Little Miss Nosy

Chapter Thirty-Five: The Calm

- Edited -

There's little light in the bedroom the next time I open my eyes. The curtains are drawn, blocking out most of the sun.

Ashton must've closed them sometime during the night.

I peel the blanket back enough to peek over the top. Ashton is lying on his back, arm slung over his eyes to protect what little rays of sun creep past the blinds. His messy head of hair looks adorable; strands laying in several different directions. I lay there, basking in the silence of the room and admiring the rise and fall of his chest.

It takes a few seconds for last night's events to filter through my mind. A heavy weight settles on my chest when I recall the tears, the alcohol, the stories. Everything that we've been through wiggles its way into my muscles and my body tenses at its emotional weight.

We're entirely too young to be this scarred.

"If you like what you see now..." I squeal and pull the blanket over my head. "...you should see how I look when I don't feel like I've been hit by a truck."

"Bad headache?" I pull the blanket back just enough until it covers my rosy cheeks.

My eyes clash with his as he's already staring. He reaches out, and I expect him to grab my hand but he hooks his arm around my waist and pulls us closer, similarly to last night. "I've had worse," he says simply.

My muscles relax as I adjust to our new position. I curl my fists into his shirt and rest against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as my eyelids flutter shut.

"I've been thinking...about talking to my parents."

My head pops up a bit too quickly. So much that the top of it nearly collides with his chin. My clumsy movement earns a small chuckle. "Really?"

He shrugs, toying with the end of my braid. "I don't hate them anymore. I'm still bitter and haven't forgiven them but it worked for you. I forgot what it was like to have someone show they care, before last night." He plants a soft kiss on my forehead. His breath is minty, unlike the strong tinge of liquor that coated it a few hours ago. "Maybe I'm ready to have that again."

"There may be a lot of tears and yelling."

"So like any other average Tuesday in this house." I take his playful tone as a sign that he doesn't take what he said too seriously and think about what to say next. I know what I want to bring up, but stalling is easier than rehashing what happened last night.

"Do you want to talk about-"

"No. I just want to be here, now."

So we lay in bed for another hour before finally getting up. Ashton prepares us two bowls of cereal for breakfast and we alternate between silence and small, simplistic chats. He apologizes for last night. Says I'm not his therapist and he shouldn't have put everything on me like that. But I shut that down immediately. Suppressed feelings that have nothing but a few bottles of liquor to keep them company are bound to escape sooner or later. His words, hurtful at the time, were only spoken to push me away in an attempt to keep me safe. Something shifted last night and I don't regret any of it.

But as he puts our bowls in the dishwasher, I can't help but think about the new Logan situation he knows nothing about.

"What's going on in that cute head of yours?"

"Nothing!" Subtle.

His lazy grin widens as he steps forward. I'm sitting on the kitchen island, and I look away as he stands between my legs. "It's something," he says, rubbing the spot between my furrowed brow. "Good or bad?"