What's Left of Me (18 page)

Shaking my head, I ask, “Where did you come from?”
 
Men aren’t supposed to be this sweet and caring, are they?

This causes him to let out his deep belly laugh that I love so much.

“Umm, what are you doing here?”

“What?
 
Want me to leave?”

“No!” I say quickly.
 
Shit, I didn’t mean to sound like a bitch.
 
“I just mean, why did you come over?”

“I didn’t have anything going on.
 
Jason called me a couple hours ago asking if I wanted to come over and play poker.
 
I asked if you would be here, he said yes, but it wasn’t until I got here that he said you weren’t feeling well, which explains all the short messages from you. I didn’t want to pass up an opportunity to see you.”

I blush, which, of course, Parker has to reach out and touch.

“I love this color on you.
 
Red.
 
You wear it beautifully.”

I tuck my head back down, trying to hide it.
 
“Thank you.”
 
I think.

We sit quietly, listening to each other breathing.
 
It’s actually very peaceful.
 
Listening to him.
 
His heart beating.
 
I close my eyes and enjoy the sounds mixing together.
 
When I feel as if I’m drifting to sleep in Parker’s hold, he clears his throat.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry, were you sleeping?”

“No.
 
I’m awake.”

“Okay, sorry.
 
I couldn’t tell.”

“It’s okay.”

“When did you have black hair?”

“Huh?” I ask, opening my eyes.

“That picture.”
 
He points to my nightstand.

It’s me with my parents, Genna, Jason, and Jean celebrating my twenty-first birthday.
 
I was pissed that I couldn’t go out and celebrate like someone turning twenty-one typically would, so I wore black hair to show my family just how pissed off I was.

That’s what I had done before I came here.
 
I would wear different wigs to showcase my moods.
 
Whether they were long, short, blonde, red, black, or highlighted, I always made them fit perfectly.
 
I could hide behind them like a mask, and become anyone I wanted to be.

“Oh, um, that was on my twenty-first birthday.”

“Is that your parents with you?”

“Yes.
 
That would be the good ol’ parentals.”

I shift and Parker eases his hold on me a little, letting me get comfortable.
 
I hesitate a few times before I finally rest my head on his shoulder.
 
I’m not sure if this is too much, or more than the normal dating body language, but it feels right.
 
It’s comfortable.

“How come you don’t have more pictures around?”

I shrug.
 
“I didn’t feel the need to bring them all. I brought a scrapbook, though, that my mom made me.
 
Well, she started it and gave it to me as a graduation gift.
 
I’ve slowly added to it over the years.”

“Where is it?”

“What?”

“I want to see it.
 
Where is it?”

“Umm…”
 
I trail off.
 
I’m hesitant because I can’t remember if there are any photos of me in the hospital or without my hair.
 
I don’t know why I was so foolish as to bring it up when I can’t remember what’s even in it.
 
I don’t recall putting any of
those
types of pictures in there, as my mom made a separate journey album, but I can’t be sure.

“Come on.”
 
He nudges me playfully.

“It’s over there,” I reply, pointing to the bookshelf in the corner.

Parker gets up from the bed.

“Don’t you have some poker to play?”

“Yeah, but I told the guys to play a round or two without me.
 
I wanted to check on you.”

With his back to me, I quickly reach up inside my wig, clipping the few clips into place, letting out a small breath of air as I do.

Parker grabs the scrapbook and makes his way back to the bed, settling into the same position as before.

“Why did you want to check on me?”

“Why not?”

Why not?
 
His words make me soften into him as he pulls me closer, giving me a kiss on the top of my head where his lips linger for a second longer than normal.

I watch as he flips through my pictures.
 
He doesn’t say much aside from little comments here and there about cute I was as a kid, or how my freckles really pop in the pictures of me outside in the sun.
 
I smile along with him at the happy memories.

“What made you go from blonde hair to dark?”

“Excuse me?”

He points to a picture of me in the wig I have on currently.
 
I’m with a group of my friends from high school just after senior prom.
 
They came to my house to hang out, telling me all about the night and showing me pictures.
 
We had a great day, but it was also the last day we were all together.

“I wanted a change.”

“Like the black hair?”

“Like the black hair.”

I watch as he continues through photos, landing on one of Jean and me at graduation.
 
“Who’s this?”

“My best friend, Jean.
 
She was with me the night…”
 
I pause, blushing.
 
“The night I met you.”

He looks down at me and I look up to meet his eyes.

“That was a great night, Aundrea.”
 
His words are soft—gentle.

I don’t say anything.
 
I turn my eyes back to the photo.
 
“That was at graduation.
 
I teased her for wearing that silly cap.
 
She insisted on painting my name on the top of it in bright pink for all to see as if I were walking with her.”
 
We were supposed to walk together.
 
That was our plan since I could remember.
 
We rode to school together, sat together, took most of the same classes, and did the same activities.
 
We were supposed to graduate together and go to college together.

It makes me sad when I think about all that I’ve missed so far in my life.
 
Big things like my senior year, prom, graduation, college life, my twenty-first birthday.
 
I like to think I’m stronger because of the life I’ve been dealt.

“Why didn’t you walk?
 
Don’t tell me you’re secretly seventeen and still in high school.”
 
He laughs.

“No, No!”
 
I elbow him in the ribs playfully, but with just enough force.

“Watch it lady!
 
If it weren’t for you not feeling well, I’d flip you onto your back.”

And do what?
 
I wish I weren’t sick so I could find out.

“Why didn’t you walk?” he asks again.

How to answer this?
 
“My parents pulled me out of school halfway through my senior year, so I home schooled.”
 
Change the subject, Aundrea!

“Why?”

“Jeez, what’s with the twenty questions?
 
I thought I told you no questions.”

“Aundrea.”
 
He turns so that he’s looking directly at me.
 
Putting his finger under my chin, he tilts my head back, forcing me to look at him.
 
“I want to know everything about you.
 
That’s what getting to know one another is about.
 
What dating is about.
 
Okay?”

I just nod. His big blue eyes have a way of hypnotizing me into doing crazy things.

Parker bends down and kisses the tip of my nose.
 
In a barely there whisper, he asks again, “Why did you home school?”

I take a deep sigh.
 
“I had some problems my senior year, things I don’t want to discuss right now, and my parents thought it would be best to pull me out.
 
I didn’t like it.
 
I still don’t, and it’s a very touchy subject with me, so can we please drop it?”

“Sure.”
 
I watch as he continues going through the photos.
 
When he’s done, he reaches over, placing it on the nightstand next to the other photo.
 
“You sure liked to change your hair.
 
I think I saw, like, ten different styles.”

“Yeah.
 
What can I say?
 
I’m a rebel.”

“Really?” Parker asks curiously.
 
“How much of a rebel?”

I decide to play with him.
 
“A very bad rebel.”
 
I try to keep the laughter from my voice, but can’t contain it when I look at the shocked expression on his face.

“Woman!”
 
He groans, pulling us down onto the bed.
 
He shifts, and tugs me so that I’m forced to lay my head on his shoulder.

“This doesn’t seem like taking things slow.”

The heat of his body is causing me to sweat, and I can’t help but feel disgusted and pray that I don’t smell, but I don’t want to move out of his arms.
 
I’d rather be in his arms and sweaty than not be in them at all.

“Shh.” He kisses my temple, then whispers softly, “Get some sleep. You’re burning up.”
 
Reaching behind him, he turns off the lamp, leaving us to the darkness.

It always comes back to being in the dark.
 
But, for once, I’m okay with it.

I welcome it.

Chapter Ten

I wake up with a kink in my neck and a large knot in my shoulder.
 
I open my eyes, letting it sink in that I’m still in the same position as the night before; lying on Parker’s chest.
 
Slowly I bring my hand up to his chest, lightly pushing off to scoot myself on the other side of the bed.
 
Parker is sound asleep on his back, close to the edge of my bed.
 
His feet are crossed at the ankles.
 
One arm is behind his neck, and the other rests across his stomach.

Swinging my feet off the bed, I run my hands in my hair to make sure the clips in my wig are still holding on.
 
As I reach into the opening of my wig, I notice a couple clips undone.
 
After clipping them in place, I pull back, noticing a few small strands of hair between my fingers.
 
Shit.

I get off the bed, immediately making my way into the bathroom.
 
Taking off my wig, I run my fingers through the short strands that are still trying to grow out.
 
As my hands glide through my hair, strands become entangled between my fingers.
 
Bringing my hands in front of me, I’m faced with clumps of my hair.
 
Double shit.

I brush through my hair, trying to take out all the loose strands, and watch them fall to the counter.

Taking a quick look into the mirror, I quickly reach under my wig and re-snap the small clips into my hair.
 
After snapping the clips back in place, I pull my fingers back just to notice more small stands between my fingers.

“Awesome,” I mutter.

I knew it was a matter of time before this would happen, but it’s still not easy to witness.

When I return, Parker is sitting on the end of my bed with his hands clasped together and his head down.
 
He looks as if he’s deep in thought.

At the sound of me walking toward him, he looks up with a smile. “Sorry about last night.
 
I didn’t mean to fall asleep.
 
Hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”
 
I give him a warm smile.
 
Even though I woke up with a kink and a knot, it was only the second time I’ve slept through the night in four years.
 
Both with Parker.
 
It’s also the first morning that I’ve woken up with no pain associated with my cancer.
 
With that revelation, I add, “I slept great.”
 
Because, really, I did.

“You did?”
 
He rubs the back of his neck.
 
“I have the worst neck cramp.
 
You couldn’t have been that comfortable.”

“You must make a good pillow because I slept right through the night.”

“That or you really didn’t feel good.”
 
He makes his way over to me and pulls me into him for a quick hug before pulling back, keeping me at arm’s length, and giving me a once over.
 
“How are you feeling this morning?”