Andy

Ashley got back an hour later, and in the meantime, me and Andy had been chilling in my room, talking about everything and nothing, going out of our way to avoid the important stuff. It feels nice to give yourself a break from stress every now and again.

Andy had lied across my bed on his back, his head hanging over the edge so he can look at me upside down, sitting at my desk writing while The Wisp Sings by Winter Aid plays on the radio in the background... A seemingly perfect soundtrack to two people just talking.

At some point during our chat, Andy decided that he was above wearing a shirt and chucked it to the floor. I averted my gaze elsewhere as he did so, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing the red blush forming in my cheeks.

As the dreary weather outside finally escalated to a light downpour, I changed out of the mint colored dress in favor of grey sweats and a tank top. I pinned my wild locks in a messy bun atop my head to keep it out of my way while I crane my neck over my journal, scribbling down some new lyrics, hoping idly that getting out some kind of artistic expression could help calm my nerves.

“What are you writing?” He asks shortly after the song changed. I throw a brief glance over my shoulder at him, still lying there shirtless on his back, holding a book high over his head, trying to read it.

“Lyrics,” I shrug. “They’re not great but it’s something. I haven’t done much writing since the funeral.”

“Can I hear them?”

He tosses the book aside and rolls onto his stomach, resting his head in his hands, staring at me intently.

“I don’t even know how they sound yet.” I admit, shaking my head, scribbling on.

“Just sing them however you like,” He encourages. “it’s not like you’re taking them into the studio to record them right now.”

“How did you record your music with Black Veil Brides? Were you ever nervous to sing? Worried you’d mess it up?” I ask him without looking back at him.

“I dunno...” He says thoughtfully, pausing for a moment before continuing. “I guess I just wanted it so bad that I overlooked the part where I was supposed to be scared to death. All my life, being a rockstar was all I wanted.”

“When you were a kid, did you ever imagine yourself growing up and having long-ass hair and wearing lipstick and eyeliner?” I tease.

“It was my priority.” He replies proudly, echoing my sarcasm.

“Speaking of which, do you have more photos of you in that era? I’d love to see them.”

“Sure... But I feel like we should be exchanging embarrassing photos.”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t seen any photos of your less than glamorous moments. Surely your parents are the type to take more weird and embarrassing photos than actually good ones.”

“Well... You’d be right. My Dad loves taking bad photos. Extreme close up, mid-blink, blinded by the flash... You name it, he’s got one somewhere in those photo albums in the attic.”

He chuckles in response and I write on. After a few quiet moments accompanied by faint music in the background, he speaks again.

“Yesterday afternoon on the way back from the church, you were thinking about something and said you’d tell me later... What was it?”

I finish the sentence and drop a period at the end, laying down my pen and turning in my seat to face him, pulling my knees up to my chest, loosely hugging them while I think of the best way to introduce him to the dark inner thoughts that haunt my head when no one is looking.

“I was thinking about my sister,” I admit with a slight shrug. “Talia would have been twelve years old and into all kinds of trouble if she’d lived. I think about that often... And wonder what she would have been like. That’s what I was thinking about last night.”

He bites on his lip thoughtfully. “Do you remember when it happened? What is was like?”

“When I learned I wasn’t an older sister anymore? I was only five years old, and my parents had me so hyped up on the idea. They even bought me one of those ridiculous ‘older sister’ shirts to seal up the idea...” I laugh at the memory and shake my head.

“Everything was great, everyone was healthy and happy... And one night my Dad woke me up telling me I’d be staying with the neighbors. He picked me up, still in my pajamas, and took me across the street to the Nelson’s house. They looked after me until late the next afternoon when he came back to get me... I was so young, but I will never forget the look in his eyes. He was gone... Beaten... There was nothing left in him.”

“When did they tell you what happened?”

“They didn’t... Not really. I kinda pieced it together myself once we got home and my Dad took me to their room where my Mom was curled up in bed. I noticed immediately the absence of her large stomach and by her bloodshot eyes that something awful had happened. We just sat there together on the bed in silence for a long time before my Dad attempted to say anything. He was choking up and hardly able to get it out.”

I frown, the tugging of the expression preventing my lips from trembling. My heart is aching again... I’ve never spoken of it to anyone before. It’s always been something I sort of tucked away and kept to myself. I always kinda felt bad about sharing it... Like it wasn’t my grief to share with people even though I went through it with my parents and hurt right along with them... My pain seemed insignificant in comparison to theirs.

“What did he say?”

I take a deep breath and hold it for a few minutes until the pressure on my heart eased. Letting it out slowly, I speak. “He wouldn’t look me in the eyes... Trying to hide his own tears and pain from me. He told me that something bad had happened and because of it, I could not be an older sister anymore. My Mother saw my confusion, and through her own pain, found the strength to tell me ‘it’s okay, though. We still have you and all our love is for you’ as though saying I no longer had to share their affection would make me feel better.”

Andy’s eyes are on my face, studying my expression carefully in silence, just listening to me instead of engaging. It’s a welcome silence, and it feels nice to finally speak of it.

“In the weeks that followed, they both flipped back like a light switch, only different from the people they were before. They made more of a point to say ‘I love you’ and to always make sure I felt loved. They became super protective of me, always watching my horizon for me for trouble, ready to be my shields from anything bad.”

Andy’s brows raise a bit.

“What?”

“That explains now why your Dad was trying to hard to get you back in the car and away from the crime scene when you came upon my wreck. He didn’t want you to see that.” He purses his lips thoughtfully, chin resting on his arms.

I nod. “They were like that with everything after. I may have developed some kind of anti-social disorder from it, though. I didn’t want them to worry about me so I pushed back anyone who wanted to get too close so my parents would not stress... That, is why I never had a boyfriend or a large friend group. If they saw what I was up to now, the two of them would drop dead from a simultaneous heart attack... They’d be so hurt and disappointed of themselves that they couldn’t defend me from this danger, too.”

We lock eyes for a moment, and in his eyes I see sorrow and regret.

“It’s not your fault. I actively chose to pursue you, too. Remember that... Anyway, yeah... My parents were going to name her after Talia Lake.”

“That’s where we’re going Saturday?”

I nod. “That lake means so much to my parents. It’s like the Apture house... I wasn’t here to witness the significance of those places in their lives before they had me, but they’ve told me the stories and I know it will hurt them to leave Pendant.”

I take a deep breath, and turn my frown back into a pleasant smile. “That’s enough heavy and dark for a bit, I think... When are you heading out with Ashley?”

Andy sits up and looks at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s almost dinner time... We should probably be getting ready to head out. Then when we get back we can hopefully get to work on those jars...”

“Sounds good,” I nod, “and when that is done I have a proposal. Would you be down to hanging out tonight and just watching a movie? We never do anything normal.”

“Consider it a date.” He nods as he gets up from the bed, going toward the second closet near my desk which I have designated as his. He sorts through the shirts he brought back from California for something new to wear.

He pulls a ripped Misfits shirt over his head and grabs his Prophet jacket off the bed, shrugging into it. “I don’t know what time we’ll be back. It shouldn’t take too long if we don’t get sidetracked.”

He stands in front of my mirror and touches up his makeup even though it never seems to fade or get smudged. I wonder in silence if this is another one of his ‘old habits die hard’ things that he can’t quite shake because they were a heavy part of his life when he was living.

“You’ll be good here, right?”

I nod. “I know how to say a prayer. I’ll be good. What about yourself?” I raise an eyebrow at him, wondering if he even has means to protect himself from the shapeshifter.

“I’m sure it’s something I can just ‘wing it’ through.” He says with a shrug.
“I don’t think that’s how it works.” I laugh, standing up from my seat and stretching. “Saying a prayer requires real faith so you better watch your ass.” I clap him on his backside before going towards the bed and scooping up my phone, checking for any new messages.

I scroll through my notifications, sighing in relief when I don’t see any horrific messages from Elizabeth or CC saying they’re being hunted by a horrible creature.

“Alright, well I’m heading out. I’m going to grab Ashley.”

He sneaks up behind me, planting an enthusiastic kiss on my cheek. “See you soon.”

I turn toward him before he leaves. “Seriously, though... Be careful, okay?”

He looks me in the eyes, smiles, and nods. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be on alert.”

I shake my head and sigh as he leaves, closing the door behind him.

I’m lucky that even amidst all the trouble we’re in, we’re still able to have those stupid, quirky moments we did when we first met. The self-deprecating jokes, the sarcasm and crude humor... All of it shared without either of us being bothered or offended. My entire life I always tiptoed through conversations with friends like it was a field of broken glass, careful to never say the wrong thing in case they didn’t think the same as me and not find it funny. I cannot express how wonderful it is to have at least one person in my life now who I can talk to completely open and uncensored. It feels like complete freedom.

Not too long later, my Mom calls me down for dinner. Once seated at the table, they begin talking about their day. Mom tells my Dad that she has completed the wedding dress for Saturday and will be doing some last-minute fitting with the bride tomorrow.

My Dad, who has been volunteering on the flood recovery team, has been spending the day helping clean up trash and making the area safe to live in again by replacing broken power lines and trees in danger of coming down on houses. One thing in particular sticks out to me and really captures my attention.

“Tomorrow, they’re draining the river so they can assess the damage of the Hampton Bridge. They’re hoping it’ll be an easy fix but from what we saw the night we got back, I don’t know.”

I keep my silence and think over my plans for tomorrow. I know that I need to get a prom dress or something passable as a prom dress before Sunday. Maybe a nice little shopping outing could be in order, as well as a chill walk down a riverbed. Seems like a good way to spend a Friday.

“Hopefully they can get something done with it, soon. That’s the main connection between the two halves of the city. All the people who work or live on the other side have to backtrack an extra half hour to get down to the Criley Bridge, and that bridge isn’t for heavy traffic.”

We eat in silence for a bit before my Dad redirects his attention towards me.

“I heard school was canceled today. Gas leak? What’d you do all day with that freedom?”

I shrug a bit, realizing that everything I did involved harassing a woman at the grocery store about a spell book, stealing a razor to cut myself with, talking to my dead boyfriend and reading about portals.

“Just caught up on some homework.” I lie with a pleasant smile that I had learned in years past was the key to my Dad’s heart. He would not investigate further.

“Hopefully they’ll have everything repaired in time for the prom, huh? Are you going?”

I nod. “Yeah, I mean, why not? I think it’d be fun.”

“Do you have a date?”

The million-dollar question.

I catch my Mother’s gaze for a moment and I can’t lie. I already told her yes. “I do.” I say with a slight nod, trying my hardest to come off as nonchalant. “I still need to get a dress and whatnot, but-”

“Who is it?”

I resist the urge to press my lips into a thin line and accept my fate. “CC’s cousin.”

“Does CC’s cousin have a name?” He inquires, confusion on his face.

Hell if I know.

I wrack my brain for the name of some random boy from my school I could use, so that in the event that he decides to investigate further, I’ll have some kind of alibi.

“Uh... His name is Connor.” I say, continuing with my pleasant, unbothered attitude.

Before he can investigate much further, I notice my Mother’s sly smile.

“What?”

“I was waiting until Saturday to tell you... But I don’t want to miss out on the opportunity because I waited.”

I look back and forth between them in confusion, trying to read my Dad’s face and figure out if he is in on it, too... But his clueless expression tells me he either forgot about said surprise or in my Mother’s haste and enthusiasm, she failed to let him in on her plan.

She gets up and gestures for me to follow her, and I do. My Dad trails behind us as she leads me towards her sewing room at the back of the house. She pushes open the door, revealing the dark room, lit up only slightly from the strong moonlight pouring through the long row of floor to ceiling windows. They cast their light across the dress form standing in the middle of the room.

At first glance in the darkness, I thought it was bare but that I was able to make out the light-colored flowing fabric hanging around it. My Mother flicks on the light, and after I adjust to being blinded, I finally get a good look at it.

“I’ve been working on it on and off for a while now... I originally intended it as a dress you could wear to church but I think it works pretty well for prom, too.”

She circles around the dress form sitting just under the light. I’m still standing there speechless, taking it in. Finally, a grin spreads across my face. “I love it!” I say as I hug her.

Dad is laughing, snapping pictures on his phone on cue. No special event would be complete without his embarrassing photos.

The dress is beautiful and definitely very ‘me’. It’s a light blue spaghetti strap dress with a high-low skirt that is a little below the knees. The bodice features pretty lace between the corset-like boning.

“Mom, it’s so beautiful!”

She grins, looking at the dress proudly, taking in all her hard work.

“Were you in on this?” I ask, turning toward my Dad who now bears the same sly grin my Mother had earlier. His answer comes in the form of a nod.

“I’m so excited to wear this. It’s perfect!”

I hug them both again and go to check out the dress up close, touching the fabric and running my fingertips over the lace, images of myself dancing away at the prom in this beautiful gown swirling around in my head. It matches me very well... It’s not over the top or attention seeking. It’s not meant to make all the bullies at school gasp and cry in disbelief... It’s just meant to be pretty.

I can’t quit smiling. It’s going to be amazing.

~~~


Everything has light and dark. Happiness and sadness, good times and bad ones... This is one of those occasions. Just over a half hour ago I was hugging my parents and freaking out over the dress my Mother had made me for my prom... Now here I sit on the tile of the bathroom with the shower running to cover up the sounds that may follow. This is my dark and light.

I sit cross-legged, having changed into a pair of night shorts to make this a bit easier. In one hand I hold the little blade, and in the other I hold a wad of gauze. To be honest, I have no clue what to expect... Will there be a lot of blood right away, or will it be a slow, steady flow? Do I have to cut deep or just scratch it? How much blood do I even need for that damn jar?

I’m doubting myself again, doubting the cause that I am about to do this for, trying to think of any other way to get this done. If I could punch myself in the face and get away with it, I might do that. Hell, I’d even have Andy’s cool new healing powers to rely upon... But not even he would allow me to slug myself in the face for the sake of all of this.

“Come on...” I mumble under my breath, “Do it once and you never have to do it again.”

I stare down at the little blade, seemingly so harmless in my hand, yet the way it catches the light in a dangerous glint on the metal tells a different story.

I have decided that my outer upper thigh will be the best place to do it. To my knowledge, there’s no major veins close to the surface so I won’t end up accidentally doing something awful. Also, it’s somewhere where it can easily be covered up and won’t be accidentally seen or discovered.

I’m gritting my teeth and tapping my foot impatiently, working hard to fight the uneasy feeling in my stomach and the pounding in my head. Just once. And never again.

I switch the blade to my right hand and study it hard for a long moment while I contemplate my decision. I lower it to my thigh and angle the blade so that the sharp corner is closest to the skin. With one big, deep breath, I dig in.

I don’t want to go into excruciating detail, and to be honest, I don’t know that I could if I wanted to. Mostly because I don’t remember much about the experience. My vision became very blurry and then dark as I drug the blade along.

I know there was some agitated groaning involved that I could only pray was being successfully covered up by the roar of the water in the shower behind me.

I stop and take three deep, even breaths through my mouth. Closing my eyes and allowing the cold, clammy calmness to come over me. I haven’t got the guts to look down at the damage yet, so I don’t even know if I was successful.

Forcing my eyes open, I peek down and sure enough, there is a bright red trail rolling down my leg. I blot it with the gauze, grimacing as I wipe it away, watching it stain the cloth.

What has my life become?

I must have cut a little deeper than I originally thought, because the blood keeps coming and I do my best to stay calm while I deal with it. Once two pieces of gauze have been fully saturated with crimson, my heart starts to sink in a panic and I fear having to get my Mom.

“Okay... Okay it’s fine... It’s just bleeding... A lot.”

In this moment, the words of wisdom from my health class teacher Mr. Brighton come to mind. There was a day he was talking about how to deal with injuries and while I was daydreaming through most of it, I remember him stressing the fact that you need to apply firm, even pressure to the wound.

I get a new strip of gauze and roll it into a pad and firmly hold it to the cut. After about twenty seconds, I see a little be seeping through. I keep holding it as the minutes pass, and before long, it has been seven minutes since I last checked it.

I peel back the fabric slowly, inspecting it. I sigh in relief when I see that all that remains now is the angry, red skin.

I go ahead and get in the shower, making sure to thoroughly clean the cut. Once I’m out, I wrap it in clean gauze and secure the bandage in place with some cloth tape. I put on a thick, plushie pair of pajama pants over the top and pat at my leg and inspect it multiple times in the mirror to make sure the slight bulge is not obvious.

I gather the ‘samples’ and head back my room discreetly. Once I’ve sealed myself away, I put them in an old plastic Walmart bag and toss them to the top shelf of the closet along with the razor and retreat to my bed.

How am I supposed to feel after doing something like that? I know that I feel guilt... And pain. Definitely pain... But how does one become addicted to that feeling? Andy explained it to me as it kind of being the equivalent of letting yourself free for a little bit.

I grab my phone, deciding that I need to clear my head a bit. I shoot Elizabeth a greeting text to find out if she’s busy. Within thirty seconds, she has replied.

I tell her about the dress, and send her pictures, expressing my newfound enthusiasm for the prom. She then sends me photos of her dress - it’s a pretty form-fitting gown in a dusty rose shade.

It keeps my mind occupied for a bit which I am grateful for. By the time Andy got back, I felt pretty okay. I shoot Elizabeth a departing text and put down my phone, sitting up on the bed as he enters my room, Ashley hanging out in the hallway.

“Did you get everything you needed?” I ask, looking at him, hoping to get a confirming wink from him or something to indicate that he got the information he needed out of Ashley. But he doesn’t make it obvious to me whether it is a yes or a no, so I will have to wait to get him alone.

He nods, flashing a proud grin, holding up a plastic bag. “We were able to get the last bit of Ashley’s blood, and I was able to collect some gross shit from my room. We’re good to go!”

“Perfect!”

My gaze falls to Ashley who is hanging out in the hallway. “Ash, you coming in?” I call to him. His dark eyes flicker to me for a moment. “Shouldn’t we do the jars somewhere more... private?”

“That’s a good point,” I agree, leaning over to grab the book from under the bed, flipping to the page I have bookmarked. “We’re actually not supposed to do the jars all together. We are supposed to assemble them in the general area we plan to hide them.”

Andy looks to Ashley then back at me. “Sounds fine to me... Where are we hiding them, anyway?”

“I’ll keep mine in my room, Ashley can keep his jar in his... Where do you want yours?”

“I can occupy the cellar.”

“Have you ever even been in my cellar?” I ask him, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Yes...”

“When?”

“The week following my funeral. I needed somewhere to hide in the meantime. I suck as a ghost, I’m too handsy. I would have been picking up and moving things around all the time and you would have known that I was there long before you needed to.”

“Fair enough... When do you want to get started?”

“As soon as possible.” Andy replies.

“Well let’s go through the instructions first and make sure that everyone is on the same page before commencing. It says here that if you are worried that the entity is already in your home, to surround yourself in a ring of salt before beginning.”

They both nod in agreement.

“Then it’s pretty straight forward... You just add all the nasties and natural things like thorns, burrs, dead flowers... Afterward, we’ll seal them with wax and then we hide them somewhere in our chosen space. Any questions?”

When none are voiced, I get up off my bed, cautious to make my movements fluid and normal and not to stiffen up to grimace at the pain in my leg. I collect the necessary items from the backpack and disburse the ingredients between us. I part the salt three ways, give each of them a candle and I count on them to have their own lighters, and give them each a small glass jar.

I take it upon myself to also sort through the contents in the backpack and split them into two plastic bags. The little ziplock bags full of hair clippings, teeth, nails, bone chips and more, all disbursed between their bags - some of them requiring identification from their respective owners like the teeth. I don’t know how well the jars would work if we accidentally used pieces of someone else’s body in our individual jars.

We roll through the steps one last time and everyone parts ways, leaving me alone with my own morbid collection of samples, and a jar to fill it with.

I consult the book more than I should as I set out into the process. I pour a little salt circle around myself on the floor and begin working. The book itself doesn’t offer any groundbreaking information on how to craft the jar, but the illustrations and nice, flowing pattern of the sentences give me comfort that I am doing it right.

I set out my collection of items around myself, once again finding myself questioning if I am sane at all...

“Right... Let’s just put all the gross and pokey stuff into this jar and we’ll be good.”

I reread the third paragraph multiple times to make sure I’m not missing a crucial step while wondering idly if Ashley and Andy are also having this much trouble.

I begin by dropping in the bloodied gauze strips, packing them into the bottom of the jar. I follow it by the bent nails and broken needles the book insisted on. I look back and consult it again before proceeding.

I pick up the pair of scissors at my side and reach back into my hair, just behind my left ear, and snip off a lock. I drop the green and black tendril in and throw in some of the pieces of prickly dry rose vines I collected from my backyard.

Next is some nail clippings and rusted bits of metal. I drop these into the already unappealing looking mixture. I peek down into the jar, lying to myself saying this is all for fun and not easily the most screwed up thing I have ever done.

Looking around myself, I have used up all the necessary ingredients. A once-over of the cookbook confirmed that I hit all the important notes of what to include. With that piece of mind scored, I sigh in relief as I look up to my ceiling.

“Please, Lord, let this work.”

While staring up at the ceiling, I realize something crucial... That DAMN SMOKE DETECTOR.

It occurs to me slowly at first and then all at once what lighting the candle to seal the jar would do... It’s another moment before I realize that there is also one in Ashley’s room where he will be performing his own little ritual.

I push myself up off the floor in a flash, ignoring the pain my leg as I scramble for the door and sprint down the hall to Ashley’s room, pushing open his door to stop him. It would be the thing I feared earlier all over again, except my parents would barge into Ashley’s room and discover not only the squealing smoke detector, but the array of cult-like items of unknown origin spread out across the white carpet.

The door swings open, and to my surprise, Ashley is not engaged in a similar ritual to mine in the center of the floor. I scan the darkness in confusion before spotting his silhouette sitting on the windowsill leisurely, the bright moonlight outside the window illuminating the curling tendrils of smoke coming from his lips as he exhales.

He flicks his ash out the window and directs his attention toward me. I close the door behind me and flip on the light, glancing around the room, everything as clean and perfect as the last time I’d visited.

“Haven’t you gotten started yet?” I breathe, slightly out of breath.

“Just finished it.” He replies nonchalantly, taking in another deep puff from his cigarette, brushing away a long strand of dark hair to look up at me with confused eyes. “Is there something you need?”

“Where is it?” I ask in confusion, gesturing around the room.

“That wouldn’t be much of a secret, would it?” he asks, cocking his head mockingly for a moment before pointing toward the ceiling above him with a gloved hand. “It’ll be safe up there.”

I look up and sigh, figuring that he used another one of his ghost abilities to get it there. Much like Andy’s ability to get us through the locked doors of the mortuary, he probably used the same method to hide it up there.

“Okay... Did you get rid of any evidence?”

He nods in a slow, cool fashion, in no hurry to respond, watching his smoke being taken away out the window by the chilly spring breeze.

“Did you get yours done?” He inquires, returning my question back to me, putting me on the spot and changing the subject.

“No.” I reply shortly, “I was in the process of it but came to check on you to make sure everything was going fine.” I lie, not quite ready to reveal the full reason I’d come here in case I can get him to give up something specific for my secret investigation.

“And is this a visit you’re going to be extending to our little friend in the cellar?” He asks, a slight smile appearing on his face, lighting it up a bit. He rarely smiles, so it catches me off guard. He flashes his teeth for a moment.

It makes me uncomfortable that he always seems to have something to call your bluff with. I figit around for a moment before he shrugs and redirects his attention out the window, asking a new question.

“Why haven’t you done the obvious thing yet?” he asks in an absent, preoccupied tone.

“What do you mean?”

“The best way to eliminate all this trouble from your life would be sending both me and Andy away... Why haven’t you?”

I cross my arms, shifting my weight awkwardly. He’s not looking at me but it still feels as uncomfortable as though he were.

My snotty self wanted to reply with a cocky ‘why should I?’ but the reality of it is that there is a ton of reasons why I should. Maybe I could keep everyone around me safe, happy, and keep from going grey at age seventeen in the process... The question that proves much harder to answer is why can’t I?

He spares me a glance, his dark brown eyes assessing my face, probably picking up on a dozen tiny nuances hidden in my expression to help him make up his mind. When the corner of his lip upturned slightly in a humorless, proud smirk, I knew he’d gotten what he wanted.

“Allow me to ask to you a new question. What is it about Andy that is impossible to let go? It can’t just be his badassery and good looks that’s got you hanging around, right?”

He cocks an eyebrow at me, watching me while his cigarette dwindles away. “No... It has to be something more. Something about him that you find really special.” He nods to himself, leaning back against the wall, most of his arm tattoos visible where they are not covered by his cut Jack Daniels tank top.

Part of me wonders if I was lured into this conversation from the start like an animal into a snare. Here we are for what really feels like the first time we’re alone... Andy oblivious to us... Ashley able to ask whatever he wants, say whatever he pleases, and do whatever he chooses... If he decides that he’s sick of my shit and wants to crush the life from my lungs with his bare hands, he could do that, too, and Andy wouldn’t know.

I’m unprotected here, and as much as I hate to admit it, Ashley makes me feel anything but comfortable. His presence is cold and callous, constantly calculating and analyzing everything in bitter silence. He hardly seems like the lighthearted party-goer and man-whore Andy’s high school photos and stories made him out to be.

So what is it then? Is all of his ‘new look’ attributed to his pain and suicide? Even Jake noticed the cold difference in his attitude. Certainly more vicious and defensive than before.

“I may as well be able to read your mind, your expression gives everything away.” He says, never breaking eye contact as he inhales another long huff from his cigarette, causing the embers to glow bright red.

“You don’t have a clue of what to make of me, right? You just have your assumptions to work from and what little you’ve heard about me. I suppose I only have the same advantage for myself when it comes to you... Luckily for me though, I mastered the art of reading people long ago. You think I can’t see and feel the pity radiating off of you? The way you steal concerned glances at me when I’m being too morbid or bleak? Asheen, I see everything. I see you, and I see Andy and do you know what I see between the two of you?”

He points his finger at the empty space right before me, wiggling it around to indicate the horrible rot that has seeped into our relationship according to his third-party opinion.

I choose not to respond, gritting my teeth, waiting for his inevitable, taunting words... But to my surprise, his face softens and he returns to the boy who belonged in those happy photos beside a teenage Andy... Only his eyes are sorrowful when he looks at me, heartfelt almost as he utters his words in a low voice as though he fears someone may hear.

“I see a relationship that ends fatally. A little advice from me to you? Get out of it. Before it kills you.”

Notes

Hello everyone! I hope you had a fantastic Valentines Day! I meant to post this yesterday as par the Monday/Thursday schedule, but it still needed some editing and I figured amidst all the cool new Andy stuff coming out, it'd get drowned out so here we are!

Thoughts on the new song/video? Album art? Comic book, the themes?? I am SO excited. I was excited when I found out when he was doing a comic book, but the fact that it associates Andy and a ghostly counterpart of himself that I've only known through writing this story, it's got me all giddy lol I cannot wait to see how he executes the story. It already looks fantastic!

Are any of you going to the concerts? If so, which show? I'd be going to the Denver show if it weren't for a few different issues, the biggest one being that my sister is getting married three days later out of state, so I shall catch Mr. Biersack next time!

More story related things: I can't remember when but it was a long time ago I asked if you guys would be down to seeing the concept art I've put together for this story. (for those who do not know, I'm studying for a career in video game concept art, so learning how to illustrate key story points is something I need to practice.) What better thing to practice with that recreating scenes from this cool little world!

I have this sketch inspired by the chapter 'Underwater' right before they meet Ashley for the first time and Andy shows Ash the infinite breathing ability.


Thank you Whiny Emo Batman, Merelan, and Mezzy18 for your helpful thoughts and opinions! I love hearing your theories as well haha