My skin crawls, but he can’t tell.
“I’m glad to see you’ve calmed down. I brought you some food that my mother made. I’ll feed it to you.” He crosses the room with a tray of tomato soup, grilled cheese, and a glass of water.
“You’ve been crying,” he observes, studying me with sorrow.
“I… you were gone so long,” I murmur. “And I don’t like being alone.”
“With me, you’ll never have to be alone again,” he promises.
I nod, privately sickened, looking down at the tray. I clench my jaw in lieu of rolling my eyes.
He pulls a cloth napkin off the tray and gently stuffs it into the collar of my sweater, his knuckles grazing against my collarbone as he does. He licks his lips nervously, seemingly excited by the contact.
Anger overcomes me so intensely I want to snap my jaws at him like a rabid wolf. I tamp the feeling down the best I can.
“I’m sorry about the way I acted earlier,” I say. “I’m feeling confused. I didn’t know you’d come back to Blair. Or that you’d ever want to see me again after what I did to you.” I eye his healed wound. “Your poor face. I can’t believe I did that,” I huff, hoping my performance is even the slightest bit convincing. I don’t want to lay it on too thick quite yet. This needs to be believable.
He places his hand on my thigh. “If anything, it helped me remember what we had,” he says. His face makes a slight grimace I can’t explain, but he keeps talking. “I haven’t ever met anyone like you.”
He says that as though my seven-year-old self was particularly impressive.
“There were no other girls?” I ask.
“A few… none like you,” he says. Then suddenly he grips his stomach, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. “You made me feel seen. No one else did that back then.” It comes out strained.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He swallows, grabbing at the water glass I have yet to drink from. He takes a big swig and immediately spits it out into my lap.
I gasp as he chokes on it.
“Something’s wrong,” he says, water dribbling from his mouth. Then he violently vomits on the floor by my feet. The sour stench hits instantly, and I clamp my lips together against the gag climbing up my throat.
There’s a large pool of red in the pile, and I can’t tell if it’s tomato soup or blood. It’s a deeper crimson than the bisque in my bowl, telling me it’s the latter.
“Parker? What’s happening?” I ask, feigning concern. “Can I help you?” I ask, the wordsUntie me, you idiotcoming to mind.
Meredith emerges in the cracked doorway. I assume she’s here to help him, but her eyes dart to me first, wild.
I look up at her. “I… I don’t know what happened!” The last thing I need is for her to somehow blame me.
Parker collapses on the floor, clutching his stomach in the fetal position.
“Did you eat it?” she snaps.
It takes me a beat to realize she’s talking to me.
“The soup! Did you eat the soup?” she asks again.
“No!” I shout. The tray sits untouched beside me.
“Good.”
I recoil as she pulls a pair of shears from behind her back. I brace for the cold bite of metal carving into me, for her to gut me where I sit. I flinch, eyes squeezing shut. But instead of pain, I feel the sudden slack of my wrists being freed. The fabric binding them loosens, then falls away. I pull my arms forward, blinking down at my wrists in disbelief.
Meredith is staring at me, jaw tight. “I should have done this a long time ago,” she says. Then louder, more urgent, “Go. I’ll hold him off. If he even gets up.” With the final words, she begins to blubber, perhaps the weight of what she’s done crashing down on her.
Shock covers my face. I don’t move.
