Quiet Boys.

A new message lighting up my phone on a Monday night.
Although, now it’s not even a Monday, it’s just another day of summer.
And of course it’s Parker. The one person I am terrified of, and need to talk to.

You know what tomorrow is, right?

Of course I did.

Art in room 103.
Just a few moments past.

You better be there. And you’re sleeping over again.

I wondered if we were supposed to be having sleepovers, I knew I had no parental consent to do that. Then again, we weren’t like anything else I’d ever heard of, and I loved that fact. I loved a lot of things nowadays.

I will be.

________

And in the morning I was so eager for that art class. I was ready much too early, and then I just sat in my bed, anxious.
Was Parker like this too? Did she want to see me this much?
I couldn’t concentrate, and today was a hot day, though it was only the beginning of June.
And when I finally did walk into that art room, Parker was already there, but today she was drawing instead of painting.
“What are you drawing?” I asked her hesitantly. She was so involved with the drawing.
“You,” Parker said without looking up.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Why should she draw me? I couldn’t understand her train of thought. But then again, her brain was nothing like anyone else’s. Maybe that was why she even liked me in the first place.
Then Parker looked up from the drawing, probably wondering why I was still just, standing there over her.
“What?”
“Why are you doing that?” I asked, pointing at the paper and charcoal.
“Because you have a very beautiful face,” she told me. She said it like it was a fact. I wanted to shake my head, I wanted to tell her that no, I didn’t. There wasn’t anything particularly nice about my face. But I knew if I did she’d want to slap me, and shake me.
“Alright.”
“Ivan, you don’t sound so sure,” she observed.
“I just don’t know what you see in me,” I replied, and felt sort of scared.
She didn’t reply, she just got out of her seat, stood up, kissed me, then sat back down.
I wanted to tell her I loved her, but I thought it was too soon.

________

“Parker, aren’t you afraid of anything?” I asked her that night, as she watched me with intense eyes. She really had some sort of power with those eyes.
“Not really, what’s there to be afraid of?” She asked.
“Well, dying? Getting hurt? Being robbed, or beaten. Of hell.”
“Those are such trivial things to be afraid of, Ivan. Want me to really tell you something important?”
“I always want you to tell me everything.”
“Well, then here it goes. There’s nothing to be afraid of if you die? Pain is just a feeling, and there are so many ways to die. One of them might end up being fun! Like, what if I got to die trying to save a life, or something really dramatic. Like, all of the people who died in the nine eleven terrorist attacks? They will always be remembered. And it’s something that’s gone down in history. Or dying in war, or for something you believe in. That’s so exhilarating. Getting hurt emotionally, that just teaches you something. You learn from mistakes and you regret nothing. If you regret something, you aren’t living to the fullest. Being hurt physically, or beaten. Fuck, I’d beg them to hurt me more. Bring it on. It’s just pain. And hell? As a human being I find evil to be extremely attractive. Aren’t you at least interested in what hell could be like? Pure evil, where killing and terrorizing is but a game of fun. And all that suffering. It could be brilliant.”

And there she was again, shoving these strange thoughts in my face, things I’d never dare to believe or say out loud before, but with her it made perfect sense.