ASHTON

There's this dream I've been having for years. A nightmare. It comes and goes, but when things get rough, it overstays its welcome. This is the longest stretch I've had it.

Here's how it goes: I'm in a huge maze of concrete walls. It's dark and cold, and I'm running so fast my lungs feel like they're being ripped open from the inside. I'm just running and running, aimlessly, smashing into walls. Trying to escape.

Then, I see a light, and I breathe of breath of relief. I'm almost there. I can taste it. But the light is behind a glass wall, and I crash through it. That shattering sound is deafening. Shards pierce my head, my back, embedding my skin.

Something picks me up, a force I can't control, and it drops me in the middle of the maze. And it starts all over again. Every time, without fail, I end up right where I began.

I jolt awake with a hammering heart, my skin clammy with sweat. My thoughts gather as the noise from the TV creeps through my door, overtaking the anxious air. When I go to grab a glass of water in the kitchen, I find my dad's snores contributing to the noise. The harsh light of the TV blares over him on the couch. Over his mess. I watch him as I drink, my thoughts darkening with each second.

I never thought I could hate him more than I have in these last few weeks. It feels like a disease in my chest – the hate I feel for him. It's only spreading. Only getting worse. And it's different. Summer made it different.

It's like when he realized I felt something more for her, he unlocked a new type of pain. A pain he's never been able to use against me before. Hurting Summer hurts me just as much as a blow to the gut does, except this bruise will never fade. It only deepens as the days go on and she drifts further away.

And he fucking loves it. This psychological shit. This whole situation, it's a sadist's wet dream.

My eyes flick to a couch cushion, and my hands itch to shove it over his slack face. He's been drinking all night, it would be so easy. God knows I've been tempted, especially that day he spoke to her at school. I guess that's become my wet dream: killing my father. Man, talk about being well-adjusted, huh? I guess hatred and sleep deprivation aren't exactly a great combo. 

I walk past him to the coffee table, and no sooner have I picked up the remote, I'm being slammed against the wall.

My stomach spikes as my glass shatters to the floor, the cool blade of a pocketknife pressing to my thumping throat. Dad's crazed eyes are inches from mine. He's breathing heavy, staring like he's not even seeing me. 

"Dad what the fuck! It's me!" I strain under the blade, keeping as still as I can.

He presses the knife down, until I feel the stinging and I know he's drawn blood. He blinks, sudden recognition filling his clouded eyes. "What the hell are you creeping around for?" he growls through clenched teeth.

"I was turning off the TV!"

He measures me up and finally drops the knife, ambling to his room and muttering something about enemies. Aside from taking pleasure in wrecking my life, I've noticed how on edge he's been lately. But it's not the first time.

With the shifty clientele he gets involved with at the shop, owing people money, screwing people over... this is far from the first time, and it sure as hell won't be the last.

❖❖❖

I'm fighting off my burning eyes in the courtyard at school, lighting the next cigarette as I memorize a beef wellington recipe. Down to the last grain of salt, I'm learning this shit like the back of my hand, chain-smoking through lunch. This is the routine now. Cramming textbooks and recipes and French terms into my head during any free time I have.

After some trial and error, I realized the courtyard is the safest place to do this. It's cold and uncomfortable, anywhere inside and I'm out like a light, catching up on my lacking sleep. I can't afford to sleep here.

I start rewriting the recipe off by heart when Charlie plops down next to me, swiping the cig from my fingers. "You look like shit."

I pluck a fresh one from the carton and light it, still focusing on the recipe. "Thank you, Charlotte. Your un-sugarcoated observation warms my heart. Truly."

"I'm not being a bitch," she states. "You really do look like shit. Are you okay?"

"I'm swell."

"Ashton." She sighs when I ignore her, slapping her hand over mine to stop me from writing. "What's going on with you?"

I release my tight jaw and pull my hand from hers, continuing the recipe. "My dad's on my ass about staying on top of my grades, which I told you I was going to focus on anyway, so..."

She scoffs, blowing a cloud of smoke in my face. "You'd be one of the top in the class without pushing this hard, and you know it."

"Yeah, and pushing this hard guarantees I won't just be one. I'll be at the one."

Honestly, I couldn't give a shit if I shared the top spot at this point. But after my dad spoke to the dean, the way he's keeping tabs on me, I need to give him proof that I'm not screwing around here. That I'll be graduating with every five-star restaurant in town opening their doors for me. If I give him that assurance, if I prove myself, he might just back off. 

"Mm, sounds stressful, being at the top," Charlie muses. "When last did you... relieve stress?"

My writing slows for a moment, flashes flooding my mind as fast as the rain had poured that night. Summer, naked, spread out on her bed. Nails digging into my shoulders, the smell of cinnamon on her skin. I push the images away and give a shrug.

"Oh, god, it was at my party, wasn't it?" Charlie says with disbelieving humor, the weight of her eyes on me. "That long ago? How are you even functioning?"

I pick up the pace again, my pen leaving dents in the paper with every letter. "Sex hasn't exactly been on my mind lately."

"Bullshit. It's always on your mind."

"Well, now it's not."

"Really?" Her voice lilts with slyness as she slips her hand on my leg under the table. I tense up, feeling her fingers slowly slithering higher and higher, until she's at my zipper, cupping, rubbing. Discreet, but totally at ease with us sitting in full view of anyone else in this courtyard. "So if I said you could fuck me in an empty classroom for the rest of this lunch period, as hard as you want, finishing wherever you want, you wouldn't be tempted by that?"

I finally look at her glinting crystal eyes, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks on her cigarette. "Sure, I'd be tempted."

She smiles, giving my crotch a squeeze. "Great, let's go find a classroom, then. You might wanna wait a while before you stand up, though. Or I could just take care of this here before we go inside—"

I laugh and take her hand, sliding it away before she can undo my zipper. "It's a tempting offer, but that doesn't mean I'm going to take you up on it."

Charlie groans, giving my arm a shove. "God, we can help each other out, Ashton. I actually..." She presses at her temples with a grimace. "I actually really need this. It's like, becoming a problem."

"Yeah? There's loads of problem solvers around," I say, nodding to Ryan and Diego sitting across the courtyard. "Throw a rock and you'll hit two 'em right there."

"Those idiots? They don't know what they're doing."

"Never know if you don't try," I say with a wink.

"They can't fuck me like you can," she snaps, glaring at me. "Believe me, I've tried, not with them. But I've tried. And I don't care if this makes me sound desperate, I'm putting it all on the table: I miss our hookups. And I know you can't have the distraction, but we can keep it in school. Stress relief between classes. Nothing else. So there, the offer's on the table. Think about it, okay?"

"Charlie—"

"Think about it!" she barks, eyes wide and unblinking. If she wasn't smoking right in front of me, I'd think she was in the early stages of quitting, feeling those withdrawals. I guess in a way, she is.

"And you should be having fun, Ashton. You look like you need it more than anyone," she continues, tearing up a crunchy copper leaf that's fallen onto the table. "I mean, if you not screwing anyone is some sort of loyalty thing to Summer because of whatever happened between you guys, that's just stupid. It's not like she's not having fun."

"What's that mean?" I drop my pen and study her face. "She's screwing someone?"

Charlie eyes me carefully, her annoyed expression softening. "Oh... you don't know."

"Know what?"

"That she's going on a date with Grant," she says, brushing the shredded leaf to the grass. "I don't know if they've fucked yet, but after that date? I doubt it wouldn't end with some stress relieving of their own."

a/n: is there any world in which ashton banks isn't a total drama king about this summer/grant news? ......brb gonna get his crown ready 👑

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