Burn ▹ Ashton Irwin

forty nine

AN: suicide is mentioned in this chapter so this is trigger warning (the topic is only briefly discussed but I wanted to bring it up here and let you know it's only talked about for the sake of this story's plot and character development). i'm not putting it there to give anybody negative thoughts or anything like that.

And this is also NOT the last chapter of the book even though it kind of seems like it. there's still a few more chapters to go so stay tuned after this i love you -ellena

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Skylar's POV

I couldn't take it anymore.

I couldn't - under any circumstances - take it anymore. The hunger, the loneliness, the frustration. The physical pain, the mental pain, the emotional scars that have permanently embroidered themselves into my flesh. I couldn't take being helpless. I couldn't take being at rock bottom after dancing around on cloud nine for so many months. I couldn't take being too scared to reach out to anybody else that could potentially help us in our situation. I couldn't take feeling as though I've done everything I possibly could, only to be shunned for all of my effort.

And, most of all, I couldn't take Ashton anymore.

Hours turned into days. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into a blurry mesh of an ongoing summer that never seemed to end. A summer that totally contradicted the joyful connotation of the word; this was nowhere near 'happy' and 'full of hope'. This truly has turned into my own personal Hell, my own worst nightmare coming to life.

I never really knew what my biggest fear was until now. Growing up, I used to think my biggest fear were sharks. Perhaps clowns or being struck by lightning. Time went on and I acquired a fear for guns and violence, but that soon dwindled away when I became fully exposed to my love's dangerous lifestyle. I even found myself in grave fear of seeing Derek in my dreams. All of these ideas are scary, don't get me wrong, but none of them even compare to what I've discovered to be my true worst fear.

I was most scared of failure, as I have realized over the past few weeks of living on the streets of LA. I was terrified of the feeling that crept into my stomach each night, weighing me down like I had grown so hungry, I resulted myself to swallowing stones. I was terrified of the taunting voice in the back of my head that constantly mocked me for my dumb decisions. It would tell me I should've escaped Ashton's world when he gave me the chance. It would tell me I should've let myself die the night Derek first kidnapped me. The bitter reality of failure was my worst nightmare, and I began to live in it every single day.

The voices that developed deep in my subconscious's dark soul made me regret everything I ever said and felt towards Ashton. At first, they started off slow and discrete. Days went on of the two of us sulking around Los Angeles, looking for somebody to give us a way to earn some money, and we would bicker a lot. One wrong word and either Ashton or myself would send the other into an angry floury. Ashton and I fought at least once every day.

More days passed and it was the same exact thing each time. Only nowadays, the arguing is worse. Ashton and I couldn't go an hour without slamming out an insult or telling the other to get lost. We would fight over the stupidest things and the most irrelevant topics; I think we both developed a deep love for pushing the other around. I began to love blaming Ashton for everything just as much as he loved calling me a spoiled little bitch.

Then, another week after our night spent in the subway station went by, and the regrets became physical. If Ashton didn't eat I would lash out at him and shove him up against the nearest wall until he screams and pleads for me to stop. If I refused to get up in the morning Ashton would grab me and tell me to do what he says. Our frustrations became excuses for us to cause the other pain. I think we thoroughly enjoyed it deep down, for it was the only way either of us could feel anything anymore.