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“No.” I shook my head in that bathroom, nauseous at the thought.
“Please.” She swallowed. “I can feel it just sitting there. I won’t be able to sleep if you don’t.”
“Why?” I sighed.
Her mouth pulled. “Because I can’t put the thought down.”
I paused, gave her a long look and then took the pin from her — took her wrist in my hand and then dug the splinter out.
She flashed her wrist to me in that Bali villa. Two long, thin scars from where she’d unsuccessfully hacked at herself to get it out. I frowned, grabbing it like I was seeing them for the first time, like I didn’t know her whole entire body like the back of my hand.
“Anyway,” I sighed, not letting go of her wrist. “That night was a bit of a giveaway.”
“Do you think I’m crazy?” she asked, quietly.
“No.” I shook my head. “I think you’re the best.”
“Even though you know the worst parts of me?”
“I don’t know the worst parts of you.” I ran my thumb over her scar. “I just know you, Parks.”
I lifted the Room Service lid off my (her) Eggs Benedict and held the plate out for her. “Come on then.”
She waited a few seconds, probably trying her hardest to prove me wrong, but I knew — as always — that she really wanted eggs for breakfast. Sheepishly she handed me her (my) plate.
I picked up my knife and fork, looked down at it, then flickered them back up over to hers. “Felt like pancakes today.”
Pancakes were a lucky break, honestly. God help me if there was ever a fucking fruit parfait on the menu. Powerless before those, she is. Doesn’t like them at all, even though she thinks she does.
So actually, do you know what? I don’t care that the boys say that Parks and Julian are good together. Fuck them. I loved her first. I love her more and he doesn’t know her like I do.
No one ever will.
