Feeling This (Ashton Irwin)

twenty - truths

I'm sorry for the long wait it's just this took me awhile to write so. this chapt deals with self harm and other things, and i just want you to know that if you're ever feeling like that, pls pm me and talk to me, you should never feel like that. theres not a lot on it really, and this story is purely fictional, so please don't get caught up in the details of the story. it's just fiction.

please enjoy i worked really hard on this!

Ashton and I spent the rest of the day together, goofing off downtown. We soon got restless with the shops and cranking owners shoeing us out because they thought we were two young, reckless teenagers who were bound to steal something. We ended up skating around for a bit, and I want to thank the hot sun for forcing Ashton to take his shirt off. His muscles are, intense.

I did notice something on his wrist though, peaking through the bands of his bracelets. It wasn't that I hadn't noticed before, but they were so visible and it intrigued me. Probably as much as I intrigued him.

"Ashton Fletcher, what time is it?" I mumble against his bare shoulder much later in the evening while we lay in the grass staring at the stars.

"It is 3:34am, Zoe Lee."

"Do you want to go?" I ask shyly.

"By go, you mean to your roof?"

"Yes."

"I'll go wherever you are. If you want to tell me, we can go, if you want to wait, we can stay. It's your decision."

I pause briefly weighing my options. There's never going to be a better time than now to do this.

"Come on then." I say, standing up and offering my hand out to Ashton.

"You sure?"

"Don't make me change my mind, Fletcher." I snap, fully knowing there will be a smirk on his face if I were to look at him now.

-

That's how we ended up here. Awkwardly sitting on the roof of my shitty house, wondering quietly what the other will think when this is over.

"Where do you want me to start?" My voice croaked like I was already starting to tear up. I was not going to let this become a sob fest, he was not going to feel sorry for me.

"Start at the beginning. I want to know everything." He exaggerated on the word “everything” like there was so great mystery behind it that he was just begging to know, which there was.

I try to prepare myself for the vulnerable state I'm about to go into. I don't want to seem so weak in front of him, however, I know that he would not judge me, or worse, pity me.

"Alright. Try not to interrupt me or else I won't be able to get it all out.

 

"When I was 13, my parents, my proper parents, we having some difficulties. It was obvious a divorce was coming. Although, I was just a stupid little girl who didn't know better, so I assumed everything was fine. They didn't yell or anything, the opposite. They just ignored each other. My dad was getting bad at the time, becoming an alcoholic. He tried to hide the fact that it was going to end, like all great tragedies. It was hard to see him like that. One night he came home and I heard her actually yelling, so I went down to see and she was grabbing her stuff and leaving. He just sat there motionless and mute, probably in shock. You could smell the booze radiating off of him and that was enough to make me sick. After she left, he grabbed me, dragging me in the car, and he kept repeating nonsense like 'I'll get her back' or something along those lines. But he was drunk and wasn't making sense and I was sober and too young to understand. So he kept driving right into an oncoming car. He didn’t even swerve, just straight through. Luckily the other car tried to get out of the way, avoiding a lot of my dad’s side of the car. However that left me, buckled up on the side that he hit straight on. My dad was fine, broke a couple bones. I was in a coma though, they thought I was going to die. These scars all over my arms, legs, and chest…” I trail off, both of our eyes hovering over the prints on my body. “They aren’t from me purposely hurting myself. They’re from stitching me back together basically. I had a lot of bad injuries. That’s why I don’t wear anything to cover them up. I don’t mind wearing tank tops, or shorts, or lower cut t-shirts. Because to be honest, I’m not afraid to be in my own skin.”