The Boy Next Door

Chapter Fourteen

"Ashley, dinner is on the table," Mum warily said as she opened my bedroom door. I listened to her sigh. I was wrapped under my duvet on my bedroom floor, surrounded by my magazines, with tears rolling down my face and Avril's CD on repeat.

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled, my voice croaky and sore.

"Sweetheart, you need to eat; it's been four days since you came home. I know you're fragile, but I'm worried about you. Maybe you should go and talk to someone?" she insisted again. Since the doctor mentioned it, I knew she wouldn't drop it until I did.

"Mum, I'm okay," I huffed. "Stop worrying. I'm not going to do anything stupid. Don't you think I have learnt my lesson already?"

"Ashley."

"Mum, don't. I'm fine," I grumbled, pulling my cover down.

"Okay. I'll leave it in the oven."

I nodded, refusing to look at her for too long so she couldn't see my red-raw eyes, which burnt when they opened, and teardrops fell from when they closed.

I had done nothing but cried from the moment I returned home. I thought I was okay; I told the doctor I was okay, but I started to think overwise as every message that filled my phone closed the walls a little further in on me.

I was getting a text from everybody. People I didn't even know somehow had my number. But the one text I was waiting for was still to arrive.

When Mum said Olly was upset, I thought she meant because I was in the hospital, but his silence told me he was upset with me for being so idiotic.

I climbed onto my bed and pulled the duvet over my head, "Thanks, Mum, but I don't want it."

Mum exhaled profoundly and closed the door behind her as I continued to lock everyone out. I let my thoughts take over, and my cries fall. This behaviour was what I promised myself I would change. But, admittedly, I was struggling to change my perception of life. Perhaps Mum was right, and I did need to talk to someone as everything I was doing wasn't normal.

Why didn't I want to speak to someone?

That's obvious, isn't it? I was sixteen, stubborn and uninterested in anyone's opinion. I was so afraid about being judged, despite it being something I had been for so long, which was now no secret as far as my whole school was concerned.

*

The door opening brought me around from the sleep I had fallen into. "Mum, I told you to leave me alone," I groaned.

I listened to the door shut. "It's not your mum," he softly spoke.

"Olly," I whispered, flinging the duvet straight from me.

"Ashley," he hesitantly said. His tone was stiff, and his expression was still. When he stepped closer and the light from the window hit his face, I gasped, standing up so abruptly it pulled my aching muscles.

"What happened to your face?" I said. He had a bruised eye, cut cheek, and split lip. Uncrossing my arms, I moved my touch to his jaw, but he moved away. I dropped my hand and perched on the edge of the bed.

"Olly?" My voice quivered.

He moved his gaze from my bruised arms and hands to my pale face and injured head. His dark, mysterious eyes fixed on my sorrowful state, looking like he had a lot to say.

I had prepared myself for the lecture and the stupidity he would bring up, knowing he couldn't keep his opinions to himself. But him looking like he had been in a street brawl was now my biggest concern.