Miss Parker is in the middle of her living room hanging on to what was her third drink of vodka and soda. She shakes her drink as the ice cubes makes a clinking sound against her glass, she paces the floor. "Cheers, you labrat," she says out loud gulping down her drink. "Damned you, for coming into my life." She lays down in front of her fireplace, the Ice Queen of The Centre cries softly to herself, squeezing her sofa pillow tighty as she burried her face into it.
"Jarod." The look on her face would slightly change to a softer side when she is alone. Her every move, every gesture trying in vain to verbally attack him to her colleagues, although deep down inside lies her hidden feelings for him. Everybody lives lies. Nobody is perfect.
How she longed for his phone calls between one and three o'clock in the morning. It was no more than a minute or two of conversation then she'd hear a click on the other end. She hung on to the phone for dear life as if he was the one she was holding on to.
Jarod gulps down his beer as he sits by his window looking out into the darkened sky. It's been two weeks since he's called her. Tired of the games they played, he ceased all contacts he's had with her. Gone are the phone calls late at night. Gone are the tauntings and hissings. Another sleepness night. It's not his nightmares that's keeping him up anymore, but yearning thoughts and dreams of Miss Parker now controls his mind.
She was sprawled on the floor dressed only in her laced underwear, squints her eyes as the sunlight seeps through the spacing of her drapes. She wonders where he is, what he is doing at that very moment. "Parkers don't have feelings, Parkers don't cry, Parkers are heartless, until the day they die," she mumbles her favorite mantra, making way into the bathroom on all fours. She stands in the shower as the cool water awakens her body.
As Jarod steps into his shower, he leans against the tile wall as he allows the cold water repeatedly hitting his body as to awaken him from reality. He misses her rude salutation when he calls. He loved the little girl he first met, but hates the woman she's become. As he wipes himself down, he hurriedly dresses zipping up his trousers, buttons his shirt and walks out the door on another day of pretend.
It's one o'clock in the morning and she lies in bed with his face flashing in front of her. She wishes he was beside her trying to melt that cold ice that was forming around her heart. Looking at her ringless phone, she misses the sound of his voice, his little clues and riddles of his whereabouts. She misses everything about him.
With the phone in his hand, he paces his bedroom floor pondering hitting speed dial on his receiver. To the world she may be one person, but to him she is the world. His fingers slowly pushed the button. The ringing of her telephone made her jump, her heart pounded so hard and fast that she was so sure it would explode out of her chest.
He could feel the sudden beating in his heart when she whispered, "what?" Since when has she ever whispered. He smiles to himself by the unfamiliar sound in her voice, one which he was not accustomed to.
He spoke in a huskily low-tone. "Are You Lonesome Tonight?"
"Yes," was her soft reply with tears in her eyes.