Page 292 of Untouchable

Harp laces his fingers in front of him and looks down at them.

“I don’t want to do it this time, Parker. I’m not going to do that. I’m going to fuck up and own it and… I’m going to be better. And I apologize for what I said and how I treated you, how it must have made you feel, after you said you loved me and I just… couldn’t say it back.”

Parker looks away, his face flushing. He’d meant it, of course, and he still does feel it. But it hurts, he sees, to be reminded of the moment, to be so open, so vulnerable, so honest, only to be met with… nothing.

He can’t blame Harp for not feeling it, though. Just as surely as Parker can’t help being dyslexic, or sobbing while watching movies about animals, Harp can’t help what he feels. And, in the end, he’s glad that Harp isn’t lying to him about it, the way Cole had.

“Okay,” Parker says, nodding. He’d say more if he could, but no words will come.

“I have a plan. I want to be better. I… still want to be me, but I know that I can be more than that. And I know actions speak louder than words, so I started therapy literally yesterday. Online,” Harp says, speaking faster. “I know there’s lots of work that goes into it more than just starting therapy—but it’s a place to begin, right?”

“Yeah,” Parker says softly. He’s glad to hear this, really, he is. He wants Harp to be happy, to thrive, to overcome the fear and anxiety that has ruled his life for so long. But, at the same time, it’s salt in the wound, to hear about how Harp is getting his life together just in time for Parker to leave. “That sounds great.”

Parker winces as Harp continues.

“I guess, after we parted ways the other night, instead of just shutting down, I started to think about what else I could do to… fix myself. All of this stuff with Cherry, with Walt—that’s not stuff for you to unpack for me, and I think it’s pretty clear that I’m not going to fix on my own.”

Parker forces a weak smile.

* * *

“So.Right. I… found this place online where I can talk to a therapist once a week and psychiatrist less often than that—but I don’t even have to leave the house. I want to work through some of this stuff and figure out what I can do with it so I can make room for other emotions in my life—so I can leave my house and go out to dinner and not completely lose it.”

For a moment, Harp almost wants to skip the next thing he has to say. Maybe it'll just be cruel, if Parker is leaving, to try and interfere with his life in any way. But damn it, Harp had done the work—he'd talked to multiple strangers for Parker—and like hell is he going to go without saying this part, too. Maybe Parker will take him up on it and maybe it’ll help him, even if now Parker is frowning, looking like he wants to be somewhere else.

“I found a place in town, too, that I thought you might like.”

He produces a piece of paper from his pocket, an index card like what he used to tape around the house when he was reminding himself not to forget about his meetings with Parker. On it are an address, a name, and the phone number for the fifth therapist he'd talked to yesterday in Mink Creek.

“She’s really kind and bubbly—a little like Mindy, actually—and she specializes in LGBT issues. I think… I don’t know, I presumed a lot but I felt so much better after I had a plan for myself that I wanted to give you a plan, too, in case you need it. Or want it. I don’t know.”

Parker’s brow furrows.

“Um, what do you mean?”

"A therapist. To help with the stuff I wanted to but can't, you know?" Harp says. "Your self esteem, this shit with your family. It could be good for you to open up to someone who knows how to do this shit."

* * *

And your relationships,Parker thinks, filling in the blank that’s obviously there. Because clearly you keep fucking them up.

He shakes himself.

“Um… thanks, I guess,” he says. He frowns, startled by the thoughtfulness of the gesture. That’s the Harp he knows, someone who’s endlessly generous with his time and energy, who’s always wanted Parker to be better, stronger, happier. Not for Harp, but for Parker himself.

He feels the way he does trying to cross a little creek while hiking, when he steps on mossy stones to make his way across the water, how they slip and tilt under his feet and there’s a heart-stopping moment of wondering whether or not he’s going to be dumped into the icy water.

* * *

At least Parkerdoesn't flat-out reject the suggestion. Harp watches as he tucks the card into his pocket.

Shit, what's next on the list?

“I’m going to work on my drinking," Harp says, abruptly. God, it sounds flimsy now. "Whatever it is I’m doing to myself, wherever it comes from and whyever it gets bad—I need to get a handle on it and figure out how else to cope. I want to be healthier in general—I don’t want to die at fifty, you know?”

Before Parker can say anything, he barrels forward. There are more problems to deal with, more things he has to fix before he'd ever be able to be a suitable boyfriend for Parker.

“I’m going to get into town more. I think I’m going to commit to a regular volunteering gig at the sanctuary. I mean, no matter how much people might piss me off, I’ll never want to disappoint animals by not showing up, right? But I think it'll help with my panic attacks if I'm here less.”

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