Eleanor's POV
This morining has been full of awkward glances and unneccesary apologies.
Whenever I would catch him staring he'd look away quickly and say sorry. He didn't have anyhting to be sorry for though, I'm crazy and I'm taking it out on him. The onl apologies should be coming from me.
This whole thing has been nothing but confusion to the both of us. Each time I try to speak up, my words come to a sudden hault on my tounge and I can't recollect them. If I wasn't such a freak I'd probably tell him the majority of my feelings. Majority, because I'm unnaware of the rest of them seeing that they're locked away in a box full of memories that I can't even find the key for.
If I had complete thoughts I would thank him and ask himm more qeustios. I'd tell him I'm starting to develope feelings for his goofy self and that I find his company relaxing. I'd ask him why he left so long ago and if it was I who drove him away. I wouldn't have to ask the question of whether or not he's attracted to me because he made that clear the first day we met. He had run up to me and embraced me then told me he loved me and he was sorry for leaving.
It seems as though he's told me so many things, yet when I look at him I notice that a part of his puzzle is missing. At first I thought it was me, but soon I came to realize that his hazel eyes hid a tragedy.
There was something else, it was in the form of pain. And that pain was deeper than any blade could cut. It was emotional and no matter how many dimpled smiles I saw throughout the day, I knew he was hurt. He once told me that his story would have to be saved for another day, and I want that day to be today.
"Ashton?" It seemed like I always broke the awkward silence with his name.
He stopped fiddling with his thumbs and answered.
"Yeah?"
"What was your life like before you met me the first time? You said to save it for another day and I was just wondering if maybe that could be today?" I asked.
He took a while to answer like he really had to think it out before he could tell me anyhting.
"Uh, well, um."
"It's all right you can tell me. I mean you obviously told me before when we were together." I added noticing his stress with the subject.
"Well, okay." I closed his eyes took a deep breath then continued.
"When I was younger my dad was a drunk like yours, but worse. Your dad never beat you, although at first I thought he did, you told me he never did. And I have to say you stated that pretty firmly." He breathed out a nervous laugh while rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyways, my old man had been a drunk for most of my life, I'm not sure why, but I always remember him smelling of cheep booze and cigarettes. He didn't only beat me though, no see he started out abusing my mother. Everyday he'd come home from wherever the hell he was and hurt her. She'd always make sure to tell me to run up stairs and hide, which I did. I don't think she knew back then that I could still hear everything that went on downstairs. The screaming, the sound of glass breaking, and the morning reminder of what he had done still fresh on the carpet." He exhailed heavely then looked to me.
I nodded for him to continue and took his rough hand in my smaller one.
"When I got to be around ten, he started taking it out on me as well. I wanted so badly to beat him back, but I knew that if I even tried he'd potentially hurt her worse. I remember one time after he got angry with me for staying out too late because of a school basketball game, once I stepped in through the front door he switched on the light beer in hand and started to yell. One thing led to another and he ended up beating me so bad I had to skip school the next day." he gazed to the floor, "Anyways, in eighth grade my dad ended up killing my mom and was found weeks later in a ditch somewhere in Queens. I was later sent to a foster home near where the place you used to live and attended high school with you freshman year."
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Remember Me
FanfictionAuthors Note: this content may be triggering to those who have been through or witnessed physical, emotional, mental or sexual trauma When I looked at him, I didn't see fireworks or hear wedding bells chiming, and he certainly didn't appear to be t...