afterlife

P A R K E R (two)

an: hey!! listen to the songs at the beginning of each chapter if you want, I curated them myself. I'll post a playlist at the very end if anybody wants one. also!! i know that joseph gordon-levitt is like 36 but i'm oddly attracted to him and also age is a social construct so! 

It was an accident the first time it happened.

And by "it," I mean the first time Ivy and I broke up. I mean, come on. I don't really think either of us meant the whole, "never talk to me again, it's not-you-it's-me" bullshit. That's why she's here, right now, in my bed. It always happens this way, a day or two after the initial blow out. I'm sure my friends would have a thing or twenty to say about it, but I don't really care. It works for us, you know?

Also, it's not like the only thing we do is have sex, alright? I know that's what Josh thinks, but Josh is always thinking about things that nobody asked his opinion on anyways. Case in point: she stands, stretches, pauses to look over her shoulder and... frown at me? I smile nervously in return, pulling the quilt my grandma made me as a graduation present up higher over my abdomen. Maybe Ivy got offended by one of the t-shirts sewn into it? Some of them are pretty stupid- a "when God made me, he was just showing off" shirt in the top-right corner, for example. Then again, I was in middle school. My mom bought it for me, too. It's not, like, crude or anything, just a bit ironic since I stopped believing in God years ago, around the time I found out Santa was a sham and my friend Jona passed away.

I wasn't particularly religious to begin with, but something about seeing a dead 9-year-old didn't exactly strike a "hallelujah" chord with me. Everyone hates when I talk like that- they say it's disrespectful, or that everything happens for a reason, or some other variation of, "life sucks, you're fine." It's not like I have anything against religion- I studied it in high school, and I may even minor in it at Tulane next fall- but I have trouble sticking to just one.

"Are you going to sit there all day?" I hear from the far corner of my bedroom, where Ivy stands, balancing on one foot to put on a sock.

"What?" I respond, my mouth slightly open like it always is when I've been thinking. Ivy looks over at me and rolls her eyes, her mouth settling into a thin line.

"I said, are you going to just sit there all day? Don't you want to do something?" I wince at her tone, standing up in a hurry. I speed-walk to my dresser, the quilt falling around my ankles, and shift through the drawers for some underwear, a shirt, anything to make myself appear productive.

"Hey, come on. It's okay. Zip me up, would you?" Her voice softens at my display and I nod, swallowing. She's wearing this dress I like, white with yellow daisies on it. She always jokes that she wears it so much because I'm allergic to actual daisies, so it sort of makes up for that fact. My hands are shaky against her back and I wonder for the ten-millionth time why she makes me so nervous.

"There." I say into her neck, my hands dropping to rest at my sides. She smells good: like a mixture of tangerine soap and sex. I don't mean to kiss her but I do, and I feel her resistance all the way through me.

"What's wrong?" I ask, taking a step back subconsciously. She sighs, turning to face me. For the first time, I notice the tears prickling on her waterline. "Hey, I'm serious. Ivy? Come on, tell me. You've been acting kind of strange even since before you came over."

"I'm sorry. I don't really know, I guess I..." She pauses, looks up at the ceiling, at the chipping paint that falls every now and then. "Do you feel like, I don't know, like something's off? Like something's missing?"

"Well, obviously, I mean, I just asked you if something was up. What do you mean, though? I can't help you if you don't talk to me." I say, trying to take her arm and guide her forwards to my bed. "Here, sit down, will you?"

She surprises me by taking her arm back, rooted firmly in place.

"I don't want to sit down! I want to, I want- I don't know. I want to go home."

"Um, okay. You mean, like, right now? I thought you wanted to do something?... But if you're sure, I can drive you, let me just get my key-"

"No. No, I... I can walk, it's not that far. I'm sorry, Parker, really. I just- I think I want to be alone for a while."

"Um, okay, that's fine, but where is this coming from? I mean, I know we haven't been together as much, but then you called me and asked if you could come over so I thought... I thought we were okay again."

"Listen, Parker. You know that I think you're hot, I mean, obviously, and you're sweet, too. You're sweet and you're funny and you're smart and, my point is, you're too good for me. Honest. It's just, I guess I've found out I'm not really the 'relationship' type. And I think that... Maybe this time, we should be broken up for good?" She says, but it comes out as a question, as though she's not sure about the truth of her own words. I'm pacing at this point, to the door and back again. I nearly trip on that dumb quilt, still in a heap by my dresser, on my fourth rotation. I'm thinking of a million mean things I could say to her, things I've left out of our real fights, but a part of me is relieved. So instead, I sit down. I count to ten. And then I smile.

"Alright. Alright, sure. Yeah, I mean, that works for me." I say, as though I'm arranging a meeting rather than breaking up with my girlfriend of a whole entire stupid year, thank you very much. "I'll just... uh, drop off a bag with your stuff in it, or whatever. If you want. I don't need any of mine back, so, like, you're welcome. Yeah, you know what? This is fine. I mean, this is only the tenth time we've broken up, not that I keep track and not that I even care that much at all because I don't, I'll have you know. So, yeah, you can go. You know where the door is, or whatever. I would see you out but I have to put pants on still, since, you know, you just totally sucked my dick and now you're leaving, but it's fi-"

"Parker!" Ivy says, exasperated. "Come on, you sound pathetic right now, Christ." She winces at the look I give her in response to that, a mixture of, 'what-the-fuck-did-you-just-say-to-me,' and 'whatever.'

"Me? Pathetic? I'm sorry, hello, what? Wow, I thought my hearing was perfect, but I guess the fuck not because I can't believe- I mean, all of a sudden, after an entire year, as in 365 days, 55 weeks, 12 months, the whole shebang- after all that, you suddenly don't think you're the relationship type? Shouldn't you have known that before I asked you out and you agreed? Before everything I told you? About my parents, about Jona... I mean, excuse me for feeling just a tinesy bit disrespected."

"Listen. Parker, listen. I know it sucks. Don't you realize it sucks for me, too? Because it really does. I've thought about doing this for so long, since before last week, but I thought the only way I could get you to listen is if I came over, and-."

"Oh, because I'm so simple-minded that I use my dick as my brain? Am I really that bad of a listener?"

"What? No, no, I just meant-"

"You just meant what? Because you said... You know what? Never mind. It's okay. It's over, I got that. Not a problem at all. Just, please leave. Please just go." I say, a crack in my voice betraying me. I thought I was doing a pretty good job at maintaining a cool, collected exterior, but now of course I'm crying. Thankfully, Ivy doesn't seem to notice, or she does and decides not to mention it. She holds her hands up as if in surrender and turns to the door, pausing briefly but opening it nonetheless. She doesn't look back.

I'm left alone to grieve now, and I consider texting Josh to tell him he was right about something, probably, but I also don't want to give him the satisfaction. So, I flop back on my bed instead, removing the pillow from behind my head to place it on top of my eyes. I lay there until my phone beeps, and a part of me hopes it's Ivy, texting me to tell me she's sorry or that it was a joke or something, no matter how sick that would be. But no, it's just Facebook, messaging me to ask if I know some Iris Sawyer girl and if I want to send her a friend request. I don't, so I delete the text and return to my bed once more. Something on top of my sheets catches my eye, and I move closer to see what it is.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." I groan aloud, turning the object over in my fingers before swiftly throwing it in the trash.

It's Ivy's. She left her promise ring.