YOU'RE DEFINITELY A wild card, Castillo.

For some reason, Parker's words ring in my head the next day, despite it being a while since he said them to me. There had been amusement in his voice as he spoke, maybe a hint of fondness, but I'm starting to wonder if it's such a good thing to be so unpredictable.

Kicking up fallen leaves, I walk down the sidewalk, approaching the front of the house. The past couple of days, I've taken up walking to and from school. It feels good to not have to rely on anyone but myself for a brief part of each day. It gives me time to think, uninterrupted.

Wild card.

A quiet, bitter laugh escapes me as I shake my head. I wonder if Parker even knows the half of it.

Arriving at the front door, I stand on my tiptoes, reaching up to grab the house key from beneath the flower pot. I unlock the door, letting myself in, and sigh as I slide off my backpack. Things were tense at school today. I still felt sore at Zoe over our conversation outside of the school yesterday, and it seemed my displeasure threw a wrench in the dynamics of our whole group.

I pause for a moment in the midst of slipping off my jacket, a frown creasing my eyebrows and pursing my lips. Rerouting my path, I pull it back over my shoulders, heading to the dining room. I reach the French doors leading to the backyard, and pull them open, exiting the building.

My shoes are met with lush green grass, mixed with dried leaves, rustling slightly. I hesitate just outside of the door as Scout looks up from across the yard, her black and white head perking up, her chain jingling from the movement. Once she sees it's me, she gets up on all fours.

I nearly turn and go back inside, remembering the way she jumped on me when I first came home. But she doesn't deserve to be chained up all day out here just because she doesn't like me. If everyone who didn't like me had to be kept away from me, the halls at school would be practically empty.

So I stay. I straighten my posture, but try to soften my features, quickly realizing I have no idea how to do that. My hands rest on my thighs nervously and I take a deep breath. "Hey, Scout," I say, seeing her ears twitch.

Taking a few slow steps toward her, I feel my heartbeat in my chest, both of us sizing each other up. Finally, I stop, still staying a safe distance away, out of reach of the farthest extension of her chain. She hasn't moved, hasn't taken her eyes off me.

I sink until I'm sitting down in the grass, crossing my legs and resting my hands on my knees. "You're not so scary, are you?" I say, mostly to reassure myself, rather than the dog.

Her dark gaze is unflinching, and I do my best to not be intimidated.

Dropping my eyes, I think for a moment, a gentle breeze toying at my hair. "I hate this," I say after a long silence, surprised to hear my voice break so easily. My breathing is shaky, and I blink at the onslaught of tears behind my eyes. "Nothing makes sense. I don't know what to do."

Speaking the words out loud makes everything seem all the more real.

"I still can't remember anything," I continue, barely above a whisper. "And I don't feel like I can trust anyone. Not even me."

Sniffling pitifully, I feel my face crumple. "The people at school hate me." Pausing, I let out a short, bitter laugh. "Even you hate me."

Scout lays down, resting her head on her paws, blinking at me. Closing my eyes briefly, I try to keep my lip from trembling, taking another shaky breath. It's the first time I've really talked openly about my feelings, and it feels good and painful at the same time, even though there's simply a dog on the receiving end.

"I wish I could just run away," I confess, opening my eyes again. "But I have no idea where I'd go."

My throat clogs as I become choked up, locking any remaining words inside me, so I stop speaking. Instead I watch Scout, sitting there patiently with listening ears. She hasn't made a peep since I came outside, and I wish I could know what she was thinking. I know she couldn't have possibly understood a word I just said, but it's still nice to have a listening ear.

After a few moments of contemplating in silence, I laugh to myself. "Look at me," I remark, "sitting here and spilling my guts to a dog."

She blinks, not seeming repulsed by my presence for once.

"Maybe we don't have to hate each other," I say, my mouth quirking a little, though my voice is still thick.

Standing up, I approach her cautiously, my footsteps slow. She stands up as well, but her stance isn't threatening. I meet her at the end of her chain, trying to seem as gentle as possible. I crouch down to her level, and she seems to be on her guard once more, her eyes darting to the bushes that line the yard. I feel her slipping away already, but I'm not willing to give up yet.

"Come on, I'm not that bad." As I  outstretch my hand to stroke her fur, I hear a branch snap in the distance.

In a blur of movement, she springs forward, and suddenly she's sinking her teeth into my skin, causing me to gulp as I inhale sharply. I'm struck with a flash of white-hot pain, and then a proper scream is wrenched from my throat. She releases me and I scramble backwards, seeing spots. I grit my teeth, a hiss of air blowing through the cracks.

My hand shakes uncontrollably as I try to examine it, blood oozing out from the marks of her teeth. I look back up at the dog, feeling the sting of betrayal. I clutch the wrist of my now shaking hand, blooding trailing between my fingers, feeling tears stream down my face.

Her eyes are riveted to the bushes now, and I follow her gaze, feeling as though I'm being watched, chills rising on the back of my neck.

I barely register the sound of the doors opening, footsteps approaching me at a rapid rate.

"Allie," I hear Parker's urgent voice as he crouches down next to me, his brown eyes wide. "What happened?"

His eyes drop to my trembling hand and he curses under his breath. He looks up at Scout, his jaw tight, and she seems to realize she's in trouble, losing her scowl and dropping her head, whimpering. "Bad dog!" he shouts at her.

"I think someone was here," I confess, my breathing uneven, trying to focus over the burning in my hand.

Parker frowns, scanning the yard fiercely. "Whoever it was, they must be gone now," he says, sounding distracted. He returns his gaze to me, concern clouding his features as he registers the pain on my face. He extends a hand toward me, his voice gentle, "Can I look at it?"

Pursing my lips together, I nod quickly, releasing my death-grip on my wrist, and letting him touch my hand with delicate fingers. It continues to shake within his grasp, heat spreading throughout my skin, resembling the feeling of being set on fire.

He examines it closely, and I focus on his furrowed eyebrows to distract myself. "Come inside and I'll clean it up. It'll be easier to assess the damage."

"Okay," I force out.

I let him help me to my feet, and he keeps his hand on my back as he guides me into the house. Cradling my hand into my chest, I follow him into the bathroom, trying to slow down my breathing and keep my tears at bay. Once we enter, I hop onto the counter, doubting my shaky legs to keep me standing upright for much longer.

Parker's face is still pulled into a tight frown of concentration and he looks at my hand again. He bends down, reaching into the cupboard next to my legs and pulling out a cloth. He straightens out again, taking my hand in his and pressing the cloth down onto it, applying pressure.

"There." He looks up at me, his eyebrows raising. "Is that okay?"

I nod meekly, not trusting my voice to speak.

The pain is beginning to subside, melting into a throb, but it still feels hot. He stares at it, mouth pressed into a firm line, and I feel slightly woozy at the sight of all the blood. He brings his eyes back to mine. "What were you doing out there?"

My cheeks warm. "Trying to make friends with Scout," I admit sheepishly.

Parker blinks, before chuckling to himself quietly. "Well, that clearly turned out well," he quips, sounding amused. "How's the pain?"

"Getting better."

He hums in approval. "It's a good thing she's had her shots, so we don't have to worry about that. I don't know what's gotten into her, though."

We fall back into silence, and after a while, he removes the cloth, checking to make sure the bleeding has stopped. He then gently tugs my arm until my hand is under the tap, then turns it on, allowing cool water to rush out over my skin.

Once it's been cleaned, he goes into the cupboard again, pulling out a roll of gauze. He proceeds to bandage my hand with great care, unwinding the roll, then tacking it at the end. He finishes, confirms that it's secure, then sighs, stepping back with a nod.

"There," he says, appraising his work. "How's that?"

For some reason, this is the point that my wave of humiliation returns, and, in culmination with the day I had at school, it's enough to bring my tears to the forefront again. I take a deep breath, trying to mentally talk myself out of another break down, but it doesn't seem to work. I don't want him to see me cry again, so I stretch out my hands before covering my eyes.

"Better, thanks," I say, my voice doing little to disguise my true emotions, and I can't help the sniffle that escapes.

Parker is quiet for a moment, seemingly processing my change in demeanor. My face burns at the thought of his scrutiny, even though I can't see at the moment. Finally, he says, "Alina."

"Yeah?"

Another pause. "Did something else happen today?"

Swallowing, I shake my head. "No." But my voice sounds too small, and it breaks.

"Then why are you crying?" he pries, though it's not unkind.

"I'm not," I lie foolishly.

After several beats, I sigh, lowering my hands, brushing away a couple tears. Parker's eyebrows are tipped upward in sympathy. He waits for me to say something, but I remain silent, my vision blurry. I wonder if he would look at me the same if he knew all that I've done.

"You can tell me," he encourages softly.

As bad as it is, I want to. God knows I'm in desperate need of a confidant, and despite everything that's happened between us, I still find myself wanting to trust Parker, still feeling safe in his presence.

But it can't be him.

Keeping my eyes down, I answer. "I told you, nothing happened," I say, levelling him with a firm stare.

The hurt on his face is gradual. And then his gaze becomes challenging, instead of forlorn, and he watches me a few moments more before he sighs, dropping his shoulders. He takes a step back, leaning against the wall across from me.

"I'm tired of this," he admits, and I frown.

I blink. "Tired of what?"

He shakes his head in frustration, trying to find words, and I feel unease twist in my stomach. "Every time we start to get along, you shut me out."

I remain silent, dropping my eyes.

"And fair enough," he continues. "You have every right to be angry with me. But you've forgotten the whole story. This all began for you the day you got home from the hospital, and I don't think that's very fair."

He pauses again, deciding where to start, and I wait patiently, feeling too curious to stop him. I really don't have a lot of knowledge on the history of our relationship, and most of what I do know is based on assumption.

Of course, there isn't much he could say to redeem the situation, but it might be nice to get a little more insight.

Finally, Parker takes a deep breath, beginning. "As you know, I met Audrey at Antonio's.  I didn't think anything of it when I met her. But then we got talking, and we had a lot in common, so we started dating," he explains. "It became normal, and it felt natural, so we stayed together. Then I got to meet the family."

He attempts to make eye contact, and I look away quickly. I hadn't wanted to look at him at all, but my eyes subconsciously wandered in his direction, unable to avert my gaze for too long.

"I met you and we got along like a house on fire," he says, and I detect mild wonderment in his voice. "I was grateful for it, because I certainly didn't take to Sofia very well." he admits, dropping his eyes. "I didn't really realize what my feelings for you meant, I was just so happy we were friends. Or maybe I knew, but it was too terrifying a thought, so I ignored it.

"But all of a sudden, I couldn't ignore it anymore." His lips curl up in a wistful smile, but it looks sad. "You went to some party and got completely wasted. You felt that I was the only person you could call to come pick you up, so I came and got you. You always told me the whole world was against you, but that it felt like I was in your corner."

It's easy to tell, just by looking at his face, that he's reliving the moment, and there's a part of me that wishes I could relive it too, and save myself the suspense. But I can't, so I have to sit here helplessly, hanging on his every word, grasping at the threads of my imagination to conjure up pictures of the memory.

"We were just sitting in the car, talking, and suddenly you reached over and kissed me." He raises his eyebrows, laughing once, without humour. "You caught me completely off guard, and I stopped you, of course. But it was too late, everything had shifted between us, and I knew we were teetering on the edge of something really dangerous."

My eyes widen at the notion of me being the one to start this whole affair. Knowing that I was the one to set things in motion seems to change everything, and I don't know why. It shouldn't surprise me. It's the icing on the metaphorical cake made of the bad things I've done in the past.

"We didn't talk for a long time after that. We were both so confused, and I think we were trying to forget." His eyebrows pull into another concentrated frown, and he folds his arms, staring at the floor. "But I couldn't. I knew right then that I needed to break up with Audrey. I didn't want to hurt her." He meets my eyes. "You tried to convince me that we could pretend it never happened, but I knew that wasn't true."

I frown at his words, wrapping my arms around my torso, wishing I could shrink away into nothing.

"I was about to do it, but then you got into the accident," he says, swallowing, voice low, "and it threw everything off course. It threw me off course."

He drags a hand over his face, shaking his head. "My emotions were through the roof. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't breathe. There was a time where nobody knew if you would wake up. The thought makes me sick." He stops, swallowing. "I couldn't stand the thought of losing you, no matter how skewed our relationship was. You were my best friend, above everything else." His eyes focus on me again, and this time I don't shy away from his glance. "And then you woke up, and I heard that you'd lost your memory, and I thought it was a sign from the universe telling me this is how things were supposed to be. You forgetting I even existed.

"And I was ready to accept that," he admits, raising his eyebrows. "I was going to do my best to move on, but I wasn't quite sure how to go about it. Once again, I was going to break up with her, but I saw how ruined she was over almost losing you and I felt like I should wait. When I saw you again, awake and alive, all of my plans went to shit. That kiss was a direct result of those weeks of pent up emotion and thinking you might never open your eyes again."

He unfolds his arms, as though his body is sighing in defeat. "I'm not trying to justify my actions at all. I just thought you deserved the truth."

The atmosphere in the room feels charged with unresolved tension and I open my mouth long before words come out, feeling speechless. He waits for a response, but all I can muster is, "Parker..." His name seems to float up in the air once it's released, those two syllables carrying the weight of a thousand more.

"You don't have to say anything," he murmurs. "I just want you to know I'm here. As a friend."

"I..." I begin, but quickly realize I don't have a follow up. "Thank you. For explaining."

"You're welcome," he says, after clearing his throat. Then he looks down, checking the watch on his wrist. "I've got a shift starting in twenty minutes, I need to get going."

For some reason, the thought of him leaving makes my heart sink. "Okay."

He seems to sense this, glancing up from his watch. "Are you going to be alright by yourself for a while?"

"Yeah," I say quickly, half of my mouth quirking up in a small smile. "I'll be fine. It'll give me some time to think."

Making to leave the room, he turns on his heel, before stopping short in the doorway and turning around to face me again. "One more thing. I wanted you to know that you're not the horrible person you think you are." His voice is calm, despite the gravity of his words. "The girl you see in the pictures, the girl you are with your friends... that isn't who you were with me. I thought I should tell you that."

I'm taken aback by his words, feeling my mouth fall open again, but entirely unable to form words.

"I'll see you later," he says.

For a long while, I'm rooted to my spot on the bathroom counter, even as I hear the sounds of him leaving the house, starting up a car, and driving away.

And then I'm truly left alone.