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He never called her by her first name. Not once. For months the fact didn't even register with her, she'd been called Miss Parker for so long that the idea of being addressed as anything else left a funny taste in her mouth. It had been nearly twenty years since she'd heard her first name spoken aloud in a voice other then her own. She'd say it on rare occassions to just keep it alive for herself. It had been a gradual shift who's significance had escaped her until it had moved out of her reach.
Staring back at Jarod, the glass between them during that first meeting as children, she as intrigued as he, it had been her father's instruction to not utter her name. It ensured the barrier between them, she understood that now. She remembered whispering it in his ear later that night, full of childhood bravado at betraying her father's wishes. Jarod had spoken to her with such disarming openness and honesty that she coudn't refuse his simple request for her name. Her father had seen the security footage later. He'd been so angry with her. It couldn't be unspoken but became one that ceased to be spoken.
Time passed and it became her shield, her power. Her mother had died and she'd needed that security. She wasn't some girl, she wasn't even like Jarod with just a first name. She was a Parker. The few who knew her first name dared not give it voice around her and those who didn't know, never asked. She was Miss Parker....Parker....Miss P. Never the name her mother had given her, had called her in love. She wondered from time to time if her father consciously refrained from its use, to remind her that she would always be a Parker, not a Jamieson.
Did Sydney even know her name?
Jarod, he played games with her, that was their dance. A piece of his past for a piece of hers. On some level she respected that more then she would have if he just gave her the information that she wanted. And thats when she realised it, thinking about their dance in the still hours of one morning. He would ask what her mother would think of her, force her to question her father, dredge into her life and get as personal with her as she could stand it.
And he would always call her Miss Parker. He was giving her exactly what she wanted. Her shield, her power. To hear the rumble of his voice through the phone, its deep timbre vocalising her name, the very essence of what her mother left in her, it would be her undoing. He knew it.
She'd given him her name and now he kept it. He kept her.
She loved him for it.
Staring back at Jarod, the glass between them during that first meeting as children, she as intrigued as he, it had been her father's instruction to not utter her name. It ensured the barrier between them, she understood that now. She remembered whispering it in his ear later that night, full of childhood bravado at betraying her father's wishes. Jarod had spoken to her with such disarming openness and honesty that she coudn't refuse his simple request for her name. Her father had seen the security footage later. He'd been so angry with her. It couldn't be unspoken but became one that ceased to be spoken.
Time passed and it became her shield, her power. Her mother had died and she'd needed that security. She wasn't some girl, she wasn't even like Jarod with just a first name. She was a Parker. The few who knew her first name dared not give it voice around her and those who didn't know, never asked. She was Miss Parker....Parker....Miss P. Never the name her mother had given her, had called her in love. She wondered from time to time if her father consciously refrained from its use, to remind her that she would always be a Parker, not a Jamieson.
Did Sydney even know her name?
Jarod, he played games with her, that was their dance. A piece of his past for a piece of hers. On some level she respected that more then she would have if he just gave her the information that she wanted. And thats when she realised it, thinking about their dance in the still hours of one morning. He would ask what her mother would think of her, force her to question her father, dredge into her life and get as personal with her as she could stand it.
And he would always call her Miss Parker. He was giving her exactly what she wanted. Her shield, her power. To hear the rumble of his voice through the phone, its deep timbre vocalising her name, the very essence of what her mother left in her, it would be her undoing. He knew it.
She'd given him her name and now he kept it. He kept her.
She loved him for it.
