Chapter 12: Lockers
Amy wondered vainly how far beyond the Catholic line she was currently treading, as her fingertips grazed against the cool metal of each passing faded-blue locker.
Her thoughts were rampant on the streets of unabashed promiscuity. The passion that had exploded inside her heated her skin deliciously from within. Or it could have been the pesky feverishness, she wasn't a hundred percent sure either way.
She imagined steam swirling from the point where the freezing air caressed her skin. The school corridor yawned dark and hollow as Amy walked, her heart wanting to tear apart its cage, and the sound of her footsteps softer than its beat.
For the rest of the people, the euphoria of the victory had mellowed out with the end of the game, but for Amy, it had evolved into something even more exhilarating. In the night, the monster that had slumbered for many trying months had been unleashed and it clawed at her insides, tenderly tearing apart the soft tissue, as boiling blood gushed out from the wounds.
It was an ache so tantalizing it made her want more, so much more.
Hormones, she thought bitterly. Damn hormones.
In a sensual, hypnotic daze Amy followed the pull that had been hooked and driven deep inside the small of her back. It was leading her to the only place she thought he might be in, but she had no shred of confirmation if he was.
Amy sure hoped he would be.
Her subconscious snapped. Jesus woman, just go find a cucumber or something.
Against her better percipience, Amy knew it was far too late for that. Her head was spiraling around in circles, as though she was on a twisted carousel that climbed higher as it spun swifter.
Amy felt alive, as lasciviously alive as only a deep, raw, hungry kiss could make a girl feel. She was trying to rein herself in, steer away from this very welcome distraction; yanking her hair through her fist, but that resultant pain was dull and meaningless against the cavernous agony that consumed her.
She was just so tired of being the good girl.
Amy had discovered an aphrodisiac and it had pushed her off the edge – the fear of getting caught doing something that felt so right, in the wrong place and at the wrong time. This is why they go at it under the bleachers during a game, she thought as she clenched her teeth till they hurt. It's all about the kicks.
Finally, Amy could hear voices from inside the room she was looking for. Male voices.
Is he in there?
"I'll see you at my house then, Malarkey," a boy's voice called out, as heavy footfalls became louder, coming straight towards her. Stealthily, she ducked behind a fire extinguisher and watched Jason Darko exit the boy's locker room with his sports bag slung across his shoulders.
It was too perfect. He was inside. But was he alone?
Amy realized she hadn't given much thought to the part that came afterwards. Unsurprisingly, porn had turned out to be a disappointment in the hour of her greatest need. What on earth am I even supposed to say to him? Take me, oh why don't you?
Amy drew a deep breath, steeling her nerves.
Even the pathetic door protested when she pushed it open.
As far as she could see, the locker room was unoccupied and in sore need of an air freshener. But even the room that understandably reeked of sweaty boys couldn't douse out her libido. It was partitioned into four rectangular, three-sided cubicles that had individual black and electric blue lockers lining them.
The one farthest from the entrance was lit and the rest were shrouded in darkness. Amy tiptoed along the side, a metallic mesh grill acting like her Ariadne's string in this labyrinth she had never been in before.
Fucking stop already, her subconscious pleaded. She gagged the bitch and threw her down the basement stairs.
Amy passed Coach Davis' locked office door, and through the glass, she saw that it was filled with gilded football trophies, neatly arranged picture frames of notable alumni, and for some reason, bonsais in a myriad of shapes and styles. A locker slammed shut and then... voices again, closer and more distinct.
"Great game today, man," Amy heard a deep voice say. She was sure it belonged to Stefan Calder. The unmistakable sound of two hands grasping each other issued as she stood biding her time.
"We were lucky that you remembered one of Caleb's crazy tactics," a gruffer one added. It sounded like one of their seniors'. "Where is the loony bastard anyway? On the run from the new sheriff? Or that uptight girl he was bragging about at Jefferey's gig?"
"Wouldn't be the first time he's disappeared on a drug bender," Stefan said. He laughed gruffly and added, "Wouldn't kick the guy for helping us from beyond the grave though."
It was as if someone had thrown ice-cold water on Amy's teenage lust. Do they know something?
"Yeah," a quieter, more familiar voice replied.
Stefan and the senior waited for him to continue but when the lengthening silence confirmed that Ashton wouldn't do so, they strode out, exchanging puzzled looks. Faster than lightning, the silhouette of a plan began forming in Amy's mind; she needed to follow Stefan and the senior to the party and finally start getting some answers. But she realized that there was only one way.
Amy slipped further into the shadows as the two boys passed by.
They did not notice her.
She heard the door slam, followed by deathly stillness.
Showtime.
"It is pretty late to be here," Amy said, shuffling out of her hiding place, adrenaline making her bolder by the second.
Ashton flinched perceptibly and turned. When he saw her, his eyes were wide, but the momentary panic was rapidly morphing into something darker, full of licentious intent. It almost made all thoughts of Caleb fly out of her brain.
He was wearing coarse, storm-blue jeans that were just hanging from his waist, accentuating the cut of his hips. Ashton was shirtless, perhaps she had interrupted him when he was about to put one on.
Amy was beginning to doubt the flawlessness of the scene that was unfolding before her eyes. Two boys, one shot.
"And you shouldn't be here at all," Ashton challenged, pulling a coral hoodie over his head. "Were you eavesdropping, Irvine?"
"You don't want to miss that party," Amy said, the implications of her words unclear. "Stefan and the rest will be wai–"
"Fuck the party."
The way his tongue rolled around the word sent delicious tingles down her spine, the natal sparks before a forest fire. Amy's mouth went dry as she drank him in. A simple white towel still hung around his neck, his short hair dripping water from an earlier shower onto his shoulders.
Ashton sauntered over to her, his eyes a magnetic force. He was close enough that his addictive scent washed over her like heat across desolate sand dunes. With narrowed eyes hiding a teasing smirk, he asked, "You said you weren't cool enough for any of that so, honestly, why are you here?"
She needed to sidestep that somehow. "Thought we could go to the party together," Amy said, boldly. "A couple of misfit toys."
"Hmm," he breathed, moving closer, grinning wolfishly in her ear, his arms blocking all thoughts of escape. "I think you wanted to pick up where we left off."
Amy laughed, putting a steady hand on him. "Easy darlin', we don't want any–"
He captured her protests with his lips and turned them into secrets. Amy pulled him closer in response and felt Ashton's breath hitch as he began to taste the electricity that had devastated her body all night.
Amy felt his large hand, holding her face in place as he broke off the heated kiss to trail lighter ones along her jaw, never missing her freckled imperfections. The crude, dirty tape on his index finger felt heavenly against the smoothness of her cheek. They were dragging what was left of the sultry air into their lungs, their sanity compromised by the mere taste of suppressed carnality.
But it wasn't enough. Not even close.
Then they heard a loud bang, not dissimilar to that of the locker room door closing.
They broke apart.
Ashton held her as she cast a bemused gaze up at him, feeling better than she had in a long while. He murmured, "Rain check?"
Smiling sweetly, Amy looked into his beautiful amber-brown eyes. Then she grabbed his neck, bringing her mouth close to his ear, and said, "I know where we can go."
"Not Jason's party, no, he's such a jerk," he moaned, crabbily drawing out the words, pulling away. "We can go to our spot."
"What if my parents are awake?"
"We'll be extra quiet."
"As if," she snickered. "The roof isn't soundproof you know."
Another bang, much closer this time, accompanied by the sound of turning locks, drove the point home. They exchanged glances that meant, yeah, we gotta go now.
Hand in hand, they ran through the vacant school corridor, just as the janitor chastised their fast fleeing backs. Something about not being in the school after hours. Laughing, they stumbled into the now empty parking lot where a lone space-grey jeep was parked.
"This is yours?" she asked him, in disbelief.
"Yes, ma'am. Isn't she a beauty?" he said, smiling boyishly.
"So she's your girlfriend?" she teased.
"Oh, jealousy isn't a good look on you, Ames."
"I wonder how many places exist where you can go fuck yourself."
"Ouch," Ashton chuckled, enjoying their banter.
He opened the door for her and she buckled up in the dark leather seat. Ashton had his football gear in a gym bag, knotted up in his hands, as he walked over to the driver's side. Amy checked herself in the rearview mirror. Her hazel eyes were bright, the yellow in them glittering, her tawny hair a mess, and her cheeks flushed pink. She sighed and touched her cool lips, already wanting Ashton's on them again.
"So, last chance, do you really not wanna go to Jason's party?" she quipped, pulling her hair into a ponytail, her scattered senses returning slowly.
Ashton looked at her flirtatiously, before unbuckling her seatbelt and patting his lap. "I would rather make up for rude interruptions right here."
The corners of her lips lifted into a sneaky smile as she struggled to climb on top of him. Ashton wrapped his arms around her, a slow laugh rumbling deep in his throat. "Now that's an offer I wouldn't dream of refusing," she said.
Disapproving, blue-eyed guilt twisted inside her, but she let it go, choosing to live in the moment instead.
Amy brought her lips closer to Ashton's, teasing and tasting, cradling his head in her arms. His calloused hands slipped inside her sweatshirt, feeling her supple skin. It was shaping up to be the best night of her life.
And then, Amy's phone started buzzing.
"Ah," Ashton sighed, as on the twentieth ring it became painstakingly obvious that he was going to be cockblocked yet again. Amy groaned as she read 'Mom' flashing stubbornly on the screen. She answered the call.
"Hello? Yes, Mom, I am coming... the phone was in Gemma's car..." she spoke, her tone betraying her exasperation. Ashton was trailing feather light kisses on her neck, and it was not helping her keep up an innocent conversation with her mother. "... Yes, the game is over but I thought I could... ugh, fine, I will be home in fifteen. Bye."
"She finally hung up, huh?"
"I am sorry," Amy said, burying her nose in the crook of his neck. He exhaled gruffly, strengthening his hold around her. The firm, possessive gesture made her heart sing.
"It's alright, beautiful. But I plan on having my way with you later."
She smiled against his neck. "And if I refuse?"
"It won't be pretty," he said, promptly. "How comfortable are you being bound and gagged?"
"You wouldn't dare."
Ashton's laugh was infectious. He kissed her chastely.
Amy returned to her seat. Easily pulling out of the school, he navigated the jeep up the sleepless roads to her house. The night was still; everyone in the neighborhood comfortably nestled in their suburban houses for a chilly start to the holidays. Taking her soft hand in his, Ashton rubbed slow, soothing circles on her skin with his thumb.
She gazed past her own hazy reflection, biting her lip. When rationality returned and her head left the lofty clouds of lust, Amy let her subconscious out of her make-shift prison. You have to ask him, you stupid, silly female, she remarked exasperatingly. Amy hated her for being right.
She took a deep breath. "Ashton?"
"Yeah?" He politely glanced at her.
"I think we should take it slow. I don't want to ruin things –"
"By moving too fast?" he laughed, not too unkindly. It was an obvious quote.
Amy looked at her knotted hands, wondering where she had lost her beanie. This feeble monologue was turning out to be quite complicated, even by the usual standards of their relationship, to get off her chest and out in the open. "The thing is... I don't think..."
"Yeah, I know, I don't think I'm ready for a relationship either right now. With moving again, PSATs, and my parents on a warpath..."
Amy's ears were filling with a mortifying rush of blood, drowning out reason. She had wanted to tell him that despite her bravado she wasn't ready for the next big step yet but instead he had abandoned Amy at the very bottom of the stairs. See? You are beyond repair even for Ashton, her subconscious scathed, finally getting her revenge.
"How about we don't put any labels on it and see where it goes?" he added.
When she didn't reply Ashton shifted his attention from the road and looked at her. He found her staring at him, hands folded across her chest, her hazel eyes guarded.
"Isn't that what you wanted to say?" he asked, hesitantly.
"Yeah, something like that," Amy lied with effort.
Ashton looked away.
Amy's irrational, crazy-hurt side vied for control over her riotous emotions. But she reined it in, knowing that he wasn't in the wrong, technically speaking. They hadn't been dating for the past two years; couldn't just pick up the frayed, charred threads and begin again.
The frosty silence that followed was short-lived.
Ashton stopped in front of her house. Leaning over slightly he began, "Amy, look –"
"You don't need to explain, I understand –"
"No, you don't. Things just aren't the same anymore," he said, trying to sound convincing without tipping her off further.
Amy looked at his beautiful face begging her to understand. No matter how hurt she felt, it would be unwarranted if she punished Ashton for wanting to test the waters before diving in headfirst. She selfishly noted that not his words nor his actions were apologetic in the slightest.
You're doing that loser thing again, Amelia.
"Ashton, I don't know how..." she sighed. Amy gestured around wildly, hoping she could catch the right words from thin air. "Logic and emotions never quite function on the same wavelength, you know?"
He clenched his jaw, but his eyes were still vulnerable. Ashton said nothing, withdrawing, starting to shut her out. Amy reached inside, drawing some of the wisdom her subconscious was gingerly proffering.
She added, quietly, "It's not like we had decided on anything after we broke up. We didn't know."
"I just need some more time," Ashton said, beseeching her.
Amy blinked, trying hard to believe his words. But he had changed.
"I want that too," she said, not sure which part of her had just spoken, her brain or her heart.
He visibly relaxed, half-a-dimple forming on his cheek. Amy's phone started ringing and she sighed. "I think I should go."
She hadn't moved at all but she already felt the gap between them widen into a chasm. Amy kissed his cheek, on the spot where his dimple usually appeared.
"Thank you for dropping me home, Ashton," Amy whispered, sad to leave her plan foiled, afraid that she had disappointed the other boy who actually needed her. She opened the door and hurried out.
"Amy!"
She turned to look at him.
"Thank you. For giving me a chance."
Amy tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and smiled at the boy who never quite spoke more than a handful of words, but somehow managed to find the perfect ones, every single time.
✧
A/N: So all that glitters isn't gold after all and perfection is overrated. Has someone ever played the 'no labels' card with you? Is Amy overreacting?
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