Summary: She can walk with her head held high, and she can pretend that she doesn't care, that she doesn't hurt. But I know she does. Spashley drabble

Okay. So this is completely random, and yet another oneshot. I seem to be doing a lot of those lately. Um, this might get a little OOC at points, but you'll have to deal. Its supposed to show a new side of Ashley. So yeah.

Disclaimer: I don't own SON nor do I own the idea of graffiti on the locker. I got that from One Tree Hill. Because its awesome. I own the plot, the idea, the writing, and Joe Jonas. Pahaha.

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Breaking

The bright LA sun shone down constantly, as it usually did. She grasped my hand tightly in her own and offered a smile. I could feel her smooth hand trembling slightly in my own, and I saw the worry shining in her chocolate brown eyes. I squeezed her hand gently.

Lately, the teases and comments had only gotten worse. She was constantly called things like lezbo. When word escaped about some of the stuff that happened with Aiden, she got called things like whore and slut. I could see that she felt like she could never satisfy them all. They don't like her when she's gay, they don't like her when she's straight. She's caught in some sort of in between. She didn't know what to do.

She shook even more, and I pulled her into some shape and into a hug. She hugged me back tightly.

"Its okay, babe." I whispered into her ear. She nodded.

"I know." I gave her a kiss, and we started walking again.

She thought she had to be strong, for me. She'd been like this for a lot longer then I had, and she felt like she needed to be used to it. Underneath all her tough layers, she was a sweet girl. She was vulnerable. She bruised easily, but she didn't let anyone see it. She can walk around with her head held high, and she can pretend that she doesn't care, that she doesn't hurt. But I know she does. She hurts maybe more then I do.

You see, I found myself with her. I found that I was gay, and I was proud of it. But she's been living with it for a lot longer then I have. She thinks that means it has to hurt less for her, but it doesn't. She's been through things that make her self conscious, make her more hurt. The blows are harder, the stabs are deeper. But she feels like she has an image to uphold, and she can't let that fall. She can't let her walls tumble, and let everyone see her for the vulnerable person that she is. Because once they see her that vulnerable, they see that they hurt her.

And they'll just hurt her even more then they already do.

We headed to her locker, but my breath caught in my throat when I saw it. I felt her body go rigid against mine, I felt her hand go frozen cold. I looked at her, and she had tears in her eyes. I saw it stung, more then anything.

On her locker, spray painted in bright red spray paint, was dyke. In huge letters that caught anyone's attention. She dropped my hand and ran, ran away from the whispers that surrounded, away from all the pain, away from everything.

"You think thats funny?!" I screamed at the onlookers. I had had enough of this. "You think its amusing or cool to label someone something like that? Do you think it doesn't hurt her? Well you're wrong. Its not funny, its not cool. She can't help who she is. She didn't wake up one day and decide to be gay! She can not help who she falls in love with, and neither can I. So what if I like girls? So what if I'm in love with a girl? You have no right to judge anyone because of who they love. Its not a choice. Its who we are. You're not better then us because of it. You're not cooler. You're not above us. We are not inferiors. So stop sitting here and making fun of us. Because you're the ones with things that need to be fixed." I spat, venom dripping from every word I spoke.

Then I ran after her to find her.

I see now that she was breaking. Slowly, they were breaking her into two, but she tried to glue herself back together, before any piece fell apart. But she couldn't. She couldn't realize that she needed someone. She couldn't come face to face with the fact that she needs someone sometimes, that she's not as strong as she makes herself out to be.

I found her at the park next to a big tree.

"Hey." I whispered, sitting next to her.

"Hi." she reached a hand up to wipe it away, but I stopped her.

"Its okay to cry, love." I murmured. And she did. She cried every last tear she had been keeping in as I held her close to me. I ran my fingers through her hair. I offered no comfort, for I had none. I couldn't control them. They did what they did, and I couldn't take it back. So I sat with her while she finally let down her wall.

She finally broke.

And I was prepared to help her piece herself together.

Because Ashley Davies is not as strong as she makes herself out to be.

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Okay guys. How was it?

Review, lovies?

--Lani