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The afternoon had gone something like this:

Parker would play.
Tate would yell.
Parker would yell.
Tate would take the controller.
Parker would yell.
Tate would keep him at bay with an elbow.
Parker would get the controller.
Tate would yell.
Parker would play.

Rinse and repeat as desired (which was, apparently, a whole s**t ton).

Neither Tate nor Parker had shared why they were both in such god awful moods. Silent Hill wasn't the kind of franchise Parker usually bought into, though Tate was right about him appreciating the philosophical undertones -- not that he would give her the satisfaction of knowing that. But it had a lot of violence. And right then, beating the s**t out of pixels was making Parker feel a little better.

It had been almost a full week since his fight with Dani. A week. They spoke multiple times a day on any normal occasion, but now, things had shifted. It rattled Parker too deeply for him to consider the long-term ramifications of that fight. He didn't think the relationship was over (and even if he did, he would likely ignore it to stave off the impending pain), but something had definitely shifted. When Dani opened that letter, she was forcibly ripping into the darkest parts in Parker's chest, and he didn't want her there. He didn't want anyone there.

So killing people on a video game was therapy? Apparently for Parker. "SHUT UP, TATE. TATE. SHUT UP." It was a mantra he'd said a hundred times that afternoon, but with increasing urgency. Of course, Tate was kind of right. Parker was dying. He wasn't exercising the usual caution he did. After a few more button-mashes, Parker watched his character die before his eyes. "<********>" he shouted.

The controller bounced across the floor. "If you weren't ******** yelling at me the whole goddamn time, that would not have happened," Parker said, turning to shoot a glare at her. Parker had no fear of profanity, but it typically only came out when he was really, really bothered. He grabbed a nacho chip and took a crisp bite, sinking back into the sofa and crossing his arms over his chest.

Both Parker and Tate had the kind of personalities that could be bristly, abrasive. Today, it was like sliding naked down a slip-n-slide made of broken glass and used needles. Parker shot Tate a glare and snatched the bowl of nachos into his lap. "Don't go haywire on me because you're on your ******** period, or whatever," he said, kicking at the bay of his shoe with his other foot. "That happened because your head would explode if you didn't hear your own voice for more than three seconds." He scowled too, but the anger was not funneled toward Tate. It seemed to be directed at the empty air in front of them.

Parker knew he sucked. People told him all the time that he sucked, that he was sucky to be around, that he sucked the fun out of the room. He really didn't need Tate saying it too. Anger set in his brow. He stuffed nacho after nacho into his mouth, chewing quick and hard.

His own anger and despondency was distracting, and it took Parker awhile before he realized something might be wrong with Tate too. She didn't usually act like this. The television glowed, and Parker let himself be distracted by it, watching Tate enter into the battle. "You're one to talk. What the ******** is wrong with you?" He paused. "I'm just fine, totally fine, okay?" His hand was poised on his cellphone, but it hadn't gone off for the entire time he'd been at Tate's. For the average person, this might not be odd, but Parker and Dani had the tendency to text each other 5000 times a day. In spite of the fight, he still seemed to be waiting for her to contact him.

But he was still waiting.

When Parker saw Tate pause the game, he braced for impact. The punch hit, and he sighed. "Ow," he said, but mostly for effect. This was not an unusual exchange. At least Tate only hit once. When he said smart a** things to Hillworth boys, he often came to inside a locker. The worst he ever got from her was a nasty bruise, and most of the time, he understood that he might deserve it. But hey -- she gave him s**t all the time, and he never hit her. It was their dynamic, and he would have complained about it if he thought it would change anything. No, it would probably just make her punch him again.

He took the outstretched controller when she passed it back and resumed the game from where she left off. Tate liked to beat the bosses, to "do it right" as she often told him. Parker was used to her taking the controller to defeat a particular boss only to pass it back to him to continue on with the level. He might've minded if she wasn't so damn impressive. In all their time together playing games, Tate could still kick his a** in almost everything. WiiFit, for whatever reason, Parker had a knack for, especially the games that required balance. Who knew? Parker was a WiiFit savant. But it didn't matter. 97% of the time they were glued to Tate's Xbox, and it was her domain. She always won.

Parker began his usual button mashing, angling the controller every so often as if that would help. When Heather spoke, he laughed, but when Tate spoke, his fingers paused over the buttons. Hm. She wasn't talking about him, that much was obvious. "No," he said, sending his fingers back into motion. "Girls make us retarded." He wrinkled his nose at the screen, battling several mobs at once. It felt good to destroy, even if it was just pixels. "Tell me, does possession of two X chromosomes automatically make someone feel entitled to invade another person's privacy?" He slammed his thumb down on the button with added fervor.

When Parker got out of Hillworth and into his own place, he was definitely buying a Wii and a WiiFit. If only to make Tate bow before his glory. After all the a**-kicking he'd taken from her in games, it was her turn to feel the burn of loss. Or at least it would be after he graduated.

Graduation. The thought made bile rise in his throat. He was happy about getting the hell out of Hillworth, but the idea of leaving Destiny City seemed suddenly unappealing. For years he had dreamed of getting out of his father's dark shadow in a place where no one knew his name, but now he had cultivated a life -- friends, even. Tate might be a punch-happy cynic, but she was as good of a friend as Parker had ever had. Not that the competition was tough or anything.

No, Parker knew the real reason he hesitated to leave, but it was the same reason that he was so upset right now and angry. He wouldn't let himself think about her, which of course only brought her more vividly to his mind. Then Tate was speaking again, whisking his mind away from his own pained thoughts. "You shouldn't read someone's journal," he said, bringing his messenger bag closer to his side. Parker was a big believer in journals, and a bigger believer in privacy. "No one should pry, even if they care. It's a violation of trust." And trust was everything to Parker.

His fingers mashed haphazardly on the buttons, but the movement was erratic, sluggish. Parker was getting lost in his own head, feeling his chest weighed down by heavy thoughts. "A guy will resort to lashing out when he feels cornered," he said. "And most girls are sluts." Way to be positive, Parker.

Parker did not confirm or deny the existence of a journal. He chose to ignore it, like he chose to ignore most things that he thought would be unduly embarrassing. Tate flopped down to the ground, and Parker barely acknowledged it. The only move he made was to listlessly drop the controller in her lap. "You do it then," he said. His head was too muddled to focus on stabbing a monster. It had helped before, but now... he was just despondent -- back to that good ole status quo.

Sinking back into the couch, Parker raked a hand through his hair, dragging the hard edges across his eyes. God, he needed a haircut. If Dani was still hanging around, he would have had it cut by now; she wouldn't have let him forget. Hell, she might've scheduled an appointment for him. Parker was so focused on his own issues that he managed to forget that something was wrong with Tate too. The sound of tears in her voice zapped him back to the present.

It also terrified him.

Parker was not the kind of person to deal with tears, especially from someone like Tate. "Tate..." he said, words escaping him for a moment. "I don't know exactly what that new guy said -- Zachary, right? -- or what the situation is, but if he called you a slut, he's wrong. I know you aren't, and I would tell you if I thought you were. I would tell you all the time and probably not hang out with you so much." That was comforting... right? Parker didn't know what else to say, but he definitely didn't want anyone to cry.

He leaned forward, but didn't meet her eyes. "People say things sometimes, things that they don't mean. They just... do it because they don't know what else to do." Like him. Like him snapping at Dani. She was wrong, and Parker still believed that. But he didn't say anything to make the situation better. He just fractured it more. Parker covered his mouth with his hand and looked off.

Tate never let herself lose. She'd beaten this game before, sure, but Parker was a little stunned when he watched Heather die. Usually, he was the cause of her death, and it was never intentional. Wow, Tate had it bad. Parker had no intention of pressing the issue, even when she insulted men again. Whatever, she could do it. Parker didn't want to rock the boat harder than it already was.

Then Tate decided to flip the s**t over.

Parker grabbed a pillow and pulled it on to his waist. "Yeah," he said. If that would be enough for Tate, he might have stopped there, but he knew she wouldn't let it end there, not after she talked to him about her stuff. At least if he volunteered it, he could decide what he said. "Dani... pried into my family. She found something out that she didn't like, that she wouldn't have found out if she hadn't of pried into my business in the first place. And now she's mad at me for it." Parker and Tate didn't talk about family stuff. He hadn't actually told Tate that his father was dead explicitly, but he had probably led her to believe that.

Did that matter? No, not in Parker's eyes. Dani had no right to force herself into his family. It was the deepest crevice in him, the one button that he could not stand to have pressed. Dani should have known that. Dani should have understood. Thinking it made Parker narrow his eyes at a spot in the carpet.

Did Parker tell Dani why it was bad? No. He didn't think he had to. If she really cared, then she should understand. The reason he cared about her was because she understood him when others didn't and didn't get mad when he said things that weren't intended to hurt feelings. Well, at least most of the time. This new Dani was one he didn't think he knew, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know her. He liked the Dani who respected his privacy and only challenged him to be better in ways that he was comfortable.

The box landed in his lap with a heavy slam, and Parker grunted. "She should've just understood, if she really cared," he said, thumbing lazily through the games. Parker did not believe in changing himself for others, to almost a dizzying, self-destructive extent. The slight shifts in his personality as of late were a result of a peak in happiness, not a reordering of core traits. When things were good, he was good. When things were bad? Well, Parker was Parker.

"We were both mad, but I wasn't digging through her stuff looking for something to be mad about," he said, flipping one box into the other. "What about you? Who were you talking to that pissed him off? Maybe he had a reason to think something was up."