Page 293 of Untouchable

* * *

Parker smiles grimlyas he mentally crosses off the sanctuary from his list of places to go for the next few months. Mindy won’t mind if he doesn’t do as much volunteering. He knows she’ll see him, and he wonders what it will be like, if, every time she gets home in her pink boots and tattered Mink Creek High Volleyball tshirt, he has to bite back the urge to ask how Harp is.

Why is he telling me this? Parker wonders, thoroughly miserable now. This is the kind of thing you tell someone who’s staying in your life. But if that’s what Harp wants, why hadn’t he contacted Parker beyond a single text message?

Parker feels lost and confused and overwhelmed and exhausted. He doesn’t know who or what to trust, can’t even trust his own thoughts and feelings. He wishes Mindy were here to tell him what to do, but then he realizes that wouldn’t work either. Because Mindy, for all her love and friendship, isn’t Parker. Only he can decide how to move forward.

“That sounds really great, Harp,” he says. “I’m happy for you.”

"And I… I want to travel this year. I think I can do it. I’m afraid to leave my house sometimes—I can admit that to myself—but I don’t want to just die here, you know? I deserve to see more of the world."

It’s torture, listening to Harp talk about his plans for the future—plans that clearly don’t include Parker. He needs to make it clear that, once Parker leaves, he can’t be Harp’s friend. He cares about him and wants him to do well, but it will be too much, too hard, to listen to Harp growing and thriving without him.

He needs to wish him well, and then turn the page on this chapter of his life.

Parker nods, reaching down to stroke Bo. By this point, Bo would normally have left to go search for snacks on the kitchen floor, but Bo is simply curled up on Parker’s foot.

He knows this is goodbye,Parker thinks, and a tear slips down his cheek.

* * *

Harp wants to die.All of this felt so profound to him a day ago when he was watching the sun rise, doing his chores, contemplating everything that had brought him to Storm Mountain, to Parker—and now it's all falling flat.

Parker doesn't care what will happen after he exits Harp's life—he's just hurting, he just wants to go.

Why did Harp ever think all of this would convince him to stay?

"So, that’s my plan," Harp says, feeling foolish, feeling alone. "I’m going to take better care of myself, I’m going to let the world back in, and I’m going to… figure out where I slot into the world again. I’m not going to be the asshole who lives alone on the mountain and only comes into town to fight and have panic attacks."

Parker smiles grimly.

“That sounds like a great plan.”

"Okay," Harp says, after a moment. "I don't—is that... Well, what do you think?"

“I mean, um… it… sounds like a really solid plan,” Parker mumbles. “I think it’ll help you a lot.”

"Parker, I'm serious. I think I can do all this. I want to do it all."

* * *

The lookon Harp’s face is so open, so earnest and honest, and Parker feels a dam inside him break. He curls in on himself, running his hands through his hair.

“Harp, why are you telling me all of this? I can’t—I can’t be your friend, okay? I know you need someone but—I can’t be that person. It hurts too much. I can’t—I’m not going to be able to sit and listen to you talk about therapy appointments and travel plans and—and all that stuff. It’s too painful. I’m sorry. I just—I can’t do it.”

He draws in a huge, shuddering breath. There. It’s out.

"So that's it," Harp says. "You can't... be a part of my life?

“Not like that, no,” Parker says. He feels like a deflating balloon, all his light and energy hissing out of him through the smallest pinprick.

"I respect that," Harp says quickly. "Thanks for letting me say what I needed to say, then. You deserve all the best in the world, and I know you'll find someone ten times better for you than I ever was."

Parker feels himself crumbling. He’d known this was the likely outcome, the two of them parting ways, but it feels ugly and real and unpleasantly banal, the kind of ick that comes from looking in a cafeteria trash can. It feels pointless. Useless. Unfair.

He knows he should just accept it and walk away. He needs to stand up for himself, not go groveling to someone who doesn’t even want him and beg to be taken back. But—

“I just don’t understand why,” Parker says, his voice cracking. He winces as soon as he says it.

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