Rules Of The Game: Book 1

43; Counting Down

𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟻𝚝𝚑, 𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢
𝟹 𝙳𝚊𝚢𝚜
Parkers POV

Eleven days and nineteen hours, twenty-five minutes.

My world is upside down.

Mom always uses a specific word when talking about some of her therapy patients. Dissociative.

I still remember the day she came home from work with tears in her eyes. She had sat down heavily at the table. Instantly, my dad knew to grab tissues and sit by her, rubbing her shoulder.

"Her trauma was too much," my mom had murmured. "I did everything I could to help her dissociation, and still, it wasn't enough. She passed earlier this afternoon. I guess this side of life just wasn't real for her, but I pray the next one is."

That day, I prayed for the girl, too.

Now, as I listen to Miles explain his situation to Rose, Forrest, and Griffin after school on Monday, I can understand what that girl was going through.

I try repeating to myself, This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real.

Griffin is stunned. He walks away without a word, his eyes sharp.

Forrest blinks, his face falling, asking, "Wait, what?"

Rose starts to sob and hugs Miles before hugging me. Her tears fall on my shirt. Her arms tighten around my shoulders.

I don't feel her grasp.

Miles comes home with me after that. I don't feel his hands on me that night until I wake up in the middle of the night, gut-wrenching sobs tearing through my chest. His heartbeat is the only thing that pulls me back to sleep when his fingers run through my hair.

The same thing happens the next night. And the next. We try spending the fourth afternoon at his house, except I can't make it past the front door when I see all of their kitchen belongings already packed away into boxes.

The sight shakes me so bad that I can't fathom pulling myself out of bed on Friday. I don't remember texting Miles, yet somehow, he knows. He shows up in my room again, his hands sliding over my skin.

You're okay, baby, he whispers softly, his breath warm on my skin. I'm still here.

Miles is only here for nine days, fourteen hours, and twenty-two minutes.

He does his best to try and keep pulling me out of this rut. I try so hard to be present with him while I can, although it keeps hitting me that he's really leaving.

On Sunday, I feel a little better, only because Miles wakes me up with his lips on my neck, his fingertips sliding up my shirt. For the first time in over a week, I feel something other than deeply rooted heartbreak.

We take each other's shirts off. He rolls onto his back, letting me on top for the first time. I enjoy it until I suddenly realize that our hands are sliding on each other like we're both trying to memorize how the other feels. The mood is lost when Miles starts to cry. I kiss the tears away, the salt stinging my lips.

Somehow, I hold myself together for him for one night.

We spend the entirety of the first week of winter break together, cramming in all of the activities we won't be able to do together.

The sharp shock of the situation is slowly making me numb. It becomes easier to fall back into a rhythm with Miles. He drives us to Crescent City one day, taking the long way down the coast. We spend a night by the beach before heading home the next day, stopping by the Redwood State Forest.

As Miles pulls into my neighborhood after the trip, everything comes crashing down on me at once.

I'm losing the one person I thought I would have forever. Miles is my buffer, the person I find genuine happiness with. He makes me forget about the world each time we're together. Our bond feels ancient and deep. He motivates me to be a better person, and to find true happiness outside of the destined glitz, glam, and fame. He never stepped down from my attitude or flaws— he always walked me through my emotions and brought me out on the other side.

If I know what love is, it's only because of him.

I don't know if I can live again without him here.

One week.

I ask him to take us back to the beach we bonded at. That stupid drag race feels like it happened years ago. There is no way that I'll ever forget the way that night made me feel. It was one, out of the handful of times, where I truly felt alive. *

That may be why I insist so much. Miles is hesitant as if he doesn't want to tamper with such a good memory. All I have to do is slide my hand behind his neck, and he softens like putty, agreeing to every word.

Yes, we can go to the beach. Yes, I'll swim with you. Yes, I won't leave you.

It's my imagination making up unattainable scenarios.

We reach the same off-road beach we parked at months ago to wait out the cops. The night itself is similar, too. Bright stars poke holes through the black velvet sky above. Only the moon stands as our witness, softly coaxing the waves to brush against our ankles as Miles and I walk hand in hand.

Miles watches his step. I keep my face turned towards the oncoming waves, feeling the spray of the water. Feeling the tears run down my cheeks.

I can't fathom this. This can't be the end of our story.

After experiencing a love so tangible, passionate, and deep, I won't ever date or marry. I can't. I can't say, I do, to another stranger, reciting promises that I've already whispered in Miles ears.

Those pews would be filled with my friends and family, although I won't allow it to happen if his family isn't there, too. It can't happen to us because he is passing through my life, like how we're walking through the tide sucking at our feet.

He's talking to me again. I don't hear his words as I squeeze my eyes shut, letting him blindly guide me along like he has been doing for the past three months.

I find peace in the familiarity of it. Of us.

It's only a sliver.

At least it's something.

I cling to that peace as the days fly by in an emotionless blur.

Three days. One hour.