Can We Pretend That We're in Love Tonight?

"...and I tried to refrain, but you're stuck in my brain..."

He sent you flowers: red, yellow, and white mixtures of color to brighten your day. Although this gesture wasn't just meant to brighten your day, in your situation, it was a calling, or a summons.

"Tonight. 10pm. My place." You read the card inside your head. "Signed, Ashton." You read his name aloud, that way it seemed much more real. His handwriting wasn't the neatest; his n's connected into his i's, and his p's sometimes resembled g's or q's. Still, you could read it as clear as day because you were so used to it.

It was earlier then usual, though. That's what happened when you got onto the merry go round that was never going to stop. The calls were never going to stop. Ashton was never going to stop. Your feelings were starting to get in the way, and that's exactly why you needed it all to stop.

Reluctantly, each time you walked past the flowers in your kitchen, there was an urge deep within you that said you had no choice but to go visit him tonight, just as the note in the flowers had directed. As you stared at them for a moment, a sudden rush of anger came over you like a wave crashing on the shore. The tide was high and it was pulling you out, further and further into the deep blue. In this case, your feet carried you over to the bouquet and you harshly took the flowers out the vase, stomping over to the garbage can and dumping them into the white bag.

In that moment you decided that you would go over to Ashton's, at 10 pm, just like his note said, but you wouldn't be going over there to please anyone, him nor you. You'd be going over to make your statement. You were going over to provoke him into hating you so that he would stop with the usualness of his gifts: the flowers, chocolates, jewelry, hotel rooms and nights spent with him. They were tools all to win you over. So far, he had succeeded immensely, but tonight you would prove his attempts a failure. You would prove him wrong and that his hold on you wasn't as strong as he thought it to be.

Just like the many times before, the note and gift were the only attempt of conversation Ashton had put forth that day. You didn't expect him to say anything else because he expected you to show up right at 10 o'clock.

9:58.

You walked slowly up to his door, reaching out your hand to knock on the dark oak. Within second Ashton was opening the door. He was wearing sweats that were hanging low on his hips to accentuate his torso. It took you a second while you stared at him with a straight face to realize the real reason you were there.

"Well, look who it is." He greeted, stepping aside for you to stride on in. His large loft apartment was quite familiar, you knew it almost better then your own.

"We have to talk." You bitterly stated, keeping your tone sharp and forward. Ashton shut his door and walked around to stand in front of you. He raised an eyebrow, not expecting you to be so threatening.

"Do you want to sit?" He reached out his hand, pointing to his couch that was up against the wall with a small window above it.

"No. I don't." You shook your head in response, and kept your arms crossed over your chest. With your body language and strong-willed replies, Ashton knew something was peculiarly wrong with the moment. He was silent, urging you to continue. "I want this to be over." You were avoiding Ashton's longing gaze, staring off to the corner of the room, your hands picking at your shirt under your arms.

Ashton snorted, "Is this some kind of foreplay?" He began taking steps closer to you, "Because I can play distraught." He was so sure in himself and when he was only a foot away, you took a couple of steps back, waving your hands in front of your face.

"No!" You didn't mean to yell, but your voice boomed over the low volume on the television. Lightly, you shook your head in order to bring back the mood to one of calm and content, although you would rather much be screaming and yelling. "We can't do this anymore." You were now whispering, a scared feeling being combined with your words.