Chapter 2 - Parker

An expanding tunnel of darkness stretched on before me. I couldn't make out any shapes or figures, just endless nothing that couldn't possibly be all that existed. And yet…

I stopped. I heard something—dripping. The gentle plinking noise echoed through the silence that was suffocating me like a wet scarf. Without truly understanding why or how, I followed the sound, finding my old kitchen at the end of the tunnel that had turned into a hallway.

Home. Not home. This is wrong.

I shouldn't be here. I'd left, moved out. How was I back at my father's? The creaky floor sounded under my foot, the linoleum covering peeling and curling up in places. It was a stained floor, not mopped even once, and I looked up to see the faucet leaking droplets of water into the dirty basin.

My shoes stuck to the floor as I tried to walk forward. It took several tries to free them and reach the sink. I wanted that dripping to stop, but what could I do? A dingy towel was draped over the back of the faucet's long neck. I took it off, putting it beneath the drip to hide the noise.

He didn't like noise.

As I stood at the sink, realizing that my hands were smaller than they should be, the smell of old alcohol wafted around me from somewhere unseen. But then I blinked, and suddenly, dozens of empty bottles were lining the counter. Oh no. I have to clean up.

"Parker!"

Jumping, I spun around to face the open panel doors that shut up the kitchen. He was coming from the hall. I could close them. I had to close them.

I tried to hurry to the doors, but the room stretched away from me. No, no! I need to close them.

The pound of my heart was a jackhammer behind my sternum. I was nearly there. Just a few steps, and I'd be able to reach the half-open doors sticking out from their pockets and slam them shut. He would still be mad, but I could run. Get out of the house, maybe. Through a window?

"Parker!"

My feet slammed into the floor, speed abruptly there, and I grabbed for either of the sliding doors. I pulled, using every bit of strength I had. They moved so slowly—too slowly.

"Parker!" Shaking; my fingers were shaking. "Little bird!"

Just as the doors finally budged, stout fingers stuck through the remaining few inches, flinging them back open. I tumbled back, falling to the floor. I needed to get away, so I scrambled across the floor backward, my butt sore from the fall.

"Where have you been?"

I looked up. He was here. My father.

The wreak of vodka and smoke clung to him. I gagged, flinching back from the stench. He hadn't showered, and I could see stains dotting his cheap checkered shirt. The sting of tears burned my eyes, but I couldn't let them fall. It was always so much worse when I cried.

Trying to speak, nothing came out but a tiny squeak. My father lunged forward, towering over me as he shouted down.

"Answer me! I needed you to fetch my drink! Where were you!?"

My voice was gone, and I sunk back, trying to slip into the floor. My hands started to melt into the ground, but it wasn't fast enough.

"You good-for-nothing brat!"

"Dad, no!" The scream tore from me, but it was too late.

His arm was rearing back, and I watched, frozen in abject horror, as it came down right over my face. Just as the bloom of pain was about to start up, my eyes flew open.

"No!"

I blinked, seeing my apartment around me, the lights still on. It had been a nightmare, nothing new; I"d had countless similar dreams before.. My pulse raced, and I reached for the bottle of water I kept on my nightstand. I fumbled with it, my fingers shaking. A voice sounded from outside, and I jumped, the panic only just backing off in my chest, doubling down.

Boom, boom, boom.

My heart rate wasn't slowing. I could feel the adrenaline spike, and my chest pinched tight as I tried to breathe.

"It's okay, Parker. It's just a panic attack. You…You," my words faltered, and I had to shake my head to refocus, "You know what to do. Come on. Breathe and slow down."

I pulled up the app on my phone that I used to time my breaths. Clicking on the "I'm having a panic attack" button, the window changed, and a soft gradient-colored circle appeared on my screen. It started with red and orange, expanding and shrinking to show me when to inhale and exhale.

Sucking in a breath, I turned up the muted volume and listened to the prerecorded voice.

"Breathe in and hold it until the circle begins to shrink. Just focus on your breath. Nothing else."

The circle began to contract, and I exhaled slowly as it got smaller and smaller. When it started up with another round, I just followed along, trying to only look at the phone and think about that colored circle growing and shrinking.

I followed along for five minutes, letting my body recalibrate before I finally put my phone and the bottle of water back on the nightstand.

"You're okay." A lingering desire to spiral again sat in the background of my mind, and I looked around the room, trying another trick.

"A chair, my bed, my books, a box of tissues, the door." I sucked in another shaky breath. "My breath. Umm…a person talking outside. The heat coming on. Me swallowing."

The edge further receded, and I finished up with the five senses exercise.

"My blanket on my lap, the bed underneath me…" I dragged a hand up my arm. "My hand on my skin."

The last two were always the hardest, but I assumed that was the point and why they were kept small. "Umm, the heat coming on. I know I used it twice, but I can smell it. Umm…"

I turned my nose into my shoulder, breathing deeply. "My perfume. Lavender."

"Taste, taste." I grabbed the bottle again. "Water."

Taking one more swig and returning it, I nodded my head. I was doing better now, and that itchy feeling like something might set me off again faded.

I laid back on my pillow, staring up at the ceiling. It was just more white expanse since I wasn't able to paint, and therefore, not much to look at. I sat back up. I was too wired to fall back asleep right away, even as that post-panic exhaustion clung to me. Crawling over to the end of the bed, I pulled up a folder from the stack on the floor.

I had some case studies and reports that would give me a brief break before I could finally rest again. So, I grabbed them and made my way back to the head of the bed, where I leaned against the wall since there was no headboard on the platform.

Yanking the covers tighter against my legs, I shivered a bit before settling a bit, then cracked open the manilla-bound book. I had several blank spots in the case reports to fill out from the past week. At least my notes during rotations were excellent.

Taking the pen from the center of the folder, I started referring to the pad of notes I'd taken as I updated the files. I still couldn't believe I was coming up on the end of my third year of med school. It was Step 2 tests and audition rotations in my future.

"You got this, Parker. You're fine. If you can handle clerkships at Chicago General, you can do anything."

I was planning on staying in Chicago for my fourth year and residency because I didn"t want to leave the city. This is where I wanted to be. I loved it here, despite all the shit with my father. The city was incredible, and growing up here made me appreciate the amazing public transportation and entertainment options all the more. Not that entertainment has been a thing as of late. Ahh, med school.

Internal medicine with a focus on emergency care was what I'd chosen. I always prided myself on being quick on my feet. Growing up with a shitty alcoholic father did that to you. I loved it. Working fast, the ticking clock demanding that you act immediately, it was almost zen for me. I just blocked everything else out and dealt with the problem in front of me.

At least I had a miraculous two days off this time around. It was practically unheard of to get two in a row and not be on call with one of the residents. But I'd lucked out beyond reason, and I was going to enjoy every damn second of it.

Well, I was going to try to sleep eventually and then enjoy the time.

"Bright, shiny future, dammit. And you are going to love every damn second away from that house."

My blood ran cold for a moment, and I pushed back the anxiety that wanted to swell forward again. I was out, I reminded myself, and that was already a damn miracle. Pavel Kozlovsky was a possessive, controlling asshole, and one that I didn't see coming even when he was right there next to me. Doing a good enough job of fucking me up that I'd never once pursued a relationship with anyone. Hell, I barely had girlfriends I could just chat to.

Maybe I didn't see it sooner, though, because he wasn't as bad before Mom died. But cancer doesn't care if you were Rebecca, Pavel's wife and Parker's mom, or the damn Queen of England. It was ruthless, especially when it was stage four metastatic breast cancer.

At the beginning of medical school, I briefly considered specializing in oncology. However, the reality of seeing patients constantly succumbing to cancer was too emotionally difficult for me. I wanted to be in a situation where there was a chance to help. Right then and there, I needed to do my best to overcome the problem, but in any case, it wouldn't linger. I wouldn't have to watch people fade away over months.

I flipped the page. "Oh, Jimmy. Please tell me you'll be more careful with fireworks next time."

The kid had damn near blown his fingers off but instead was left with severe burns. Treating him had been quite eye-opening, especially considering the reality of burn damage. It was impressively effective at destroying more than you would think.

Scrolling down more of the descriptions of Jimmy's pain management, a yawn stretched my mouth wide. I quickly followed it with a smile. Oh, good. Sleepy.

I closed the folder, deciding I could finish tomorrow, and laid back down. Sleeping in tomorrow sounded fucking wonderful.