Ash is a fashion model, not by choice but the desire of his projecting mother. People think he's too cocky for his own good, judging him based on what he posts online. But Ash hates the brush he's been painted with, along with the stereotypes of the...
friends: (plural noun) 1. a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations.
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I didn't sleep well. I've been hit a thousand times during training before but for some reason, I couldn't shake the headache that invades my brain. The bag of my eye stung and my nose throbbed. He didn't break it, I've broken my nose before and it doesn't feel anything like that.
Thank God.
When my phone blasts my alarm ringtone, I cover my face with my pillow. Grunting deeply into the fabric, wishing I could be doing anything today other than going to probation placement.
Shifting through old people's shit, brushing dust off picture frames and ancient furniture. Sweeping glass, scrubbing floors, removing damaged wallpaper.
Ninety-eight hours to go.
I throw the pillow off my face and shut off my alarm, getting myself ready for the day. Thankfully my dad is at work and he shouldn't be back until later, giving me the house for a few hours before I need to leave.
Before heading to the manor, I give myself ten extra minutes in case I am late. I know for a fact Carol will hit the fan if I'm late on my second day. My track record for being on time certainly isn't perfect but I'm working on it. It's part of growing up.
When I arrive, it isn't Carol who greets me. It's the woman from yesterday to sign us out. She gives my eye one glance and huffs out a breath, shaking her head. She's probably dealt with a lot of violent people on probation, getting into fights and not staying out of trouble.
But this is the opposite. Staying at home and I still end up with a black eye.
Ash is dropped off in a black Range Rover, a woman with dark brown hair and thick black sunglasses sits in the driver's seat. He steps out, dressed in the same shitty overalls as me. He barely says goodbye to his mother and avoids my gaze as he approaches the officer.
Carol has her checking up on us, telling us that she won't be here every time but she's going to drop in. Make sure that we are here, making progress and arriving on time.
When she leaves, Ash heads straight into the manor. I follow behind him, neither of us uttering a word. Not that there is a lot to say.
He slides on his gloves and I copy his actions, continuing the sections of the living room we were working on yesterday. I create two piles so I take less trips out to the skip at the front of the house, as I loop around the damaged sofa in the middle of the room, Ash glances up at me.
His eyes linger on my face for a few moments, from my bruised eye to the redness of my nose. I notice his lips twitch like he wants to say something but he refrains and gets back to whatever crap he was sorting.
