Half Hearted

Chapter Thirty Five

| Ash |

Inside the dimly lit room was Teresa. And some other guy.

They were both startled by the light being let through in the room, thanks to Ash opening the door. It took him a second to survey what was going on - Teresa's dress hanging down her shoulders, the man's heavy breaths, her terrified expression.

Without hesitation, Ash channeled his anger through his clenched fist, walked swiftly up to the guy, and pummeled his face. It felt good to him. He hadn't done anything radical in so long.

After a few succesful hits, Teresa gently laid a hand on his arm. He relaxed automatically, stopping to stare at her tear-strained face. Her eyeliner ran down the sides of her cheeks, and she was struggling to pull up her dress with one hand.

"Stop," she ordered gently. Ash obeyed without the slightest bit of hesitation, and he stood from the ground.

The other man was still knocked out, lying on the ground.

"I'm taking you home," Ash stated gruffly, helping her with the half-zipped dress.

Teresa didn't bother arguing. She wanted - no, needed - to get away from men and alcohol.

When Maudie and Peter noticed her running makeup, they confronted the two of them, and Ash explained. The couple went to the storage room to care for the man while Ash took Teresa's hand in his.

At first he was tense; he didn't know how she felt about him. But after they got in the cab, and she still didn't let go - or shove him away - he melted into her grasp. Soon enough their fingers were intertwined.

| Teresa |

I was having an inner conflict.

A part of me was embarassed. Ash had just witnessed what could have been a bad incident. I felt like shoving my head in a paper bag.

The other part of me wanted to take back my hand from his hold. It didn't feel right. He was still in love with Cheryl, and although I'd never met her - just stalked her social media - she just seemed more fit to his liking.

But then the other part of me just wanted to overanalyze everything he was doing. What was with the hand holding? Was it pity? Sympathy?

The whole ride, though as short as it was, felt like an eternity alone with my thoughts. When we got to our apartment building, I didn't know what to think anymore.

The two of us were silent as we got out of the cab, but Ash spoke up first. "Do you need help getting up?"

I nodded my head, unable to admit the fact that I simply wanted him more than needed him. I became slightly sober due to the ride; my balance was in check.

So he helped me to my apartment. He also unlocked the door for me since my vision was still a bit blurry. Inside there was no one around, which meant Oria had spent the night at Steven's.

"I should go..." Ash informed, pointing his thumb behind him.

I couldn't muster any strength to talk. I simply pursed my lips and nodded.

But I soon regretted this choice as he was about to leave to go down the stairs again.

In a brief moment I unlocked the door and called out to him. He stopped halfway down the stairs and looked up to where I was. "For once can't we finally talk while we're actually sober?"

He looked down at the railings, thinking of a response. It took him a while before he walked up the stairs again, faced me and nodded.

I led us back to the apartment and we sat on the couch, staring at the black TV screen.

"Why do you keep doing this?" I asked, fiddling with my thumbs.

"Doing what?"

"Giving me reasons to despise you and the next day giving me reasons not to hate you."

"Why do you take bullshit from everyone else theses days?" He completely avoided my question.

I sighed, going along with it. "I learned it's easier than having to actually deal with it."

"Doesn't mean the easier route's better."

I stayed silent for a minute or so, and then popped up my question again. "Seriously, I need to know if I should hate you or not."

This caused him to be somewhat frustrated, bringing his hands to his hair. "You don't want to be dragged in my life."

"But I already have been," I argued.

"My life... It's more than you've witnessed. I do things that you can't even imagine here."

"So tell me," I urged him. "Tell me so that I won't find out through someone else. Tell me so that I can finally set things straight with you and actually be your - friend."

My throat hitched at the word. Friend.

"Tomorrow," he breathed. I raised my eyebrow at him in question. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow morning, alright?"

"Tomorrow? Why not now?" I asked.

He turned his head to face me, and softly smiled. "You're not fully sober right now."

Shrugging, I agreed to this.

He told me we would go eat breakfast the next day, and then take walks through parks. We would finally talk, normally, without business or money or anything that had to do with fashion.

We finally had the chance to bring things down to normal again.