedly start on my salad. About twenty minutes later, we are setting the table and sitting down to eat. I can’t wait to just eat and stop worrying so much.
He shoves a forkful of my salad into his mouth. “That’s really good. I can see why you wanted that. The lemon makes it really refreshing. Good job, maybe I should let you cook more often and give myself a break.” He jokes.
“I really wouldn’t mind. It would give me something to do. You know, you don’t have to cook for me every night. I can do stuff also,” I say between bites.
“Sounds like a plan.”
When dinner is done and I have gotten everything cleaned up, I head into the tiny living room and find him watching TV.
“Is there something you want to watch?” He offers me the remote, but I don’t take it.
“Nope, anything is fine with me. I’m actually going to relax and try to get some sleep. I’m pretty exhausted today.” I pull a blanket off the back of the couch and make myself comfortable.
He goes back to whatever he is watching, and I close my eyes, stretching my legs over his lap. It doesn’t take long until I fall fast asleep, with his hand resting on top of my legs.
The day has finally come to leave this tiny cottage. Things just fell into place while being here, not having to worry who was around, or thinking I should be doing something to earn my keep.
Sadly, Rig and I haven’t gotten any closer, but we haven’t gotten any more distant, either. If this is all he is willing to put out there, then that’s what I am willing to give back.
Being on the road for almost two months now, I start wondering when this running is going to end. When we will be at a place I can call my own and never have to look back. Rig told me that since they haven’t had any movement on Steven’s end, if it continues to go that way, we will be able to settle soon. It’s an exciting feeling, mixed with the harsh reality that I will be on my own soon. Rig will end up leaving, and I will have to figure out what I’m going to do for an income.
I don’t want to be separated from him. I don’t want to be alone, but I also realize I have to do this all by myself, learn to be independent once again, learn who I really am, and run with that. Start my life. It’s going to be hard since I have had everything set up for me. This amazing group of people have gone above and beyond to help me out, so I wouldn’t have to worry about anything at the moment other than being free. Free. That’s a word I use loosely, because I truly believe I will never fully be free from Steven’s grip. Everything I do will forever be closely constructed around hiding and not drawing attention to myself, hoping he will never find me.
I was raised to stand out and never be a follower, make my mark and let everyone else follow me. I never thought it would be the other way around, but that’s the life I’ve been living. But maybe it’s the best thing for me, I already know what to do, follow directs, and be somebody else.
If I just went with the flow of things instead of always protesting tiny stupid things, maybe I wouldn’t be here today. What could have possibly changed in my life to not be at, for what I call, the wrong place at the wrong time? Was this all in the plan for me? Is this something that will make me stronger, or ultimately break me, leaving me a fragment of someone I used to be?
Rig comes into the room with his bags, pulling me out of my own dark hell. Living with my thoughts is the hardest part. Having good days where I feel untouchable, and others I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.
“Ready?” he asks, watching the torment play out on my face.
“Yeah, I guess. Let’s go.” I snatch my bags, looking around at my own little safe place, sad to say goodbye.
“Are you going to sit up front with me this time?” he asks on our way to the car.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” I ask.
“Oh, you know. The ride here wasn’t very pleasant. You sat in the back, moping. Not this time. Let’s just try to make the best of this drive, okay?” he says with a wink, only the most confusing winks ever.
Sometimes I think he is bi-polar when his moods change in a split second. He likes me, he hates me, he wishes we could be together, he wants nothing to do with me. I’m so damn confused. I swear he knows how good he is at playing these mind games, and enjoys doing this to me. Maybe I’m not as good at reading people as I thought, and that’s how I ended up completely clueless about Steven. I forget about all these thoughts, especially since they have the power to set me back if I think too long.
We are on the road again, driving on roads that are bare and empty, with an occasional cow here and there. Once we get into a little more populated area, just cruising along, he suddenly blurts out, “Punch bug” and taps me on the arm.
“Wait, what?” I ask, not knowing what the hell is going on.
“Tell me you never played punch bug?” He looks at me like I’m an alien.
“Um . . . would I have asked if I have?”
“Ok, so when you see this certain car, you yell it out, and you hit my arm. You have to shout it out the second you see it,” he says, a little too enthusiastically. But I go along with it, because I don’t want that grin to leave his face.
“Yes, I know the car. Ok, but wait, just old ones or the new ones also?”
“”It’s usually the old ones, but because you are a beginner, you can do both. I’ll just do the older models. Seems fair, right?”
“I don’t need an advantage. I don’t need like a head start or something. I’m capable of playing the game by the rules,” I state.
“Haven’t gotten that feeling from you lately, but ok. Cool. No newer models,” he says.
I’m taken aback for a second. Rules, what rules have I not followed other than my minor mess up with the phone? “What do you mean? I’ve followed every rule or instruction that has been given to me.”
“Really? If you think you have, then I must be mistaken. Let’s just play the game, or I can start singing about bottles of beer on the wall,” he teases.
“Fine, you’re on. Do you have a piece of paper and a pen in this car?” I ask, wanting to take score so I can rub it in his face later.
“Yeah, there should be one in the glove box.”
I open it up and move papers around, searching for a blank piece. While digging around, my hand collides with a cold piece of metal, and I push a paper back, seeing a handgun. I’m not a naive person, and I know it’s for protection, but I’m not a fan of guns. Even more so since Steven. It makes me wonder if Rig truly thinks he’ll have to use this at some point, or if he is just the kind of person who needs to feel protected at all times. I push the paper back over it, not wanting him to know how uncomfortable this makes me. After finding a pen and paper, I close the glove box, trying to get the image of the gun out of my head.
Rig looks over at me. “What’s going on, I thought we were having fun? I thought you were going to show me what a bad-ass you were and try and beat me at the game?”
“Oh, I’ll beat you at the game. Nothing is going on. Just tired from getting up early.” I lie.
“You do know that you’re a really shitty liar, and I can tell when something is up, right? You get super quiet. You go from one extreme to the other.”
“I don’t like guns,” I say bluntly.
“Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t really think you wouldn’t be comfortable with it. It’s something I keep so I know we are truly safe.”
“No, really, it’s fine. I understand. Just not a fan of them. I guess when one has been held to your head on more than one occasion, you start to not like the sight of them.” I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.
“I will make sure you don’t see it. I promise.”
