Little Miss Nosy

Chapter Thirty-Four: And When to Hold On

- Edited -

Warning: Mentions of suicide and grief.

The door to Ashton's house is unlocked when I arrive. I tiptoe over the threshold, aware yet not as concerned as I should be at the invasion of privacy. I knocked three times and received no answer. Best case scenario he's passed out on the couch; worse case scenario...I prefer not to think about.

"Ashton?"

Silence.

The house is eerie when it's not bathed in sunlight. The curtains are still pulled back, giving a clear view of the trees and moon overhead. Dim yellow light glows from a few lamps, painting shadows on the ceiling as I head into the kitchen.

"Ashton?" Paws slap against hardwood to greet me. Cookie jumps on her hind legs, pawing at my stomach as I laugh and take a few steps back. "Easy girl! Where's Dad, hmm?" But instead of leading me to Ashton she heads straight for her water bowl. Laps at it a bit before spreading out under the dining room table.

"Thanks, Cookie."

It isn't until I reach the kitchen and find a few bottles of different hard liquor that my worry peaks. None of them are empty, though seeing how much contents are missing from each, has me speed-walking through the house and bumping into furniture on my way to the living room.

"Ashton!" I say fervently.

"Stop screaming." I shout. Spin to see Ashton lounging in his mom's reading corner like he's trying to enjoy a good book. "I'm trying to sleep."

"You didn't hear me calling you?"

He whistles, low. "Even the neighbors did."

"Then why didn't you-" His head is thrown back on the top of the chair. A small glass of amber liquid rests in his hand and I snatch it away when he brings it to his lips, eyes still shut. "Why are you acting like this? What happened?"

"I don't feel like talking to you." I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't feel like doing much of anything. His mouth barely parts to speak, every syllable looks like a struggle to pronounce. But if he didn't want to speak to me he wouldn't have left that voicemail.

"You called me, or did you already forget? You may not want to talk but I'm not letting you drink yourself to death."

He hums and I can't help but wonder if he registered any of what was said. Guilt eats at me as I tap, then shake his shoulder. How can our last encounter have this much of an affect on him?

"Come on. You're going to bed. You can't sleep in this chair. Thank me tomorrow when you don't wake up with a stiff neck."

I reach for his upper arms but still when his hands latch around mine. Drunk or not, Ashton's reflexes will never cease to surpass mine. He finally opens his eyes. The white surrounding his irises are red, and I'm taken back by the annoyance that swim in them. "How can you be the person I want most, yet can't stand to look at right now?"

I'm not sure how to unpack that. I like when Ashton smiles. And I like the way he smiles when he looks at me. When he looks at me with such intensity that it seems like he'll get burned if he takes his eyes off mine for a fraction of a second.

But that's not now. Because at this moment he looks at me like I'm some pesky gnat that's coming between him and his alcohol. His gaze is intense and a warmth spreads through my chest as he lets me go and I stagger a few steps back.

Though this warmth is not of the passionate kind. "Just go."

I hug myself, wordless, and head back through the kitchen. Cookie naps in the spot I left her. Her head is bathed in green as the first firework explodes in the sky. But what catches my eye is Ashton's backpack in the chair above her. The zipper is open, exposing the tip of a white piece of paper. Another firework goes off, this time red, and reflects off the paper once more.