The Love That Is Parker Bowmen

25| His Truth

P A R K E R
B O W M E N
5 years ago

I clear my throat as my hand shook.

Fuck.

The damn pencil in my hand felt stuck and I peered at the dark haired angel in my childhood bed. Her ethereal beauty seemed almost too surreal.

White sheets fell over her body, caressing her naked creamy skin. The sordid bed almost engulfed the small creature as a soft snore left her lips. Her head laid peacefully on the grey pillows of the king-sized bed. The fresh dawn of morning snuck through the grey curtains of my room and cascade against the woman as her hair hid her beautiful face, which was a godsend because I wouldn't be able to leave her if I saw what I was losing.

I glanced over at the alarm clock on my bed; I didn't have that much time left.

Almost instantly, my eyes studied the vibrant red dress she wore tonight, memories gleamed in my head and I smiled. That dress had to be my new favorite one; she seemed changed in it. Daring, carefree, and bold. Her usual demure seemed to almost disappear — not that its bad because it makes her who she is, but I finally saw what I needed to before I go. And that was her being herself; not thinking about what people would think about her and what she was doing. Being a people-pleaser is one of the worst things you can be in the world; it's time for her to finally flip the world the bird and make something of her own. Hell, leave this town. All it's doing is dragging her down.

A light groan left the lips of the gem who was laying in between my sheets and I cursed myself once again. My phone beeped and the time beamed into the crisp morning light.

I glared at my bag near the door, almost convincing myself to pack it away and lay back in bed with girl truly wanted, but I knew that was just a pipe dream. My uncle made it clear that coming back home would only be a dream of mine. I'd say it's my fault too. Frat parties can lead to some dangerous consequences and a lot of drunk nights doing stupid shit doesn't make anyone think too highly of you, either.

I shake my head, scolding myself for wishing and instead focused on the paper in front of me.

Deαr Eмιly Roѕe...

I, at least, owe it to her to explain. Shit, just something, so she doesn't think that I ditched her.

So I write; the pencil digging its way through my finger. I ignore it and finish my last sentence. Folding it before writing her name on it, I stick it in my drawer where I'm sure she'll find it.

Tears slip down my face as I made sure I didn't leave anything I needed behind.

I mean, except her...

With my bag in my hand, I softly kiss the enchanter on her forehead, before pulling the actual blanket on her body and walking out of the door and out of her life.

*****

Swear dropped down my brow and I grumbled.

How in the hell is a ballroom hot as hell? You'd think these cheap bastards would be able to pay for air conditioning. Why they haven't is still a mystery for me.

I pulled on the collar of my suit unprofessionally as I glanced around to see some people doing it too and  suddenly I didn't feel that guilty.

"Mark," Someone called and I instantly looked up. Walking over to me was the host, Adam Slinger, a rich playboy with nothing to do but to piss off some bad people.

He moved his way over towards me as two women attached themselves to him like leaches. Hungry leaches looking for only one thing; his money.

I forced a smile on my face as the man drew closer. "Mark. Markie. Mark," he taunted me but thank God it wasn't my really name.