How unlucky does a person have to be to walk in on this sight two nights in a row? is the first thing that goes through my head as I stand at the door frame that leads to the living room, inaudibly sighing at the sight on the couch; Ashton, wearing the same clothes he was in a few hours ago, staring through the TV that's also the only source of light in the room, with a cigarette in his hand – and judging from the look on his face, I don't have to guess if he'd ripped the filter off first.

        "Ashton..." I tilt my head to the side as he blinks slowly, and once he opens his eyes again, they're set on my face. His expression stays blank as he raises the cigarette to his mouth, sighing to blow the smoke out.

        "Come here."

        I merely frown at his request; I wasn't expecting seeing him like this when I got up to have a glass of water – I should probably stop getting up at four in the morning for anything – and I certainly wasn't expecting those words to leave his mouth when I did find him like this. "What?"

        "Come on," He jerks his head to the side, physically inviting me to join him too. "This is a friendly zone."

        I contain the snort that would've been my natural reaction to that last bit – I don't think there's anything he could have said that'd be more inaccurate and untrue than calling his presence a friendly zone, especially for me. But I still grip my crutch and walk over to the couch, making sure there's at least half a foot of space between us; if anything goes wrong and he says something he would never even think of in a sober state, at least he won't remember it when he wakes up. So I have nothing to lose.

        "You really need to stop with that," I calmly point to the cigarette in his hand, "It'll murder your lungs, if it hasn't already."

        When I don't get a reply, I slowly avert my eyes to his; and I can't help but gulp at the look on his face. His eyes are half lidded and he looks like he's gonna pass out any moment now as always, but the way a corner of his mouth is pointed upwards confuses me more than anything. "What?"

        He blinks at the sound of my voice, parting his lips while his weird smile widens, to my surprise. "He was right, you know," He says, bringing the cigarette to his mouth once again; I knew I should have expected this, him to randomly start talking about something that would make me cry in a matter of minutes.

        "Who was right?" I ask in a flat tone, assuming I already know the answer. "About what?"

        "Riley," Ashton says through a breath, pronouncing the name as if the word weighs a ton. "During that game. He was right, I did make you feel worthless for the decisions you made concerning your own body, for fuck's sake, I even remember what he said word to word."

        He sighs again, seeming annoyed with himself, and I bite my lip at the confession. This is yet again not what I expected, but I think I'm liking it so far. "You did?"

        "Yeah," He confirms casually, as if he didn't spend months resenting me for this decision that I made without him. "I mean... it was your body and you were the one carrying the baby... I guess I just got caught up in the fact that I was the father, so I gave myself the liberty to think you'd choose to do what I wanted you to do, instead of listening to yourself. And it wasn't even a baby, it was a bunch of cells the size of a nail, if not smaller."

        Man, if only he'd realized this stuff half a year earlier. God knows where we'd be now. "I'm glad you figured that out," I tell him quietly, carefully placing my hand on his forearm, a content smile spreading on my face when he doesn't move away.

        "Yeah, well... better late than never," He mumbles, causing my smile to widen, and leans forward to flick off the ash at the top of his cigarette, before falling back in the sofa. "And... I'm also realizing it's natural that you went to someone else, since my head was too far up my own ass and I wouldn't have listened to you no matter what you said. But I have one question."

        Ashton first throws his head back, then turns to face me. "Why him?"

        There it is. The bit that would make me cry within minutes.

        "Why him? Why not your sister, or your friends from uni? Or your dad? Or if you were really looking for someone to replace me with, why not some random guy off the street? Or a bar? And why wasn't it only a one-time kind of thing? Why'd you have to go behind my back for months? Why'd you have to make plans to leave me? Was I really that bad? Who'm I kidding, I was a mess."

        I gulp back my tears as he looks away at the TV, pulling on his cigarette once. While I try to find an answer that wouldn't give away anything, he looks up at the ceiling, his brows furrowed, as if he's in deep thought. "Was it because he's half white, like you? Did you bond over the fact that you're mixed?"

        The corner of his mouth twitches upwards again as I snort at his assumption, unable to keep my laughter in all of a sudden. Only drugged Ashton can make me go from wanting to cry to laughing in point five seconds. "No, that-that couldn't have been it, his other half is black, and you're Hispanic. The only thing you have in common is the whiteness. And I'm also white. I'm more white than him. So race isn't the reason."

        I can't help shaking my head at him; I need to start going through his clothes and set all the Marlboro boxes I find on fire. "Seriously though, why him? Why my best friend?"

        I gulp again at those words – I knew he'd have to switch to making me want to cry at some point again. "Um..." 

        As I hum, not really having anything to say - nothing that would satisfy him at least - he shakes his head and looks in front of himself, "What am I saying, you couldn't answer that question even if you wanted to."

        My eyes widen for a second; usually the fact that I'm faking amnesia never leaves my mind, but somehow I've managed to forget about it for a couple of minutes. God, if he hadn't reminded me of it... God. "Yeah, uh... I don't..." I trail off when he doesn't respond to my mumbling, lifting my hand to scratch the back of my head. I really need to make all of his cigarettes disappear or I'll never be able to get up at 4am to have a glass of water.

        "Hypothetically speaking, though..." I sigh as he brings the cigarette to his mouth before continuing, "Why do you think you'd do it? Like this, new you, why do you think the old you would do something like that?"

        I sigh at his question, looking at the side of his genuinely clueless face; really, it's like all of what he'd said about making me feel bad about doing what I wanted to do with my body really didn't leave his mouth. "I don't know," I tell him lightly, my voice quiet and honest. "Like you said, I could have gone to my friends or family, and... not do what I originally did."

        "You barely know what you did."

        "Well, you're not being very subtle about it," I raise my brows at him and he does too, silently agreeing with me. "Anyone could figure it out, but not understand the person's reasons for it. And I know I did it, but I can't... I don't get why I did it. I had other options. And I just..."

        I bite my lip as I keep looking at his still face; I can't figure out how he feels or what he's thinking, his face is completely blank. I can only hope he's not angry and that he won't forget about this when he wakes up in the morning.

        Pushing down the though that he most likely won't have a clue that this conversation happened, I clear my throat to continue talking about it, thinking that he might remember some of this if we talk about it longer. Hopefully. "If it means anything, I wouldn't do it now," I bite my lip again as he snorts, then rolls his eyes with a smile on his face; I can tell the information doesn't really mean anything, but he's happy to hear me say it. "I wouldn't think of it. I don't know if I had any idea how lucky I was to have a boyfriend like you back then, but... now I do, and... I-I wouldn't think of it."

        He looks down at his hands, clearly trying to force a straight face but he just keeps smiling; I feel like he's getting past his anger and bitterness and that he won't be ice cold to me after this conversation – if only he wasn't high as a kite, I'd be somewhat hopeful. "Your dad called," Ashton says, out of the blue, still looking at his lap but no longer with a smile on his face.

        I shrug at the information; I have to admit I don't like the sudden change of topics. "Well... he calls every day?"

        "No," Ash shakes his head, taking a deep breath, "He didn't call to check up on you, he wanted... he wanted to ask if you wanted to go to Canberra after you take your cast off, and... see your mother."

        My heart quite literally skips a beat at the information, but I keep looking at the side of his head, knowing he can't see me- and even if he did, he's too stoned to realize how shocked I am. "Uh, really?"

        "Yeah, said I could drive us there so I can see her too." He pauses for a minute, "You don't remember her, do you? Has he ever talked to you about her?"

        I shift in my seat, a little uncomfortable, and shake my head lightly. For once, I'm glad he's not sober and aware of how this conversation is making me feel. "N-no, not really."

        Ashton nods, looking away at the TV again, bringing his cigarette to his mouth. "She was really nice," He begins, "Lovely woman. Always let me sleep over at your house, didn't even make us sleep in separate rooms. Also made muffins whenever you told her I'm on my way. I have a feeling she liked me more than you did."

        I bite back a smile, remembering our relationship two years ago – I regretted ever bringing him home because it really seemed like my parents were more fond of me dating him than I was. "Until it all started, of course."

        Once again, my expression falters. "What started?"

        "Well then, he really didn't tell you anything about her, did he?" Ashton chuckles, bringing the cigarette to his lips one last time before stubbing it out. "You know, the... what everyone thought was mood swings and 'nothing serious', when she started going from ecstatic to depressed in less than five seconds. Then there was the irrational thinking, pressured speech, whatever she did she'd go over the top with it- I remember one time she wanted to discover a new constellation so she didn't sleep for two weeks straight. Just sat on your balcony with a telescope that cost more than your freshman year in college, you can imagine how she felt and acted when the stars failed her." He stops all of a sudden, starting to grimace and shake his head, "I shouldn't be the one telling you this."

        "No, go on," I urge him on, without really thinking about the words leaving my mouth, "Tell me about her."

        He sighs, staring down at his hands again; even in this state that he's in, I can see that he regrets changing the subject. "Well, long story short, she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, 'bout a year and a half ago. Less than a year and a half, actually. She was in a mental hospital twice, but the first time they let her out she almost burned your house down for fun, and the second time she actually managed to burn it down, so they're keeping her permanently institutionalized. She's in a hospital in Canberra, and your dad lives in a hotel nearby, and you're with me."

        Ashton tilts his head to the side, blinking at the wall in front of him twice. "You know, because your house burned down. And because I was your boyfriend, obviously."

        Considering he used past in that last sentence, I'd love to know why I'm still living with him now. "You weren't the same after that, I'd say," He starts again, "It's like a part of you died with her brain cells. Eventually you learned to live with it, of course, but it definitely changed you."

        He pauses for a moment, now narrowing his eyes in deep thought- dear lord, he becomes goddamn Plato when he's high. "And maybe I wasn't compassionate enough. I should have been there for you more often, should've talked about it more often. Instead I always tried to distract you, make you think about anything but your mother. I was never a good shoulder to cry on. Maybe that's what Riley had that I didn't. Good shoulders to cry on."

        Just now I'm seeing why he suddenly started talking about my mum. He knew it would bring us back to Riley. "Is that the reason?" He turned his head to me, frowning with his eyes half lidded, "You could vent to him but not to me?"

        Yes.

        "I wouldn't know," I shrug, and Ashton just closes his eyes, dropping his head back at my discouraging answer. "But I'd say it's a good theory."

        "Yeah, well," Ashton sighs, shifting in the sofa so that he's lying sideways, curled up because I'm sitting next to him and he hasn't got enough space to stretch his legs out- it's a pretty cute sight, especially since he's so tall. "That'll have to be enough for tonight. Could you cover me up? Cuddle me in..."

        I can't help laughing lightly while standing up, as he begins singing in a hoarse, sleepy voice, completely out of tune- I think I like this type of 'singing' rather than the usual, sane singing he does with his band. "Lie down with me and- actually don't lie down with me, there's not enough space for both of us."

        "There's always enough space in my bed," I point out, rather boldly, referring to the bed both of us used to sleep in. The blank expression he forms right as the words leave my mouth isn't exactly the reaction I hoped for, but he probably won't remember me saying it. Along with everything else we'd said tonight. That, I'm not happy about.

        "Hey, one more thing," Ashton breathes out, already falling asleep as I cover him with his quilt. "Why'd you start dyeing your hair? Is it because he liked blondes?"

        I widen my eyes at his assumption, not even trying to cover up my surprise. "What? No, I..." As I begin answering him, I remember that I actually shouldn't know the answer to that. "I don't know. Maybe, but... I don't think so. Doesn't sound like it."

        He only nods at my barely coherent mumbling, "I liked your brown hair. Bit of a shock when you came home looking like Heidi Klum. But don't change anything for me, don't want you sleeping with some bloke because I didn't let you do what you wanna do. Goodnight!"

        With that, he turns around so his back is facing me, as if he hadn't said anything while I'm staring at him with my eyes and mouth wide. I didn't know that's how he felt about my change of hair color that I made at the beginning of the year, but if he doesn't like it, I can sacrifice that much for him. At this point nothing matters more than him.

*

i'm sorry for the crappy end but it's 4:15 in the morning and i am dead

please vote and comment? i'd love to hear your thoughts on this part because it took a long time to write and i personally like how it turned out c: love you x