dazzle | amaze or overwhelm

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3/4/17

"MAELEIGH WINTER REPORT to the office," a woman's voice cracks over the high school intercom speaker.

My feet bring me to an abrupt halt in the crowded hallway at the sound of my name being called to the office. Confusion slides through me slowly before I turn on my heel and head the opposite way of my class.

Once I make it to the front of the school I push open the glass door to the office and walk up to the woman at the front desk. The same woman who once gave me donuts from Asher. The memory warms me and pisses me off all at once. But that's Asher to me; he sets me aflame but makes me want to punch him in the face all at the same time.

"Hi," I greet the older woman. "I'm Maeleigh," I tell her as a puzzled expression paints my face.

Pity instantly fills her gaze as she lets out a deep sigh. "Oh dear," she begins and the confusion that filled me before begins to twist and morph into something deeper.

"What?" I ask as fear fills my shaky tone.

"Your uncle just called," she tells me. "Your grandfather has passed away," she informs me with clear sadness in her eyes only emphasized by her thick-rimmed glasses.

"What?" I question again though this time it comes out with a small chuckle. I don't have an uncle, and my grandfather passed away when I was toddler. So her words are making absolutely no sense at this moment.

"He said he was going to pick you up out front, I guess it happened pretty fast," she says trying to comfort me though her words do nothing since I'm sitting in a stage of muddled disbelief. "Here's the message," she says before handing me a small piece of paper as if she sensed me not following along with her words.

My eyes scan the note she handed me, but the words are basically a regurgitated version of what she just told me. So the message offers me no other insight as to why I'm being told a grandfather I don't have is dead and an uncle I don't have is picking me up from school.

I'm about to tell this lady that she has the wrong person, and that she misunderstood the man on the phone who called. I'm about to step away and leave to head back to the rest of my classes for the day. But something stops me; something holds me back from speaking my thoughts. A voice deep inside me whispers to follow along. To play along with whatever lie this is.

My face twists in fake sadness. "Oh no," I say awkwardly, not the best when it comes to flat out lying, especially to adults. I've never done anything like this in my life. I've never even cut a class. But the adrenaline beats through me wildly knowing that if I follow along I won't regret this.

"Oh you poor thing," the older woman consoles with a tilt of her head. "Here's your pass, and you're excused from your classes for the rest of the day," she tells me, handing me my slips.

I nod in appreciation while also trying to keep a somber look over my face. "Thank you," I murmur out.

I quickly leave the office, my head still a mess of pure confusion at this random situation I have somehow weaved myself into. With a single shove I push my way through the front doors of the high school and walk down the steps for my eyes to land on a single Jeep. A single person.

My body stops with a jerk, and my stomach twists before dropping as nerves begin to eat away at me.

My feet lead me over to the one person I've been avoiding, but for some reason can't seem to stay away from for too long. The one person who I know isn't good for me, and yet when I'm with him everything feels good.

"What is this Asher?" I question as I lean in his passenger door window whilst crossing my arms.

His messy dark hair sticks up in random directions as if he's showered recently, and I hate the fact I know he has gym towards the beginning of the day. I hate that I know any part of his class schedule. I hate that I want to know him at all. His dark eyes rake over me and shine with all the dirty unsaid words that linger in his head. A head I can't seem to understand, and yet I still want to pick apart every nuance about him.

"Get in Maeleigh," he orders. Not asks. Not suggests. It's a full on demand and my body wants to cringe away at the idea, but instead it leans in even closer as if his words are meant to reel me in.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I state with a raised brow.

He snorts as if my words are inconceivable. No one denies Asher Lawton, no one tells him no. "Get in," he repeats himself with narrowed eyes.

"Asher—" I start.

I barely get his name out before he cuts me off with a sneer. "Maeleigh," he mocks.

Annoyance stirs within my chest as I turn away from him, his car, and his dumb plan to break me out of school. A plan he concocted in his head that he didn't even feel the need to run by me first.

I'm a few steps away when his next words stop me from crossing to the front entrance. "Please, come with me," he says with a strained voice. He doesn't beg, because Asher never would. But the sound of his voice brings me pause, because this might be the closest thing to begging he's ever done. "I planned a day for us. Just us," he adds and those words force my body to rotate and face him.

"Why?" I question as my lips purse, and intrigue begins to pump hotly through my blood.

His dark eyes drop to his lap. "Because I've missed you," he mumbles. His words stop me, stop everything. I don't want him to be able to play with my emotions so easily. I don't want my pulse to race madly for him. I don't want to be missed by him, and yet here I am letting my heart beat faster at the idea of him missing me.

Because I'm someone who tends to be easily forgotten about in this world.

A sigh flutters from my lips. "You could've talked to me," I tell him as I shift uncomfortably on my heels.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. My mouth falls slightly agape at the apology, as Asher is someone who never does. Even if he's in the wrong, even if he's caused someone's downfall, it's not his fault.

I pull my cardigan closer, wrapping myself in the knitted wool from the cool wind that flies around me. "Are you?" I ask with a hardened tone not letting him get completely away with everything just because of two simple words. "Because I thought I was nothing to you, a nobody," I spit his words bitterly back at him.

Guilt washes over his handsome features, but he quickly schools his expression to one of nonchalance. "We've been over this—"

I cut him off this time. "You're an ass," I finish his sentence. Because whatever happens in his life that's his excuse, the reason that exempts him from ever feeling true shame or embarrassment.

He nods once. "I'm an ass," he reiterates my words as if it's the only truth that matters.

"Doesn't excuse what you did," I say candidly, because he needs to know. Even if he doesn't care, or doesn't do anything about it. He needs to know that being him, being Asher Lawton, might absolve him from a lot in this town. But to me, it doesn't excuse him from hurting me and telling his own mother that I'm a nobody.

He pauses. "Then let me make up for it," he tells me seriously with his dark eyes locked on mine. As if he can see me, truly see me in this moment and is trying for the first time. Trying in his own way to apologize, to make me feel better.

I shouldn't get into the car. I should walk away. But with Asher I tend to do the exact opposite of everything I know is right. "You better get started," I huff before swinging the passenger door open. "You have a lot of ass kissing to do today," I tell him with a pointed look.

"I'll kiss your ass as much as you want," he tells me darkly as he drives out of the parking lot, and I can't help the flush that coats my whole body at his dirty innuendo.

It's been two weeks since he last talked to me, kissed me. Two weeks since I've been truly alone with him. Not since the night of his date with Francesca, the night he snuck into my room and touched me high as a kite pretending that he didn't just make out with my best friend as well.

Being alone with him now should be awkward and stuffed with lingering silences, after he inferred I was nothing to his mother. But it's oddly natural considering how much conflict resides within me at just the mention of his name. His Jeep windows are slightly cracked to let in the cool breeze, his radio on a random station filling the air between us with playful beats. The stillness that sits between us is normal, calming almost even.

When he goes to light his cigarette the smell fills my senses and another comforting wave crashes onto me. Because the small stick dangling between his lips mixes with the smell of whatever body wash he used earlier to make a smell that borders on mouthwatering.

I hate how much I like his smell. I hate how I don't mind that he fills his body with substances that will kill him. Maybe because I know at the end of everything he will be the one to kill me. The drug that fills my veins and floats through my system till it stops my heart.

My head falls against the headrest as I take a deep breath and let the hazy smoke fill my lungs, burn me, remind me of what he truly is. Because the longer I sit in this make believe world the more I tend to crave what can't be mine.

* * * * *

Coming to Asher's house in the middle of the day is almost surreal. I've never seen it during the day, flush with sunlight not drenched in the midnight moon.

He parks his car without a care, like he does everything, blocking one of the garages. But seeing as they have four, I assume his family can make due.

My eyes take in the amazing house he lives in, he reigns in, as he rounds the corner to open the car door for me. I realize it's moments like this, moments when the sun hits him just right, and he offers me a small sincere smile that I forget who he is. I forget all about the expiration date on whatever we are. I forget about the bruises he's caused my heart. I forget all about it, for this right here.

"My lady," he plays with a posh accent whilst also bowing his upper body.

I roll my eyes but can't stop the smile that wants to crack across my face. "You're going to have to work harder than that," I say with an annoyed glance as I step out of the car with my backpack in hand.

The sound of the door slamming shut echoes from behind me before I feel his warm lean body up against my back. My breath catches in my throat because it's been so long. It's been too long since his body has touched mine that this little taste of what's to come has my body screaming for more. For him. For everything.

A hot gush of air hits the back of my neck making me shiver in response. One I know he revels in because anytime my body responds to his he grins like a kid on Christmas morning. I'm his playground. His toy. One for him to use up and toss aside when he grows too old for me. But as his lips graze my neck softly I can't help but see a different scenario.

One where he picks me. One where he can possibly actually like me. One where he can change for me.

But that stupid wishful thinking is what's caused the deepening cracks in my heart thus far so I push them all away and let my body sway away from his.

"I will work harder," he counters and my stomach dips at his husky words. Words my eager heart wants to latch on to and hope. Hope he will actually try, hope he wants to try.

He rounds my body with a sinful grin attached to his lips before taking my hand in his and pulling me along with him towards his massive house.

A house mine could fit in three times over. The Grove, where Asher lives, are houses filled with the wealthy and the elite of Florida and Asher comes from a family of both. A family the exact opposite of mine, a life nowhere close to the one I live.

Being inside a house of this size, a house not filled with drunken teenagers makes it seem even bigger. Like the whole house could swallow me whole.

"What are we doing?" I question nervously as my eyes continue to fall over the pictures of young Asher on the wall. Pictures of him playing sports, family portraits, and school pictures coat the walls depicting a loving family. Being in this house alone with him begins to prick my skin with a touch of anxiety. Is he sure his parents aren't home? If they won't care we ditched school?

"I know you have a bit of a sweet tooth," he comments as if he knows me. His words pull me from my worried thoughts as he leads me deeper inside his house.

"How do you know?" I fight back not liking that he knows something so small yet significant about me. Not liking that he can read me so easily, not liking that he already owns so many pieces of me and here I stand knowing so little about him.

Before I can stop him he tugs on my backpack locked in my clasp and unzips the front pocket to take out a small bag of gummies. He reveals my candy stash that is always stocked with sweets to snack on.

An annoyed puff flies from my lips. "Fine," I relent. "You're right," I grumble.

"I know," he taunts with glittering eyes. He drops my pack on the ground near the entryway before taking my hand and leading me towards the kitchen. The kitchen I've only seen filled with red solo cups and drunken idiots. But now, now the kitchen is covered in every baking supply and ingredient known to man. "I thought we could bake," he suggests a bit hesitantly. Almost like he's afraid I will shut down his idea, shut down this day he planned for just us.

A small gasp lodges in my throat as my eyes rake over the sight before me. "Did you buy all of this?" I question with a stunned breath.

My eyes flicker over to see Asher drop his head and look at the tiled floor before running a hand over the back of his neck. "Melinda, our maid helped," he shrugs causally. "But, um, I made the list and everything," he tells me before clearing his throat.

My eyes burn with tears, bright salty tears of happiness. Because Asher is an ass. He's the ass who will hurt me at the end of this, and I will hurt my best friend. But in this very second he sees me like no one else does. He fills my life with overwhelming emotion. He tilts my world off center and creates beautiful chaos from within it. I should run, but just like the sun shines so brightly it skews my line of vision, all I see is what's right in front of me at this moment.

So I squeeze Asher's warm hand that rests in mine.

"What's your favorite dessert?" I ask him with a bright beaming smile. A smile I can't stop, a smile that shines for him.

His dark eyes fall on me. "You," he says with a wide, dirty smile.

A laugh escapes me. Loud and filled with a cheerfulness I didn't expect. "An actual dessert Asher," I tell him, letting my shoulder hit his playfully.

"Anything chocolate," he says with an easy shrug.

I take that small piece of information and lock it away with the other little bits of information I know about this man who has weaseled his way into my life, and despite my best efforts now my heart.

"Perfect," I tell him, breaking forward into the kitchen filled with every amazing culinary tool I could ever need. I'm not a great cook, but I can bake. It's something my mother and I used to do on bad days. Cake for a bad exam. Brownies for a rude customer. Muffins for a bully. Pie for being laid off.

Dessert became our release from the world. The break from the reality that haunts us every day, because life is far from easy.

Asher doesn't know this about me, but somehow he keeps piecing me together as if he knows me inside and out. As if I'm a book only he can translate in this odd and backwards world.

Because baking with him right now is a break from reality. The break we both seem to need. Within these four walls we are something sweet and beautiful, but the rest of Easton won't see that. To them we don't make sense, to them we don't match. But here, in this house, we are seen. We fit despite what surrounds us.

Asher follows from behind me as I begin to organize the mess of ingredients laid out in front of me. "What are you going to make?" he asks, watching me intently as if my every move actually captures his interest.

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I preheat the oven. "Devil's food cake," I reply with a wry smile.

"Really?" he questions with scrunched eyebrows.

A breathy laugh escapes my chest. "Yes, I thought it would be fitting," I tell him with a playful glance before beginning to measure out the dry ingredients. This recipe is a personal favorite and happens to be one of the few I have memorized.

"Is it good?" he inquires.

"You've never had it?" I ask him. I lift my eyes to see him shake his head in response. I sift some flour before lining up my sugars and eggs. "It's delicious," I tell him honestly.

Minutes pass and once again Asher and I find this natural rhythm. We fall in sync so easily it's almost frightening how well we can read each other. How easy it is to talk to him, to have him assist me, to move around each other with simplicity as if we've known each other for years.

Music pours over the speakers installed in the kitchen, so small they're almost invisible but the beats flow out of them powerfully. Music plays between us as we work together to bake a cake that's so beyond rich it's almost sickening. Kind of like Asher.

I mix. He hands me ingredients. I sing loudly and off key to the songs. He laughs at me and in turn sings just as loudly with me. He pours me drinks and I let myself get tipsy. He smokes a joint and I let myself not hate the fact that he's doing drugs.

An air of chocolaty goodness, tequila, and weed mix in the air and it shouldn't work. It should make me sick, but it doesn't. It's downright delectable. It's tantalizing just like watching the smoke curl out of Asher's pink lips. Curl, wind, and rise until the smoke dissipates into absolute nothing.

He taps the joint against the small ashtray on the counter. I want to ask him if his parents will care if he's smoking in the house. But I know the answer so I don't waste either of our time. Asher does what he wants in this world. I doubt the smell of a recreational drug will catch their attention when he has furniture damaging house parties every weekend.

"Does anyone call you Ash?" I question out of nowhere as my eyes lock on the small movement of him relighting the joint. The lighter flickers a few times before the flame stays alive long enough to burn.

His stark black eyes meet mine. "No," he trails hesitantly. "Why?"

Many of his teammates and friends at school call him Lawton or even Law, and then the other percent call him by his first name.

But Ash fits him so well. Ash is the powdery residue left after the burning of a substance. And Asher Lawton is going to leave me in a pile of burning embers when he's done with me. He's the fire that leaves piles of ruins in his wake. He destroys and leaves nothing behind but a small residue in his path towards his next victim.

I walk over towards him. Knowing I look like a mess covered in flour and every other cooking ingredient in this second. I'm a good baker, but not the cleanest one.

My fingers reach up and pull the small rolled up joint from between his lips. I examine it for a second; the idea of even taking a hit runs through me. The idea to feel the same high as Asher, to see if the smoke can even compare to the high I feel when I'm around him. When he touches me. When he kisses me.

I set the burning stick in the ashtray and lift my hands to his chest. I don't know if it's the sugar, or the few strongly poured drinks Asher made me but I want him at this moment more than anything.

I glance towards the timer to see the cake we just made has another half hour before it needs to come out.

My fingers begin to slowly unbutton the top couple buttons of his shirt. He's wearing a light airy simple button up today. A lighter color than he typically wears, but one that enhances his tan golden skin.

"I'm going to call you Ash," I tell him decisively as I slip the third button through the small hole. I raise my right hand to place it on the heated smooth skin of his chest.

His heart begins to race under my touch. A surge of power plows through me knowing that I affect him, knowing that I can make him feel wild and needy as well. Even in the flour covered state I'm in, I still make his pulse pound and his body spark with interest.

"Why?" he asks quietly.

A smirk paints my lips. "Because that's what you create," I tell him, letting my fingers trace against his soft skin.

"Ash," he says the word, the name as if it's one that never occurred to him.

"Burned in your path," I whisper letting my thoughts come to life.

His hand lifts to cup my cheek pulling my gaze from his body. His thumb strokes lightly before swiping against my cheek with more pressure. When he pulls his hand away I see there's a bit of chocolate on his thumb now. He then lifts what looks like the icing I just made to his lips, sucking off the chocolate excess.

My skin flames at the small action and I squeeze my thighs together hating how much he turns me on. Hating how no matter what he does he makes me want to drown in him until there's nothing left. Become the ash under his fingers. The smoke between his lips.

"How does it taste?" I ask my words coming out huskier than usual. Darker.

My fingers don't wait for a response and they resume their work until I reach the last button on his shirt. I try to push it off to reveal his body to me. A body I can't seem to get enough of. But his hands fall to my wrists and stop me. His fingers press into my skin hard enough to assert the power he wields over me. To show whose actually in charge. My heart thumps in my chest as Asher pushes me up against the counter. His eyes dark and untamed as they rake over my flushed cheeks and heaving chest.

"Like heaven," he finally answers my question.

"But I thought when I'm with you I'm closer to hell," I say repeating the words he told me not too long ago. Words he said after buying me expensive lingerie.

"You are," he breathes as his hips press into mine until I'm wedged between him and the counter. "I guess I haven't corrupted you enough," he rumbles letting his eyes travel over my face, my body, and every piece of me in-between. "We'll have to work on that."

"I'm not sleeping with you," I blurt out of nowhere. My cheeks flame at the words that decided to fly out of my lips. But I have to keep reiterating where the line is drawn for us, especially to myself. Because Asher pushes, he bends and breaks boundaries for us just like he bends and breaks the rules around him. And I tend to follow along without question. But sex, that line can't be crossed. If we pass that line I know he'll own me, and he already has too many pieces.

He can't own more of me when he won't even speak to me at school.

"I know," he says simply as if he doesn't expect anything less. He always says I'm not that person, but little does he know that I gradually am. The more time I spend around him the more I crave him. He's the drug I never knew I needed, and one hit, one touch, one kiss and he's all that runs through my head. "Not yet anyways," he adds letting his lips pull into his signature teasing smirk.

"Asher—" I begin to fight back, to once again draw the line for us.

But his name is the only word that slips between my lips before his crash into mine to shut me up. His hands leave my wrists to land on my hips and use my body to press into his, mold into his until I begin to lose the concept of where I end and where he begins.

His lips are addicting. His kisses long, hard, drugging to the extent where I actually feel high. His touch is all I feel, his lips all I need, his breath the only one I need to survive.

He pulls back ever so slightly so his lips are brushing across the skin of my jaw. His fingers pull at my cardigan until it's pooling at my feet. "You call me Ash now," he growls, letting his words sink into my skin making my blood spark to life.

I can't help but like Asher's rough words, rough fingertips, and rough touches as he rips my top over my head to leave me standing in a plain white bra and jeans before him. I like that he doesn't treat me carefully, that I'm not a doll that might break. To him I'm strong, I fight back, I give as hard as I get. The push and pull between us only grows as his lips come back to command mine.

Asher's fingers begin to crawl up my skin and land on my back where the clasp to my bra sits. He runs his fingers over the cotton material, teasing, playing with me like the toy I am. So I push, because watching him break for me is addicting. "Whatever Lawton," I mock as his lips latch on the sensitive skin on my neck.

His hands are suddenly back on my hips and thighs lifting me onto the bit of counter space behind us so I am now at the perfect height for our hips to meet. To align. "Maeleigh," he groans with a warning as his fingers finally release the clasp to my bra and tears it off my arms leaving me topless in front of him. In the daytime. Not shrouded in darkness. Not in my bedroom hiding.

Dark, clear eyes light a flaming trail over my body. And in his eyes I'm not the slightly awkward girl from school who stands in the corner. I'm not the tall lanky girl, or the girl who sits in the back of class alone. I'm not just Francesca's charity case.

I'm desired. I'm sexy. I'm everything he needs and the surge of power that fills me at the pure need mirrored in his eyes sets me off.

I pull him back to me feverish for his taste as I bite his bottom lip before diving back in. I begin to unbutton his jeans blindly because I need more. I need more of his skin on mine. I need more of his touch. More of this drug that only he can provide. More of this fire that only he can light and stoke to life.

He breaks away from my swollen lips before he once again finds the space between my shoulder and my neck. He lets his teeth scrape against the delicate skin there before sinking them in harshly. "Ash," I moan at the touch of pain. I moan the name I gave him. The name he now craves to be called. The name that only belongs to us. To this moment in time when we are perfect. Beautiful. Seen.

I tug down his jeans until he stands before me in only his grey briefs. My eyes cast down his body. His ridiculously sick body that makes me want to almost drool. He's all lean and toned and muscled in the spots that matter. He's beautiful. He's a dark prince. An addictive drug that feels amazing when it hits, but the comedown only causes heartache.

So I let him kiss the tips of my breast. I let his lips elicit loud moans from me and stoke the ache between my thighs. I let his lips press into my skin in that one perfect spot that has me diving for the edge.

I let his fingers unbutton my jeans and slide his fingers under my lace thong to create magic between us.

I let him use my body because it feels too good not to. I close my eyes, and let the moment take over because moments like this are what makes it okay for him to ignore me.

What makes it okay to see him to date and kiss my best friend.

What makes it okay to get closer and closer to that line I can't cross. But that line is becoming more and more blurred and the dance we play on it I know is going to crash upon us.

But for now we play in the flames. Letting them lick us, tease us, before they burn us to ash.