“Grit your teeth, pull your hair, paint the walls black and scream ‘fuck the world cuz it’s my life’ and I’m gonna take it back and never for a second blame yourself.
Hold on tight, this ride is a wild one. The day will come when you can’t cover up what you’ve done.”
Missing You - All Time Low


I step out of the shower, wringing out my hair in the warm towels. Holy shit Batman! We’ve got power! I came home from Elizabeth’s house, feeling a little conflicted about everything, to see every house on my block lit up like a Christmas tree, and my parents grinning from ear to ear in relieved joy.

“I thought with the way things were starting to look that it’d at least be another two weeks before we saw any signs of getting power back.” My Dad had said over dinner. I nod along, finding it hard to slink back into my previous glum state when the two of them were the happiest and most hopeful I’d seen in weeks.

My parents asked where I’d been, and I was upfront with them, explaining that I’d gone to Elizabeth’s to talk things through. They seemed enthusiastic about it, glad that we’d rekindled our lost friendship. I nod and smile in agreement, silently praying that was what it was, and that Eliza wouldn’t run away the first chance she got to share my secrets with her new clique of friends at school, furthering my progress on the laughing-stock list. I seemed to be doing a good enough job making a freak out of myself on my own.

And now, the long awaited, much adored shower. My parents had already gotten theirs in before I got home. The feeling of being nice and clean felt foreign as I dried off, fluffing my fading green locks with the towel, then straightening my back to face my reflection.

My eyes look tired, maybe aged beyond their years already... Seventeen years old and they’ve already seen more of life than they should have.

My lips are pursed in what feels like an eternal grimace of pain, and my hair has further darkened, the black slowly taking over the green. I’ll need to decide what I’m doing with it soon. But I can’t decide if I want to dye it again, or leave it be and let what happens, happen.

I sigh, and finally look down from my shameful reflection, every innocent aspect of myself has been covered in the deceitful black ash of leading a depressing life. My fashion sense has changed, my appearance has changed, and I'm not entirely comfortable with the direction the changes are moving me in. When can I become that kind, caring, worryfree kid again?

That's all I've ever felt like. A kid. Responsibility is a factor that was lacking in my life, especially my later teen years. I never really had any pets, nothing to look after that depended on me, or much else. School work was always easy enough, so doing it on time has never been a problem for me persoally. But this strange feeling of responsibility that has settled on my shoulders recently has been enough to quickly transition me from the ageing mindset of a child, to that of a wise adult that has soon too much life, or rather, not enough. No normal person leading a normal life has two ghosts involved in their lives.

Well, enough on that. If I dwell on it too long I become repetitive and broken in the mind.

I wrap up my shower, finishing by drying my hair and readjusting the holey, worn out grey Beatles shirt. It's kind of one of those clothing items that you have no idea where you got it from, but love dearly.

It's a hard thing to adjust to, walking out of the bathroom, seeing the hallway lit up with actual lights instead of assorted candle trays on every open space. At least one good thing came out of today. Everything else I'm sure, will eventually propose a new issue for me over time.

I push open my bedroom door and flick on the light, finding out immediately that I am not alone, and I am immediately reminded of our feud and temporary crack in relationship status.

“Hey.” He greets me quietly as I walk in, shutting the door softly behind me.

“Hey.” I reply, my voice lacking any emotion.

He perks up a bit, sparks of excitement flaring into his neon blue eyes. “Hey, wanna go out tonight? Go explore the town, prank people and have a jolly good time?”

Even though I’m mad at him, it pains me to look into his eyes, watching his excitement dwindle as I take too long to respond. “I can’t,” I murmur, finally tearing my eyes away from his hurt ones. “I have some school work to do.”

“You could always do it tomorrow.” He suggests, his voice lacking the same level of excitement that it did before.

“I can’t, it’s due tomorrow and Mrs. Candler will lose her shit if it’s not done.”

He falls silent, and no matter how hard I try to remind myself of all the reasons why I can’t, I still feel the guilt burning in my heart.

“Oh.” Is all he responds with, and he falls back into silence. I walk past him, going to my desk, sitting down, turning on the lamp, getting started. I can feel his eyes on my back the entire time I’m sitting there, watching every stray drop of water falling from my dark green locks.

I start to feel more self conscious, and struggle to ignore it. I can’t concentrate knowing he’s staring me down with those merciless puppy eyes.

Finally, I look over my shoulder, and he drops his eyes as I do, pretending to be looking over the different tattoos on his left forearm and wrist. I stare him down for a solid minute, my eyes narrowing at him.

“You don’t get to guilt me, Andrew Dennis Biersack.” I tell him firmly, glaring at him. “You don’t get to sit there, trying to make me feel like crap because I won’t go out jumping across rooftops with you until three in the morning. Do you know why I’m mad at you? Are you even gripping it?”

His eyes peek up at me from under his dark lashes, reminding me briefly of an innocent, scolded child.

“I get why you would defend him,” I stress the words through clentched teeth, “you knew him longer, he’s your best friend and right hand man. So of course, when he tells you I’m the evil one, those words are going to seep into your skull and you’re going to think about them. Ashley is tainting your mind to see what he wants you to see! I know you were close when he died, but Jesus, Andy-”

He rises to his feet, stiffly moving from a sit to a sand in a fraction of a second. His eyes are cold and ominous, staring at my face with a hidden rage glowing behind them.

“You do not get to talk about him!” He roars, taking the gunpowder out of my furied rant. “You didn’t know him, you don’t know him. Stop trying to be a fucking know-it-all. He’s been through more crap than you can imagine, so don’t judge him by his cover. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve defended you endlessly against him, always sticking up for you when he tried to say something crude. He has his reasons for why he is the way he is, there’s nothing more to it. So no, I don’t believe he caused those burns, and I don’t think that he’s apart of some great scheme to kill you. Grow up, stuff doesn’t happen like that.”

I’m wordless, leaning away from him like a kicked animal. I stare him down, and finally muster up the courage to breathe “Red lilac.”

His face contorts into an expression of angered, smug amusement. “Red lilac.” he replies without skipping a beat. “What? Can’t believe I’d stand up to you and put you in your damn place? I love you Ash, but fuck, give me a looser leash, would you?”

My lip quivers as the emotions settle in my chest. I clentch my teeth in an effort to stop the show of emotion but it's not enough. Sharp pain crawls from my heart, moving in my veins down my arms, making them ache and burn with heartache.

“I-”

I don’t go on, I have nothing left to say. My words have been stolen, and there is nothing left. The tears come soon after, making me angry at myself for not being able to control my feelings. Great, another chance to make me look like a weak human under his ruthless gaze.

His face softens almost instantly when he sees how he broke me, and he even takes a hesitant step towards me, to which I react to by sharply pushing my palm towards him in the universal sign for ‘stop’. I take a deep, agitated breath to blubber out “Get out.” through my agonized sniffles.

He stops fighting with me, but he doesn’t say anything else. He yanks open the door, and slinks out into the hall without another word.

All hell breaks loose internally. I wrap my arms around myself, cradling my aching ribs and broken heart.

I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want him, I don’t want us, I don’t want this life anymore. I think as I let out the loudest scream my lungs will allow into my purple accent pillow, my wails muffled by the plush fabric and stuffing.

More depressed, pained thoughts enter my mind, and suddenly suicide feels like a viable option. I understand why it’s so easy for someone to self harm... When you’re this pained, anything feels possible, and everything feels priceless, like all life is suddenly expendable and nothing matters.

It makes me shake in terror, feeling how ominous and possible death feels. I won’t do anything stupid, but the fact that it feels so welcoming in my darkest moments is terrifying.

I’m not supposed to be feeling this way. I’m still supposed to be happy, aren’t I? I’m still supposed to want to live in this life with the people around me, not run from it, searching for sand to sink my head into.

It takes a lot of energy to pull myself from my desk to the door, where I flip off the lightswitch and stumble to the bed in the darkness, my eyes burning from all the salty tears. I curl up on top of the comforter, feeling too much self loathing to be bothered enough to cover myself. I reach out, and grab another throw pillow to hug to my chest, and to release another strings of cries into.

My wails turn pretty pathetic, a combination of shouting an assortment of hateful things into the fabric mixed with more crying. I know in the back of my mind, and I mean none of it, but every angry thing I say, directed at someone I love, cuts like an acid coated knife in my heart.

I fell asleep like that, unable to breathe, threatening suffocation while falling asleep with troubled thoughts still running through my head to provide an assortment of terrible dreams.

~~~


I wake to a dull, grey light pouring through my window. I face away from it, the cold light drifting over my shoulders. I lie on the same side I fell asleep in, and it’s a wonder to have woken up alive at all.

I pull my face back from the assortment of pillows, feeling the sticky feeling of snot and dried tears on my face. What a mess I must be.

My energy is drained, and it takes several minutes for me to muster up the energy to attempt getting out of bed. It’s hazy out, and overcast, perfect weather to sink into depression with.

Nothing’s simple, is it? Everything that should be easy and straight forward has a catch and a cost.

I dig my toes into the carpet, feeling the rough scratch of the tangled strands against the pads of my feet. The feeling brings me back to reality, and I finally take a deep breath, slowly pulling myself back together.

I’m annoyed with myself for how I handled our argument. Surely I should have tried to work things out, or even go after him instead of crying my eyes out and screaming violent, hateful things into my pillows.

But then again, Andy could have done more, too. Agh, we’re both at fault here, and now I still bear the red, puffy eyes, and I have to go face my parents and either avoid them, or explain to them why I look like I had sand kicked in my eyes.

The room is empty, and I’m alone. Even though everything is dead silent, there’s almost an ambient hum in the background. Maybe I’m just so used to there always being a noise or someone there that now that it’s quiet, it’s harder to concentrate.

“Agh, no more.” I scold myself out loud, ruffling my hair and getting off the mattress, going to the closet, immediately searching for something for school.

I push aside a light blue pair of jeans, and find something that’s a sight for sore eyes. My fingers trail along the thin white fabric of the skirt, and a small smile forms on my face.

I pull the hanger out, and hold it up in front of the window, the cold grey light illuminating the dress that started it all, and I’m filled with an odd sense of nostalgia. It’s the dress I wore to church on the afternoon I ‘met’ Andy for the first time.

It’s a simple, knee length white dress with thick straps and a fitted bodice, one of those dresses Target puts out during Easter. I remember Mom taking me shopping the week before Easter two years ago, and I found it on the clearance rack.

What a stupid thing... That a piece of fabric could mean so much to me.

Regret swells in my chest and I feel my throat tighten a bit. I’m still staring at the little embrodied white daisies along the neckline when my bedroom door opens.

“Ash?”

I turn towards my Mother, and she’s leaning into my room, phone in her hand and a smile on her face.

“Your grandmother is in recovery!” She says, her voice filled with jovial excitement. My heart skips a beat then flies into my throat as I’m choked up with relief and excitement.

“R-Really?”

She purses her lips to contain the ecstatic smile and nods, runing across the room, wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug.

“I can’t believe it!” She blubbers happily into my hair. I hug her back, briefly shocked by the sudden surge of warmth from hugging someone warm instead of cold. “I’m gonna go call your Dad and let him know.”

“Where’s Dad?”

She smiles wistfully, “The construction company had no choice but to hire him back on to help with all the damage from the flood.”

“No way! Is it permanent?”

She shrugs, “I’m not sure, but hopefully. Agh, I’m gonna go call him. Love you!”

She darts out my door like a cheerful child, and I can’t help but smile after her as she goes. Finally, something good. I sigh happily, and turn back to the dress hanging over the back of my desk chair, waiting to be worn and loved again.

“Why the hell not?” I shrug, and change out of my grungey night clothes.

Notes

♠ ♠ ♠
Chapter one hundred! Holy crow it feels like decades since we first sat out on this adventure lol
Don't worry, the story still has much ahead. I'm aiming for about 250-ish chapters, and a lot is going to happen between now and then.