Chapter Text
There wasn't much in Quebec. They had a pretty good hockey team that was one of the originals. There were a lot of old French things that only historians and tourists really cared about. However, under the maple syrup and snow, the punk scene was where Parker spent her time. Dodging around people that smelled like weed and cheap liquor. Guys with spiky colorful hair and girls with their studded jackets swarmed the building. She walked around the warehouse like she owns the place, like she's been there a thousand times. She has been to many shows in this spot, seeing some of her favorite bands here. The old abandoned place was her shitty home away from her shittier home. This time around, she was more there because she got dragged to it. She walks with this swagger in her shoulders, as her hands live in the pockets of the black jacket she was wearing. She pushed past a huge mosh pit, people flinging themselves around and hitting the crowd. The building was booming, the warehouse had an electricity to it you can only get from the thumps of the bass, the pulses of an electric guitar and the power of drums. The place is dark, besides a few red and green lights flashing on and off as the band plays. Parker pushes through some people, trying to get to the other side of the warehouse. A man comes out of nowhere and Parker hits him with her shoulder hard.
“Watch yourself bitch!” The words barely cut through the blaring music, but Parker caught them. barely hearing what he had said over the sound of the vocalist and people singing along to the music. She wasn't one to take shit from anyone. She whips around, her hair falling into her face. She sees a man, large in the shoulders and about 190 centimeters tall. He had features that made him look like a super villain you would see in a comic book.
“What the fuck did you say to me?” Parker barked back at him. He approached her, towering over her. He got right up close to her, looking down at Parker.
“I said Fais attention à toi, salope” he hissed at Parker. Her dark eyebrows furrowed, her fist clinched so hard her knuckles turned pale. The tall man bent down until he met eyelevel with Parker. His strong cologne and the smell of cigarettes lingers on his Dead Kennedys shirt. His eyes were dark and bloodshot.
“What are you going to do about it, petite fille?” He growled at Parker. A thread in Parker's mind snapped when he said that. A fire lit in her eyes, going from their usual slate blue color to a dark grey. Her mind was racing and going blank at the same time. Before she could even reason with it, she reacted. Her fist came flying, hard and fast, connecting square onto the guy's cheekbone. His anti-eyebrow piercing tore into Parker's knuckles. The tall man stumbled backwards, blood dripping from his mouth and side of his face. Adrenaline rushed hard into Parker's veins.
“Holy fuck…” she murmured under her breath. Blood rushed into her ears, muffling everything around her. The practiced screams of the vocalist dulled in her brain as the guitar's electric vibrations sounded blunt. She hadn't even realized how long she was standing there until he got back up and was looking for her. Parkers breathing quicken, trying to get air in the tight space of men and women. She quickly started to weave through people, dodging and diving though people dancing, bushing against sweaty people moshing and people drinking from bottles in paper bags. The music felt loud in her brain, everything felt blurry. She felt like she needed to scream or run somewhere, anywhere. She needed to get out of there.
After going from one half of the large warehouse to the other, slipping between people, she finally spotted who she was looking for. His tall and lanky frame stood out from the other drummers that were playing that night. His dark hair was styled in medium sized spikes sticking out in all directions. He could tell the set was about to end, hearing him and his buddies practice in the garage so long she knew their whole set list by heart. She got close to the end of the stage, where the band kept their cases for the instruments. They finished up and walked off the stage. The lanky man hopped down, rubbing his forehead on the shirt hanging out of his back pocket.
“Oh, hey Park!” he yelled over the sound of the other bands playing. His dark spikes and sweat on his face glowed pink from the lighting. He stood at about 185 centimeters and was thin. He was shirtless, and had tight, patched up pants.
“Sam, I fucked up. Big time… we HAVE to go’’ Parker said in a panic. Sam's light expression went cold fast. Before he could ask what happened, Parker grabbed his wrist and pulled him behind the big cases they use to store the drumkit.
“Theres no time to explain, we need to get out of here” Parker said shakily. Sam nodded and started to make his way to the exit. Luckily, they were on the side of the large warehouse where you had to enter and exit. They slipped out, after pushing through people dancing and smoking. The two of them stumbled outside, the cold air nipping their skin. A few people are outside smoking and drinking. It reeked of cigarettes and weed. Parker lets out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding in. The cold air felt good on her warm and clammy skin.
Sam and Parker weave through an alleyway, it's dark and quiet in an eerie way. The silence between the siblings is deafening, Sam leading the way and Parker trailing behind. They approach a chain fence. It was about 230 centimeters tall. Sam hopped up and over the cold chain link fence with practice ease. Parker trailed behind, climbing over the fence looking way less graceful then Sam did. They made their way down a dark side walk, the only lighting source being a flickering street light above them. Graffiti lines the walls of the buildings, colorful with writing and drawings. Parker has always loved looking at graffiti, thinking that it was so cool. A F-100 Ford appeared from the corner, parked by a dumpster. It was dark blue and had chipping paint. Sam grabbed the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the truck. He hopped in and started the car. Parker ran to the passenger side and climbed in. She noticed that the back of her hand was bleeding. Her knuckles were torn open, the worst being on her middle and index knuckle. The adrenaline was starting to slow down, causing a violent sting in her hand.
“Oh shit…” she grumbled, looking at her hand. Sam looked over to see blood dripping down the lengths of Parker's fingers. Sam opened the central console of the truck. He rummaged through random stuff he threw in there, and grabbed an old t-shirt he left in the truck and tossed it at Parker. She pressed it onto the back of her hand, sending sharp pain down her whole arm. Her jaw clinched tight and tears weld in her eyes.
“If you get blood in my truck I'm fucking killing you” Sam said in a joking manner. Parker chuckled at him softly. Sam backed out of the back lot and started the journey home. Parker found Sam's CD case. She slowly unzipped it and flipped through the CDs. Flipping past Metallica and iron maiden CDs. She got to the more punky CDs they liked. She grabbed the silver CD that said Descendants in Sam's scratchy hand writing. She slipped it into the CD player that sat in the center of Sam's truck. The drive back into the city was long from the warehouse, land of trees turned into buildings and lights.
Sam pulled into the driveway of their small house on the outskirts of the city. The house itself is small, but it's big enough for the two of them. Sam shuts off the truck, the engine's slight vibration stopping. His converse slapped the concrete when he jumped down from the truck. Parker was almost asleep by the time they got home. She rubs her eyes with her uncut hand and kicked the door open. She hopped down, the sound of her boots thump on the concrete. She trails behind Sam, following him inside the house. Their house wasn't very nice. It was lived in and messy. The living room was basic, it had a small couch and a tv with a few gaming consoles. Sam kicked off his shoes and laid on the couch with a dramatic flop. Parker rolled her eyes at him and made her way down the small hallway that goes past the kitchen. She pushed the door to her room open with her foot.
Her room was small to say the least, but it was hers. There was an electric and an acoustic guitar in the corner, a small desk where there were drawings that she did a while ago, her bed was messy, like if she were to just wake up. She sat on her bed, unlacing her boots with practiced precision. She tossed them at her closest, not exactly making it inside of it. She threw off her jacket and put it on the end of her desk chair. She peeled off the loose pants that had a tear in the knee and put them on the back of the chair with her jacket. She grabbed a pair of comfy shorts and a band shirt she stole from Sam. She threw off her tank top and put on the stolen shirt. Parker sat on her bed, hearing a ring from her phone. She flipped it open and saw the notification: ONE UNREAD MESSAGE – CLARA VILLENEUVE <3.
Parker's phone lay forgotten until the blaring alarm clock dragged her back to reality. “Fuck..” Parker groaned. 6:30am read her radio alarm clock. She rolled over and stretched her body; a satisfied grumble escaping her mouth. Parker pushed herself up, her head pounding. She rubs her eyes, the scabs on the back of her hand scratched her eyelid. She pushed herself up and got to work to get ready for school. Parker grabbed a pair of loose, dark blue jeans, and the jacket she was wearing yesterday. She would have grabbed her leather one, but she didn't know where it ended it. She threw on her signature boots and snapped her backpack. She ran her hand through her hair, giving it that “i just rolled out of bed by my hair is still perfect somehow” look.
She walked down the hallway, peeking into Sam's room to see an empty bed. She enters the living room to see Sam dead asleep on the coach, his hair still spiked and shoes still on. She left the house quietly, leaving a small note by the coffee table so Sam doesn't have a heart attack. The weather is cold, like how it always is in Quebec. She walked her way down the street, passing by houses that looked similar to hers. She spotted the corner store, a small liquor store everyone went to if they needed a mid day pick me up.
She walked in, making the small bells on the end of the door jingle. The cash register guy was clearly half awake, and looked like he wanted to be literally anywhere else than there. Parker walked around a little bit. She stumbled her way to the candy section. She spotted a small pack of gummy worms, the last one on the rack. She snatched them quickly, shoving them into the inside pocket of her jacket that she sewed in. She walked to another aisle and grabbed a small pack of gum. She went up to the register and threw it on the counter.
“1.69” the guy said, low and tired. Parker put two dollars on the counter and walked out. She sped walked to school, not because she wanted to be there, but she knew who was there. She walked through the gates, passing by the jocks with their stupid jackets, smelling strongly of cologne. She made her way past the popular, preppy girls. They all laughed when she walked past, but Parker had one thing on her mind. Parker made it to the back of the football field, where the punks and stoners hung out. That is when she spotted her. Clara Villeneuve. She was smaller than Parker, wearing a flannel skirt and crop top, with a certain someone's leather jacket. When Clara saw Parker, she stopped her conversation and went up and hugged her. Clara's arms flew around Parker's shoulders. Clara's perfume flooded Parker's nose, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand.
“Why the fuck didn't you answer your phone! I thought you were dead, asshole” Clara said in a half jokey half serious tone. Clara pulled away from the hug, but her hands lingered on top of Parker's shoulders.
“I was at that show Sam was playing at” Parker chuckled and smiled softly, showing her crooked teeth. Not many people saw Parker smile like that, but Clara saw it most of all people. The tops of Parker's ears were pink with blush.
“Oh, I got you something from the store,” Parker said with excitement in her voice. She grabbed the gummy worms from the inside of her jacket and gave it to Clara. Their fingers brushed when Clara grabbed it, making Parker's stomach turn and goosebumps to form on her arms.
“Aww thanks Park” Clara beamed, a smile that pulled on Parker's heart. They have known each other since freshman year. They were best friends. They were like family, always being at each other's houses on weekends or after school. She opened up the crinkly plastic bag, and plucked out a blue and red gummy worm. She popped it into her mouth, and then pointed the colorful bag at Parker, offering one to her. Parker reached her hand into the bag, the sugar sticking to her fingers as she grabbed a yellow and green gummy. Clara saw the large, thick scabs on the back of Parker's hand when she grabbed the candy. They were red and angry looking.
“Parker what happened to your hand?” Clara said with concern in her voice. She reached out to grab Parker's hand, cradling it gently and looking at the marks on her hand. Her finger brushed over the thick marks on Parker's hand, sending mixed feelings down Parker's arm. A sharp pain sent through Parker's hand, yet goosebumps stood on Parker's arm under her jacket sleeve.
“I… uh” Parker stumbled. Her eyes landed on the ground, looking at Clara's worn boots. Her mind shot back to last night. The man, the fight, the panic.
“I got in a bit of a fight last night at the show,” Parker confessed quietly, with slight embarrassment. Clara's eyes widened a bit, not in shock, since Parker has been in fights before. She was more shocked at the damage left on Parker's hand.
“Well,” Clara drew, “Did you win?” She asked in a light way. The question put a smile on Parker's face again. She nodded and started laughing with Clara. Parker looked a bit past Clara, looking over her shoulder. She saw one of their skateboarding buddies skating on the rail of the bleachers, doing down with speed. The other skaters cheered as his trucks scraped along the metal railing. He got to the end of the railing and the wheels of the skateboard shot out from under him, completely whipping out. Parker started laughing even harder, as the guy rolled on the ground with his buddies freaking out. Clara turned around to see the scene. The two of them laughed at the scene before getting violently interrupted by the school bell. The ringing was the worst sound any highschooler wanted to hear in the morning.
“Meet me here at lunch?” Clara asked Parker with a beaming smile on her face. Her shaggy blonde hair sitting perfectly on the shoulders of Parker's leather jacket she has been looking for. Her hickory brown eyes stared into Parkers, making her stomach twist in a gentle way.
“Yeah, I'm down” she said, clearing her throat and running a hand through her messy brown hair. Clara's eyes examined Parker's face, noting the visible eye bags under her eyes and lack of make up on. Parker made her way out, walking away from the group. She stumbled past many types of people, the nerds that were always talking about the newest star war theories, those preppy girls who think they're better than everyone, past the stupid jocks from earlier. She turned into the hallway where the 11-20 classrooms were. She walked her way down, smelling the familiar smell of cigarettes burning. A few big, biker looking guys were hanging out by room 20, where a red table sat. One of them spotted Parker, and pointed her out to the group. A tall man stood up and went to approach Parker. He had a band-aid on the side of his face and a large cut on his lip.
“Hey Parky… did you miss me?” he said low and husky, an aggressive grin formed on his face. Parker's eyes shot open, her face going pale. The air felt like it was getting sucked out of her lungs hearing him say that. Her hands started trembling and tears started to welt in her eyes.