Beautifully Broken

Beautiful Stranger

Ashley

Everyone is sitting in the front of the bus when I get back from lunch, eyes trained on me. I've been here before. Walking into a boardroom full of men in expensive suits, all ready to shove recovery down my throat. I twitch, trying to drive the memory away. This isn't like that. These are my friends, people who care about me. People who just want what's best for me. This is probably nothing, a conversation that needs to be had about the album. Yes. This is about the album. Nothing else. No hidden motives. No cruel words. No pushing.

"Sit," Matt pats the spot on the couch next to him. "How was lunch?"

He sounds too formal, the smile he offers too forced. I wrack my brain for anything I could have done, anything that would cause worry. This tour has gone so smoothly. We've played as one every single night. We wrote a fucking record. A record that could define our whole career. Sure, maybe I've stayed out too late. Maybe I've gotten a little too close to Bert. Maybe I drink a little too much. I've not relapsed though. I've not even thought about it. "It was fine."

"Ash," Ryan leans across the aisle, taking my hands in his. I resist the urge to pull away. He's my friend. He wants what's best for me. "Can we talk about Frank?"

Frank. Frank who I left on stage this morning. Frank who I let Bert tear into. Frank who looked utterly dejected as I walked away with a man he detests. Frank who falls asleep next to me every night. Frank who whispers quiet apologizes into the darkness when he thinks I'm sleeping. Frank who is destroyed, who is in so much pain it even hurts me. Frank. A man I miss. A man that terrifies me. A broken, arrogant, intensely frustrating man. A man that leaves my cheeks flushed. A man that can make my heart take off like a herd of wild horses with a simple look. Frank. The forbidden fruit that I desperately want to bite back into, but hesitate because I know it might be poison. Frank.

"What about Frank?"

Matt sighs, fingers tangling in his hair, "What's going on with him?"

"What?"

"We've just noticed you've been spending a lot of time with him," Andrew tries, his tone even, eyes soft. "We just want to make sure you're making good decisions."

As Ryan's thumb grazes over the tattoo Frank gave me, I jerk away. That's ours. Our little moment of quiet, of trust, of hope. My toes press into the top of my shoes, biting into the rubber. "I'm making fine decisions. I don't see why this is any of your business."

"Jesus, Ash!" Matt's hand hits against the tabletop, his words coming out as a growl. "He's an asshole! He hurt you! You're acting like none of that happened! He missed Ronnie's funeral! He called you awful things! He wouldn't even answer the phone when you overdosed!"

Red. Everything is red, the people around me beginning to melt, "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I just forgot? I know what he did Matt! I know! I've lived with it every day for five fucking years!"

"You let him take those pictures. You let him fall asleep next to you. You let him fucking mark your body!"

I shrink back as Matt gets in my face, the arm of the couch digging harshly into my back, "He's hurt. He needs someone."

"Why does it have to be you, Ash? Why are you letting him back in? How could you ever trust him after everything?"

There's a knock on the bus door but I hear it through water. My eyes burn, lungs begging me to take in air, limbs so tense they begin to tremble. Matt's honey eyes stare me down, the fire inside him licking at the edges. I see Frank. I feel his touch, hear his jingle bell laugh. That dimple right by his mouth when he smiles. The way his fingers work against the back of his neck when he's nervous. How his hair curls at the ends when it's getting long. His tongue flicking out over his bottom lip.