he's so special

He selected the thickest of his many woolen scarves from inside spacious wardrobe in spite of its gaudy mustard hue, pushed expensive fabric into his throat in the hopes that its vast span would somehow correct the crimson welts dimpled throughout his throat in various shades of crimson; wants to scrub every last trace of Bryce from sharp bones even if such friction would cause him pain from the agitation. More pain, that is to say; his heart feels like a well-abused pin cushion.

In spite of constant mouthwash and despicably greasy breakfast, he can still taste bubbling champagne on the backs of his teeth from large bottle selfishly corked. But his lips are scarlet and swollen, a lasting effect of being kissed senseless by a boy who will perpetually see him as a joke easily conquered - a name quickly scribbled free from a well-worn list. Had the others known beforehand? Were they as easily humiliated, or was this unique treatment for Parker just because he’s so ‘special’.

He loathed himself for such trickery, how he’d convinced himself that in spite of his many flaws and blank personality, that he could actually matter to someone for more than a singular evening.

The wool itched his neck like the tears scraped his eyes. And with every step he hoped the pavement would rip itself open and swallow him whole.


          #look at them being cute af