All Your Life by Lily Foster
Chapter Two
I want out.
My friends are all wasted, Tatiana’s house is packed wall to wall, and the smell of acrid smoke is turning my stomach.
Cigars are heavy and sweet to my senses. Weed is earthy and rich. But cigarettes just stink—there’s nothing redeeming about that stale, toxic stench.
Parker has taken to smoking since spending his spring break in France, poser that he is. And yep, I see that he’s got a loose hold on one as he sips from a tumbler of whiskey. I laugh to myself when I see the filter—at least he’s not smoking Gauloises.
I came here against my better judgement, knowing I was in no state to fake it tonight. But my mother already knew about the party, thanks to Parker, and I just didn’t want to get into it with her. They looked happy, and me feigning a headache as an excuse to stay home would maybe not have wrecked my parents’ night, but definitely put a damper on it. I suck down the last of my drink, knowing that Audrey—my mother has taken to correcting my friends when they call her Mrs. Hamilton—would have been disappointed for sure.
My mother doesn’t get me, doesn’t understand why I’m not spinning in circles and basically thrilled twenty-four-seven. After all, I date the one of the most popular guys in my school, I have a tight group of friends who hail from the best families in our town, and I have every luxury money can buy. That’s how she views my life, as some idyllic mix of High School Musical innocence and Gossip Girl-level excitement. She doesn’t know what it takes for me to simply exist in this place. I am a misfit who somehow gives off the impression of fitting in. I spend most of my time second guessing myself and looking over my shoulder. I am uncomfortable at parties, in the hallways of school, and lately there are times when I feel out of place at my own dinner table.
Parker has taken control of the music, and I can’t help but smirk when Used to Love Her cranks out from the speakers so loud that I can barely make out what Penny is whispering into my ear. I know it’s something about a guy she met down at the shore last summer, but I’m never really one hundred percent tuned in, so I’m not following. I’m focused on the lyrics at the moment because I love this song, and I’m also thinking: Right back ‘atcha, Parker.
Minus that one part. I can’t say that I used to love Parker. I don’t now and I never have. I’m guilty of parroting the words back to him, but my heart has never been in it. It’s just too awkward to stay silent when a guy pledges his love to you. Gee, thank you, or That’s nice, just doesn’t cut it. You kind of have to say it back.
And let me just clarify that he’s not the absolute jerk I’m making him out to be. He has some good qualities. He’s an accomplished athlete, a devoted son, and he’s the life of every party. He’s figured out a way to move through this world already, collecting friends like bottlecaps and keeping them close.
Swear to God, I don’t know what he sees in me. I’m not the prettiest girl in our group, and Parker Hastings can certainly have his pick of the litter. Maybe it’s nothing more than wanting what he can’t have. I haven’t given it up, physically or emotionally, so maybe he just likes the chase.
And right on cue, he sidles up to me, wrapping one strong arm around my shoulders in a way that’s meant to provoke. My intuition tells me there’s a part of him that gets off on making me uncomfortable, but I fight the urge to wrestle out of his octopus-like grip. Forget it, I take back what I said before. Parker is a jerk, a misogynistic jerk. He likes to be in control, and I take the bait this time because I have no energy to fight him off. I melt into his frame and look up at him batting my eyelashes when I say, “You’d like to see me six feet under, huh?”
“What?” Parker is all wide-eyed innocence as Penny and I crack up. “Oh, the song?” He laughs along with us. Shaking his head, he adds, “Just an oldie but a goodie.”
Penny takes my empty cup. “What are you drinking?”
It was plain club soda but I answer back, “Tito’s and soda.” No one likes a sober girl at a party so I play the role people want me to play. Penny always has a heavy hand, but she’s so buzzed right now that I’m sure the drink she hands back will be vodka rocks with a teeny-weeny splash of soda.
Parker leans down to whisper, “You’re not really going home tonight, are you?”
“I have to.”
It’s a lie and he knows it. He drops his hand from my shoulder and turns to watch Tatiana. My friend is wearing a tube dress that’s practically exposing her ass cheeks as she makes out with her boyfriend of the month. “I can’t wait forever, Sarah.”
My cheeks heat and my jaw is clenched tight when I whisper back, “I’m not ready.”
He takes a gulp from his drink. “Will you ever be ready?”
Today has been an absolute clusterfuck. As in, my life as I knew it has been blown to smithereens while I’ve been smiling my way through stupid small talk and everyday adolescent drama. Will Penny hook up with that hot townie guy again this summer at the shore? Should Parker’s bestie, Logan Clark the damn Third, follow in his father’s footsteps, or try to make a professional career out of sailing? Is Clara really going to move clear across the country if she gets into USC? Who the fuck cares??? That’s what I’ve wanted to scream at the top of my lungs all day long. And the pressure Parker is laying on me right now is threatening to send me right over the edge.
There’s some part of me that wants him to be sympathetic, to understand. I don’t let my guard down or show my real self to him in any meaningful way, so I don’t know why I expect anything from him in return. But I want that. I want him to look at me and say I love you for real. He uses that lame line as a bargaining chip. I love you so let me get in your pants. I love you so give it up to me. I’ve come to equate those three beautiful words to nothing more than a lie.
My sadness turns to anger, but I swallow it down like I always do. “There are plenty of girls here ready and willing. Take your pick.”
He says nothing, just looks off to the side as he takes a long, dramatic drag off his cigarette. Now that I’m up close I can see it’s a Marlboro—the brand of cowboys and tough guys all the world over. Is Parker like me underneath it all? Is he trying on different versions of the person he wants to be? One day he’s quoting Whitman in an attempt to come off like an intelligent badass, the next day he’s watching video tutorials on how to live a greener existence. And while I do doubt his commitment to sustainable living while residing in an eight-thousand square foot home, I have to give him props for at least thinking along those lines. Is he just as mixed up as I am?
And just like that, any sympathy I have for him evaporates much like the smoke he blows back in my face. I cough, and I swear the jerk is pleased when he waves the smoke away and mutters, “Sorry ‘bout that.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You know what sucks, Sarah? I know I could have any girl here, but for some reason I want you, my girlfriend. It’d be nice if you wanted me back.”
Stated in another way, those words would sound tender, but Parker’s tone is biting. He’s angry and resentful. He believes I owe him and I’m refusing to pay him what’s due.
Fuck this. I want my pajamas and my bed.
Parker calls after me as I make my way to the door. It’s an exasperated, “I’m sorry, ok?”
He knows he messed up, and I’m sure there’s a part of him that is genuinely sorry, but I don’t care. I hear Logan call out, “Let her go,” and once I’m out of the rain and back in my car, it dawns on me that Parker followed orders. He didn’t plead with me to stay or follow me outside.
It’s just as well. I’ll never be what he wants or what he needs. The sooner he realizes it, the better.