point b // a. irwin au

01: WILD THING

01: WILD THING

❝...You call yourself a free spirit, a 'wild thing,' and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.❞

-- Paul Varjak, Breakfast at Tiffany's

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HE WAKES UP in the back of his pickup truck to the blue and purple hues of the Arizona sunset with sweaty palms and a bad taste in his mouth. His legs are tangled around this heavy quilt that he picked up somewhere in a little town back in Rhode Island and it's not quite fit for the weather. His hair feels damp as he runs his fingers through it, eyes slipping shut as he breathes in the humid air that makes his lungs heavy. His fingers are drumming (because that's what he does--he drums and drums until he can't hear anything besides the pounding in his ears and the firing squad in his chest) this familiar (familiar as in familia as in family as in something Ashton left behind roughly 2,140 miles back) tune against his jean clad leg. The passing cars leave an array of noise in their wake so Ashton tips his head back, squeezing his eyelids shut tighter and tighter until he can see a mosaic of colors and a barrage of stars beneath them.

He's on some barren highway in Phoenix, Arizona and he's barely been awake for ten whole minutes before he swears that he can feel the entire world crumbling around him. The amount of miles between him and his mother's famous casserole, between him and his childhood bedroom, between him and everything he's ever known hits him right in between his left and right lung where it pumps blood and does the things that matter most. But Ashton's in no mood to shed tears (because he doesn't cry very often--not even when he should--but when he does, it feels like the world is collapsing in on itself and there's this endless pressure in his chest that he can't quite shake) that are long overdue so he gets into his truck and puts in into gear before pulling onto the road and following the endless stream of cars.

He knows that he can't run away from his thoughts but the least he can do is try.

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ASHTON HASN'T TURNED on his phone since he started this trip. Every time he's close enough to do so, his fight of flight mode kicks in and his fingers tremble so bad it makes him want to drum until he can't feel anything anymore. He's scared of the missed calls and the influx of text messages that he might have, ranging from 'i miss you' to 'i love you' to 'don't come back' because it's finally come to that. Sometimes he can't decide if he's more afraid of them not being there but that thought alone makes his chest clench painfully so he doesn't dwell on it too long.

(He wouldn't be surprised or angry if they weren't there, though, because he knows it's his fault. He's always running away from what he loves most, been running since before he could walk.) So Ashton doesn't like to get attached--only makes it more painful in the long run. He doesn't belong to any city, anything, or anyone but himself. He thinks that this is what makes living easier. Makes the large pill of disappointment and sadness easier to swallow. Ashton doesn't believe in attachment anymore because attachment leads to feelings and feelings lead to staying and staying and feelings are both two things that Ashton can not afford right now.

So, he sets a few rules to prevent that:

ASHTON'S RULES FOR THE ROAD

1. Never stay in one place for too long--this will lead people to thinking that you're a constant and you're not; you're just a variable, something constantly shifting and changing its mind.

2. Don't fall in love--you know that you're prone to feeling vulnerable and sometimes you notice the empty side of the bed more often than not but just remember that you've been driving this long to feel comfortable in your own skin, not to jump into someone else's.

3. Whatever you do, don't look back-- soon you'll realize that no one is going to be there.

These rules have always worked, regardless of what city he's in and Ashton doesn't want to think of the day won't.

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HE ENDS UP at a little diner smack dab in the middle of no where with four cars parked in front of it, not including his. The seats are this ugly dark red with duct tape splayed across them as an attempt to cover the holes in them. The place is decorated with floral wallpaper and too many analog clocks to count. It's not a five-star resturant-not even close-but everyone laughs like this is the best place around and the waitresses are smiling at him like this isn't the first time he's been here. When the waitress working his table comes to take his order he's not really sure (he's never really been sure about anything) about what to get so he just easy for the best thing on the menu.

Twenty minutes later she comes back with a steaming plate of fries and a burger toppling over with lettuce, tomato, and bacon.

"Thanks," Ashton sends her a closed-lip smile, eyes squinting and head tilting as he struggles to read her name tag. "Jolene." Her name sounds like it belongs in the ending credits of some big Hollywood movie, not on the name tag of a waitress in a town no one cares about.

When she comes back to collect his dishes the only thing on his plate are a few stray fries and pieces of lettuce. When she loads them onto her tray she doesn't even bother dropping the bill on the table, hips switching promiscuously to accommodate the new weight. Her red stained lips are stretched into a lopsided smirk, eyes shining brighter than the lights in the diner and Ashton swears she must be a mind-reader when she says-

"It's on the house," Her tongue is peaking out behind her white teeth and Ashton is pretty convinced that he's never met anyone so blatant with their flirting. He never noticed it before but she's got an accent like she came straight out of the south, head framed by curly, wiry black hair. Her brown eyes are sparkling and her skin is stained tanner than everyone there but she seems to fit in just fine.

And Ashton--he's used to this, used to pretty girls and their lingering touches, words always said with another meaning intended so just gives her a soft smile, one that he knows always gets him what he wants. "Well, even I can't argue with free food."

She throws her head back and laughs like it's the punchline to the best joke she's ever heard. Her laugh sounds like every happy memory that's ever been--Ashton's sounds like it's trying to claw its way out of his throat so he opts to smile again instead, eyes crinkling at the corners.

When he leaves the diner ten minutes later with a crumpled up napkin containing ten digits in his hand, he thinks of his three rules and how they've always been the only sure thing in his life. This girl is not a sure thing: she's not consistent or perpetual so when he drives away, he makes sure to leave the napkin right next to his tire marks.

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[ a / n ]: guESS WHO FINALLY WROTE GOD BLESS but sorry if this is like really really bad or like boring or something i haven't wrote in a while but you should stick around anyway because isabel is writing the next one xx thnx for reading
-- jay