Accidentally Tasha

Chapter 14

Quote

Society is a market stall,

And men goods on display,

Where the label is more important than the labeled,

And the price more fascinating than the value. (Richard Ntiru)

After the band breaks off for the day, Ashton heads home. At least, those are his intentions. Something, maybe the cool brown of the eyes he can't keep out of his head; maybe the taunting bit of flesh exposed by her short skirt; maybe her laughter that rings in his head throughout the day, makes him head to Crestshore Forest. He doesn't really know if she'll be there, but something tells him fate will pull her to the clearing. Their clearing. Where he'd first kissed her. Where he'd first known that he'd fallen in love. Where he'd known that his life had forever changed.

So he heads to the clearing, and sure enough, she is there. He stands there and observes her. Her posture seems somehow wrong, she doesn't flip her hair as often as she used to, and she doesn't wear makeup as she used to, and she seems to laugh more. She has changed, so much that she seems nothing like the old Tasha, but something attracts him to this new her. He wants to fall in love with this new her.

So he takes a step towards her, knowing that this isn't the right thing to do, but hey, this is love. Love is desperate madness, John Ford once said. Let it not be said that he was too cowardly to take the first leap of insanity.

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TASHA.

I hear the sound of footsteps behind me and know it has to be him. Only Ashton can make footsteps sound sexy. I turn to face him, a little smile on my face. He sits beside me and doesn't say anything. He never seems to be the first to say a thing.

"Are you always this quiet?" I ask.

He smiles and says, "Yes."

"Good thing I talk a lot, right?"

He laughs, and the dimples on his cheeks appear. I notice that his teeth have a little gap at the front, but that only makes him more interesting. I reach for a stray lock of hair and tuck it behind his ear. I would be shocked at my actions, and I am, but the way he looks at me takes away every other thing from my mind. I stare at him staring at me, memorizing each and every part of his face. I notice the way his eyes roam about my face in appreciation. I notice how his lips are moist and slightly parted, and lean forward.

He doesn't need any more prodding. I feel his mouth on mine in an instant. His lips are slightly cool, a bit different from the one second kiss he gave me at the party. He is a guy with no hurry in life, and the kiss he gives me is just as cool as the guy himself. He takes it slow, slow, slow... until I feel weak in the knees and a strange tingling sensation between my legs. I feel like I'm going to pee on myself, but my body can't muster up the energy to. His kisses drained all of my energy, but trust me, I'm not complaining.

"We probably shouldn't..." he says.

"Yeah, Jake would..." I say.

We look at each other and I smile.

"Fuck it," I say.

He simply laughs in reply.

And his lips are on mine once again.

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"Worst food?" I ask.

"Caviar," he answers.

"What! How would anyone hate caviar?"

"It's not so much the taste of it but what it represents. I think it's obnoxious."

I nod in reply but in my head I'm thinking how deep he is. Not only does he have the eyes of a poet, but the life philosophy of one too.

"Do you write poetry?" I ask.

He looks at me with a look that seems to say, 'I'm a musician, why wouldn't I write poetry too?'

"Egoistic guy," I mutter to myself.

He simply laughs and I am left staring at him in wonder. He's told me he can cook, he plays basketball, he can sing, he writes poetry and plays five instruments.

"What can't you do?" I ask.

"Draw." He answers.

"What?" I ask "but aren't all guys supposed to be good artists?"

"Where did you hear that?" he laughs.

From a wise woman graduated high school by sheer luck and had me straight after that, I almost answer.

"Nowhere."

I want to tell him so much about myself... about Julia... but I can't.

I want to tell him that my mother had been a struggling musician who'd have been famous had it not for the bottle.

I want to tell him about how much she loved me, that even when she'd come back from a party in the middle of the night in a drunken stupor she'd still come to my room and kiss me goodnight.

I want to tell him about how much she'd loved me, she'd taught me how to cuss at the mean kids who laughed at my worn shoes.

I want to tell him about how much she loved me that she'd kept my father a secret because she didn't want him to hurt me the way he'd hurt her.

I want to tell him about what great a mother she was despite her faults and despite all mothers in our school calling her a whore.

I want to tell him of how much she'd loved me; her last words to me had been,

"The world will fuck you over, Julia. But you're a survivor, fuck it right back."

But I don't. Instead I keep quiet and listen to his beautiful peaceful humming and think that this is what my mother must have had in mind when she told me to avoid the quiet ones. They are the most dangerous, she'd said, and one can never quite tell what they are thinking.

As I look at him, I see the danger mamma spoke of. I now understand what she meant, that the quiet ones are so dangerous that they could make you fall just by being looking at you the right way... or the wrong way, depending which one you prefer.

I see the danger looming in his eyes.

I hear warning bells ring, but I'm still not about to run.

I plan on staying as long as I can.

He is sweet, sweet danger; and I won't keep my distance.