"Psst. Psst."

         Unaware of existence itself, I turn on my back, taking a deep breath as a first act of waking up; not ten seconds later, though, do I jump up in a sitting position, having already lost a few years of life as I spot a silhouette at the door frame.

         Luckily, another few seconds later the person walks into the room, my pink night light illuminating them, and I realize that it's the only person it should be – Ashton.

         "Ash, what- it's four in the morning, what are you doing up?"

         "I got up to go to the bathroom," he begins, just as quietly- even though there's no reason for us to be speaking quietly. We're the only people in the apartment. "And I realized something."

         He sits on the edge of the bed, on the opposite side of me, clad in his usual grey shorts and black muscle tee. His hair is all over the place as he runs a hand through it, purposefully pulling a fistful of curls forward and over his forehead- I swear, that's some sort of signature move of his.

         "This is the third night in a row."

         "...What?" I blink, shaking my thoughts away, deciding it's better to focus on his words rather than how he looks right now. And he happens to look good. Half-asleep is a good look on him.

         "You know... third peaceful night in a row."

         "...It's four in the morning and I'm awake, I couldn't relate to what you're saying."

         "You know what I mean."

         A small smile appears on my face as I nod my head; I knew what he was talking about from the first time he mentioned this 'peaceful night'. "Yeah. Feels weird, don't it? I've kinda gotten used to all the... bang-bang-banging."

         "Me too."

         This is the first time in ten days that Riley has made a break from pounding on our front door for more than one night. Usually he'd come at around two a.m., knock a few times – nothing as bad as the first night he did that – and then leave. By himself, more often than not. No fighting with Ashton required, nothing.

         Still, saying that that Ashton gets beyond angry and irritated when it happens, would be underestimating the entire thing. The last two times he'd put earphones in and go on the balcony to work out. At two in the morning. Barely awake, yet fuelled by anger and hatred.

         It's not bad if it works.

         "What's it been, like... five times? Up until now?"

         "Six, I'd say."

         "Wow," he sighs, all of a sudden falling face down onto the mattress; I giggle at his actions, my voice catching in my throat a bit as he shifts around until he's properly lying on his side, next to me. He's looking through the window that he's facing, while I contemplate whether or not I should lie down next to him- oh, what the hell, it can't be that bad of a move.

         I clear my throat awkwardly as I lay my weight on my palms, pushing myself down in a lying position next to Ashton; trying to brush it off as no big deal I attempt straightening out my shirt, and I don't know what it looks like to him, but I just feel like I'm failing miserably at keeping my cool.

         Who am I kidding, of course that's how it looks to him. Even in the – almost – complete dark, I find a way to embarrass myself.

         "Hey." I turn my head to the right, my eyes leaving my yellow shirt and instead falling upon Ashton's. The moonlight and my dimmed pink light are just enough for me to properly see his face, which, in all of his enjoyment of the absence of banging on our door, looks adorably peaceful. Content. Like a golden retriever catching an afternoon nap on a porch in the sun.

         "Hey."

         My breath hitches as he lifts his right hand, the palm of it coming on top of mine, laid on my stomach; slowly, almost hesitantly, I raise my hand a bit, turning it enough to capture his fingers in between my own, clasping our hands together. He allows all of this, with a completely straight face – like it's no big deal.

         And it wouldn't be if it weren't for Riley – we'd gone back on kissing terms and 'I love you' terms, and there was even that one time we slept together, when he freaked out over me moving out and leaving him for good. For his good, while we're at that.

         And after all of that, Riley came to our front door and my efforts were destroyed all over again; this is the first time in ten-ish days that Ashton's spoken to me. He was so angry about Riley coming here that he literally wouldn't talk to me. Thinking that we were back to square one all over again had me crying myself to sleep every night for the past week and a half.

         But now, we're lying next to each other. Just when I thought it might really be over this time – for God knows which time – we're lying in bed, looking at each other, holding hands.

         "You know," Ashton speaks up, licking his lips, "tour starts in a week time."

         I smile at him, feeling a little melancholically, "I know."

         "The whole world is gonna see us. Well, not the whole world, but we're certainly gonna be out there, available to all seven billion people to see us."

         "I know," I giggle, "you know how happy I am for you guys."

         Ashton's brows come together in a frown at my words, "What? What do you mean 'us guys'?"

         "Well- I mean I- the band?"

         He laughs at my words lightly, and continues laughing for a minute – presumably at the look on my face. "Yeah, no, that too- but I meant us. You and me."

         I widen my eyes as he shifts closer to me- "You mean you still want me to-"

         "Ow!" I'm cut off by a soft yelp escaping Ashton's lips, as he sits up, "What the hell, I think I just cut my toe- what the hell?"

         He reaches out for the foot of the bed, searching for what caused his foot the 'injury' – I pull my lips between my teeth when he pulls out two textbooks from underneath my blanket, first observing them, looking puzzled even with a blank expression; leaving them beside him after a few moments, he reaches under the blanket again, pulling out another textbook and two notebooks.

         "What the fuck is this, Lucia?"

         Welp.

         "Those are... those are my college textbooks. I've been... doing some light reading."

         "Light reading?" he repeats, dropping the book from his hands but keeping one of my notebooks, and starts aggressively flipping through the pages – 90% full pages. "You fucking call this light reading?"

         "Hey, you made me watch Harry Potter again, it's your fault I wanna be Hermione now."

         "Lucia," he says again, the sternness of his voice and the use of my full first name giving me chills; he doesn't care for my humor at all. "Why... why were you doing this?"

         He gathers all of my books, just to drop them on the mattress again, in the space between us; for a second we're both staring at my books, my mind blank and all scribbled out at the same time, and I can't really read his face – but he doesn't look very happy, to say the least.

         "I'm fucking waiting."

         "I..." I make a single sound, praying to God he doesn't overreact immediately. "I... Ashton, you can't say that..."

         "Can't say what? What can't I say, Lucia, speak up, for crying out loud."

         With another shaky sigh I run both hands through my hair, at this point only hoping the pending catastrophe won't be too bad. He's already too angry.

         "You've... been okay to me."

         I can almost feel his confusion joining his anger as he stays quiet for a few moments- "What? What the hell are you on-"

         "You can't say that you've been okay to me," I blurt out in one breath, knowing it can't get any worse from here. "You... you were mad about Riley again and I get that, believe me, I do, but- you keep getting angry at me and you keep not talking to me for ten days straight and- and I don't know what to think when you do that, so I just..."

         Taking a shaky breath I grip the blanket covering the lower half of my body, continuing to breathe heavily and loudly; my eyes are focused on my almost white knuckles and the barely visible blanket, thinking that I'd honestly rather die than look Ashton in the eye right now, when his anger is practically radiating off of him.

         From the corner of my eye, I can see him move his head from facing me to looking in front of himself as well; as we both remain quiet, he starts shaking his head- "You... you started studying... because you thought I didn't want you on tour anymore?"

         "Honestly, Ashton, what the hell am I supposed to think?" I raise my voice a little, encouraged by how low his was, "you're out here having these mood swings every other day, one moment you're kissing me, asking me to marry you and the next- you don't even speak to me! I have to be ready in case you really snap and I really have to return to college​ because of it-"

         As I'd expected, his college allergies haven't worn off, and they probably won't until he's sure I've given up on that idea – so I'm not very surprised when his way of dealing with it is grabbing my jaw, gripping it to the point where my face hurts, and pressing his lips to mine in a messy, hard kiss. I kind of knew I'd bring him to this point, I just didn't know how that would exactly happen.

         Nevertheless, as he moves his large hand around my neck to the back of my head, now gripping a fistful of my hair and in the meantime keeps pushing me down so he'd clamber over me, I can't help but have mixed emotions about everything. I'm relieved that he's back to not ignoring my existence, but we've already gone through this a million times, we've been back and forth too many times for me to just be relieved and happy at this point.

         In fact, I don't think I'm even feeling any kind of happiness. I'm exhausted. I am relieved, but there's a certain feeling of tiredness mixed with anxiousness going through me – probably because I know that this isn't the last time we'll end up in bed after not speaking to each other for a week and a half, and vice versa.

         "Oh, baby," he breathes out, sounding almost sad as he parts our lips, "oh, baby. Oh, baby."

         He lightly bites my cheek, the skin of my jawline, finally moving to my neck; my heart skips a beat when his shaky, clumsily fast fingers hook around the top of my shorts, pulling them down with my underwear- okay, so there's one thing I didn't expect to happen so soon. I'm going to have a concussion from all of his behavior changes tonight.

         "I know I'm a fucking asshole to you, but of course I want you on tour," he gasps, purposefully exaggerating his shortness of breath so he'd be less uncomfortable with saying something affectionate to me, "of course I want you with me, God dammit, Lucy, you've ruined me."

         He yanks my two pieces of clothing off my legs, throwing them somewhere on the floor, and I gulp; needless to say at this point my head is spinning and I'm no sure what I should concentrate on, Ashton's words or Ashton's actions. From my point of view both seem equally important.

         "You've done..." he pulls his own shorts down, just as aggressively, and- Jesus Christ, he doesn't waste a second. And while I'm choking on air, partly from his hand coming to hold my throat down firmly and partly from him ramming half of himself into me, he doesn't sound the least bit interrupted.

         "You've done the fucking worst of the worst, you fucked my best friend behind my back, and I still want you. I still want you. I still want you- I don't know why I keep doing this to myself, I don't know why I can't think of another woman while you exist, I don't know what kind of masochism this shit is since we both just get hurt over and over and over again- but I still want you."

         With half-closed eyes I smile dazedly at his words, but the curve soon transforms into the shape of zero as he brings his face just above mine – and, having established a satisfying pace, simultaneously gives me all of him. "Don't you think that's fucked up, Lucy?"

         "Pretty fucked up, Ashton."

         "Yeah," he whispers, his palm now on the side of my face, his thumb against my teeth while both of my hands are holding onto his hair as if my life depended on it. I can't even open my eyes enough to look at him, I'm too caught up in everything- but I can feel his eyes on me, concentrated on me, watching every move my face makes. "Yeah. I really hate myself for it sometimes, you know?"

         "How come?" I ask, my voice not even sounding like it's mine anymore. I didn't feel like I was the one saying that either – the only feeling I can detect is my soul dissociating from my body.

         "It's like I don't wanna be happy. It's like I don't wanna meet a normal girl and start a normal, healthy relationship and be a normal fucking person- no, for whatever fucking reason, I keep coming back to you. And even when I try to get on with my life- I'm right back where I was before. Here with you."

         He drops his head onto my chest, his forehead against my collarbone, and starts laughing; this in particular makes me open my eyes, and inhale deeply as I gain my consciousness back. He might've said something that he found funny, I don't know, I didn't hear half of what he said.

         "Ash- Ashton, are you-"

         "I'm a fucking idiot, that's what I am," he gasps, beads of sweat visible on his face as he looks up at me again, his hair slowly but surely getting stuck to his forehead, "but I can't live without you. I don't want to live without you, no matter what you do, I would still take a fucking bullet for- oh, for the love of God!"

         I widen my eyes, having spent the past ten minutes watching him through half-shut eyelids, as he sits up, and presses both hands onto me to hold me down – his right hand pushing my shoulder into the mattress, the thumb of his left hand imprinting what is sure to be a bruise by the morning into my waist. He's literally leaning his whole body against me.

         For another minute he keeps up with his pace, and if I weren't so lost in his actions, maybe I'd comprehend the sudden hard, stern look on his face a bit better, the one that made him this aggressive all of a sudden. Everything about him is aggressive – the way he's looking at me, the way he's holding me down, his movements- but I'm not complaining. Dear God, after everything, I'd be crazy to complain.

With a sharp groan – more of a sharp, quick growl, actually – he abruptly detaches himself from me; my body jerks forward at his actions, and I'm left supporting myself on my elbows, watching him bewildered as he hastily pulls his shorts back on and starts walking towards the door-

Oh my God. Not fucking again.

I slowly close my eyes, still in the process of reconnecting with my consciousness as I lie down, with my hands over my face; yeah, I knew that it was way too good to last. I knew he'd be back at our door at some point, literally – like some sort of villain fucking Terminator.

I frown and sit up, as I hear Ashton unlocking the front door- that's new. That's not happened before. I thought he'd gone out on the balcony again, but I guess he's using a different kind of approach. Maybe this will be more affecti-

"For fuck's sake-"

All of a sudden – silence. I furrow my brows, pulling a blanket around me, getting up on my knees to try and see what's going on-

"I'm so glad you opened the door."

"Riley," Ashton's forcefully calm voice can be heard, "no. Riley, I am begging you, no-"

Next thing I know, a series of clanking and clatter echoes through the apartment and then-

         Then a gunshot. And then Ashton's heart-stopping shriek.

         And then nothing.

         My knees give out, and I fall onto my ass on the mattress; my mind is blank and I can't breathe. I'm surely having some sort of concussion, if not a stroke. With a lump in my throat that's getting bigger by the second, making it actually impossible for me to breathe, I attempt getting back on my knees and doing, just, doing something – but then he appears at the door of the room.

         To say that my whole body is shaking as he lifts his hand, the one holding the gun, and points it at me – would be an understatement. My entire being gives out once again from the shock, the shock of being held at gunpoint. Having a gun pointed at my face. With my boyfriend possibly dead in the hallway, nowhere to be seen or heard.

         I look up at Riley's face; apart from being hard and cold as stone, he's 100% drunk again. I'm not even sure he realizes what he's doing, and, what he's already done.

         "Goodnight, sweetheart."

         My body is too weak in every possible way to react to what he's said, let alone reply. Before his words have even sunk into my brain, his wobbly hand holding the gun loosely pulls the trigger, and the bullet almost misses me.

         Almost.

*

hi how is everyone doing i am happy to ruin your day with this :———)