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...
opposite: (adjective) 1. completely different; of a contrary kind.
✣
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Waking up with an ache between your brows is one of the worst things to start your morning with, especially when my eyes are practically crusted shut. There is a bright light shining directly in my face and I release a soft grunt.
I manage to peel open my eyes and shift my gaze around the room. But I'm not in my bed, I'm not even in a room that I recognise. My hand pushes to the bed and I sit up, looking down at a body laying next to me.
My heart thrashes when I realise that it's Ash straight away, his back is facing me and I have no idea if he's awake or he's facing away from me on purpose.
There is a constant ache throughout my body, including my mind. Everything is thumping over and over, my stomach gurgles and I remember all of that vodka I drank last night.
And I called Ash?
Fuck. Fuck.
I clear my throat gently but loud enough for Ash to hear, he doesn't stir. My body shuffles closer and I wrap my arms around his body and pull his bare back against my chest, the contact of our skin has my blood on fire.
Ash exhales a slow breath and I grip onto one of his arms, wrapping him up in my body. I swipe my thumb across his skin and press a kiss to the back of his head. I know he's awake because he's moving slightly and his breathing has increased.
We stay like this for a little while and it makes the pain in my head subside.
Holding him this close makes me miss him. The last week has been hell. I never want to be ignored by him again, I never want him to be angry at me again. I never want to fuck up again.
After a few moments Ash shifts in my grip and turns to face me, his big green eyes flick up to mine and he presses a hand to my bare chest. "You need to go home," he whispers. "You've broken your curfew. Police are going to be coming round here and send you back to court."
I frown at his words, I don't want to be reminded. Fuck this curfew.
My head shuffles closer and I bury myself into his neck, not expecting Ash to wrap his arms around me and hold me tight. "I don't want to go home," I mumble into his skin.
Ash breathes heavily but continues to hold me, comforting me. There is a deep warmth inside my heart, wanting to keep this moment close to me forever.
His fingers slide through the back of my hair. "You were saying some scary things last night."
I ping my eyes open and pull back slowly but I can't meet his gaze. Remembering my argument with my dad, him hitting me, me hitting him. The absolute chaos that happened before I decided to get stupidly drunk.
