terrible things - ashton irwin

twenty two

"I don't want to talk about it." So said Ashton when i asked him what he was doing tonsil-diving with a Las Vegas stripper at nine o'clock in the morning. (As if it would have been just fine later in the day.)

"Well i want to talk about it," I said. I had dragged him and our few belongings outside as soon as breakfast was over, trying to avoid giving Chrissy a chance to ask us to stay.

Ashton looked over at me for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he turned and walked away. He wound through the cars parked near the Neon Museum, shaking his head and seemingly talking to himself.

I felt so hopeless. Was i crazy? Had i imagined the romantic tension between us? What if Ashton had never wanted anything from me but my friendship? If what turned out to me true, then it was too bad Chrissy wasn't actually an ax murderer, because i was going to die and long, sow death of humiliation.

I wiped the bead of sweat from lip. It was 10 AM and already hot. I sat down on the toe of a giant metal high-heeled shoe, which used to be part of a sign for the Silver Slipped Saloon.

i hated Las Vegas.

"What are you doing?" I finally called to Ashton.

He didn't answer, he was still pacing. I wasn't about to follow him up and down the street, so i stared at all the dead signs. I thought about all the people who had come to Vegas looking for love or money, and what a minuscule percentage of them must have actually found it.

Ashton appeared at my side, and even though he was finally saying something, it wasn't anything i was interested in. I'd listen when he explained the kitchen kissing. In the mean time. I'd keep looking at the brightly coloured signs around me: Golden Nugget, Joe's Longhorn Casino...

Then Ashton grabbed my arm and turned me toward him. He said, "The thing about fast cars is that they wear away fast. Especially if you dump the clutch. But since we aren't in this for long-term ownership..."

"I don't know what you're talking about." As i snapped out of my day dreams.

Ashton sighed, exasperated. "I'm Talking about a Porshe, Lav, Because we're taking one." He pointed at a low black shape a hundred yards off. "It's an older model, so it won't have a tracking system. Hard to steal the fancy new ones that do, you know?"

Finally i looked at him. "We have a car already."

"I'm sick of it," Ashton said, "We need a better one." 

"I don't want to steal another car," I said.

"Oh, my beloved Lavender, you don't have to," he said. He flashed his beautiful grin, then bounded away.

I clenched my fists and stared up at the white desert sky. Ashton was crazy. He kisses some girl and then called me his beloved? What gives?

There was a screech of tires as Ashton pulled up in front of me. "Get in," he ordered.

If i didn't, would he drive off without me? Honestly, he looked like he might. It was times like these when Ashton seemed like the bad boy my mother always claimed he was.

I barely had my seat belt on before Ashton gunned the engine and peeled out into the street. He was going sixty-five before i even blinked.

"That's what i meant by dumping the clutch," he said calmly. "In case you wondered."

I stared out the window, refusing to look at him. "I didn't," I said.

We were heading out of town, leaving the glittering lights and broken promises of Las Vegas behind us. Quickly.

"Slow down," I told him.

Ashton only laughed. "Speed never killed anyone! It's suddenly becoming stationary...that's what gets you."

I crossed my arms. "Yeah, if a thousand other things don't get you first," I huffed.

But it was Ashton's turn to ignore me. He began to whistle Jonas Blue's "Fast Car," and he kept on doing it over and over, until I was ready to beg him to stop.

Then he saw the flashing lights coming up behind us, and suddenly i didn't have to.

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word count - 709