Bleeding Love

Disclaimer: I do not own South of Nowhere.

Summary: My heart's crippled by the vein I keep on closing. You cut me open, and I keep bleeding love. Set at the end of "The Truth Hurts," season 3. Spashley Oneshot.

This was inspired by the song "Bleeding Love," performed by Leona Lewis.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

Spencer's POV

In hindsight, I guess I should have known that going back to Chelsea's place with Carmen would be a mistake. That studio seemed to be a cesspool for the unpredictable in my life. My last kiss with Ashley before I broke her heart. My first kiss with Carmen before I again broke Ashley's heart (I don't think I'll ever forget that look on her face when she realized I was dating someone else). And now this.

I hug my arms around myself as I sit huddled on the tarp-covered divan. Tears are stinging my eyes. My elbow and back hurt from where I connected with the wall. My stomach churns with nausea. My ears ring, and my mind reels as I replay the whole scene in my head.

"So, what was up with that girl there?"

"Ashley? She's…" I faltered because how does one define Ashley Davies? I couldn't help but smile at the thought. "If you knew her, you'd get it."

I could tell Carmen didn't find the humor in it. "Get what? That she's a stuck-up, phony, white trash bitch?"

The venom in her tone caught me off guard. "Um…but…she's not. I mean, I know she puts off a certain image, but it's not her."

"Really."

"Yeah. Once you get to know her, she's funny and surprising and challenging and a total pain in the ass sometimes."

Carmen chuckled, but it sounded almost cold. "You sound like you're in love with her…or something."

I was starting to not like where this was going and decided to divert away from it. "We used to date, but it was pretty intense, and it's over now. Want me to show you how over?"

I moved in to kiss her. It was supposed to drive any thoughts of Ashley out of both our minds, but Carmen held up her arm to push her way past me.

"So, what, I'm not funny and surprising?"

"What? Of course you are."

"Then, I'm not intense enough for you?"

"Carmen—"

"Or is it just that I'm not her?"

"Where is this coming from?"

"How about the fact that you're still in love with your ex-girlfriend?"

"Wha…Carmen, I…" Words failed me. For every day that I had ignored it and denied it in the past weeks, I somehow couldn't seem deny it at that moment. A detail that didn't escape Carmen's attention.

"You brought me there to make her jealous, didn't you?"

"What? No, Carmen, I brought you there because I wanted to be with you. I didn't even want to go to Ego in the first pla—"

"But you did! For her! You went there for her!"

Carmen angrily swept the bottles of paint, brushes, and other objects off the table next to me. I backed up to stand behind the stool. She promptly kicked the stool out of the way.

"Carmen, I think you need to stop freaking out and let me—"

"Let you what? Explain? I think you've explained enough."

"Please calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down!"

I involuntarily flinch at the memory of what happened next. I look down to see my phone clutched in my hand. My fingers act on muscle memory, and I don't even realize I have called her until I hear her pick up on the other end of the line. Even in my state, I still can't help but smile hearing that gravelly voice.

"Hey there."

"Hey."

"Look, Spence, I really am sorry about tonight."

"Don't worry about it."

I think she can hear the waver in my voice even above the music at the club. "Are you okay?" To tell the truth, I'm a bit surprised she noticed, but I can't find the words to answer her. "Spencer?"

I feel the tears start up again because she sounds so worried now. "…come pick me up?" I finally manage.

There's a pause on her end of the line where all I can hear is the club music and voices of random people. I start to wonder if she'll even come until I hear her arguing with Kyla in the background.

"…where are you?" she finally asks.

Another sad smile breaks through. Damn that reflex. "Chelsea's studio."

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Six, if I hit all green lights."

A tiny laugh escapes my lips as she hangs up the phone. I don't know what made me call her. Well, okay, that's not true. I know exactly why I called her, but I don't really want her to see me like this. Weak. Scared. Broken…Needing her.

I'm not sure I have it in me to explain what happened. What I do know with absolute certainty is that there's only one person in the entire world that can fix this and make the hurt go away. Maybe that's what scares me most.

Ashley's POV

I manage to avoid a complete bitch fest with Kyla as I leave Ego with a mere mention of Spencer's name. I guess the girl still has some sense left in her that's not devoted to 'The Scene.' I get in my Porsche, and I'm pretty sure I'm breaking the speed limit by about twenty miles per hour, but I don't care. Spencer had sounded…scared. Hurt. Like she had been crying. It made my gut wrench and my heart twist, and something as trivial as traffic laws isn't going to slow me down from getting to her.

I pull up right outside the studio, jump out of the car, and practically run up to the building. I punch in the security code and open the door. I don't know what I was expecting to find when I got to Chelsea's, but this isn't it. Paint bottles, palettes, and brushes are scattered across the floor. A painting looks like it's been knocked off the wall. And Spencer is curled up in a ball on the divan, her arms tightly around herself. I rush over and kneel on the floor next to her.

"Spencer?"

I hear her sniffle, and I brush some hair out of her face. Her eyes are red and puffy, and her cheeks are stained with tears.

"Spence, are you all right?"

She doesn't answer, but she does push herself up so that she's sitting. I'm still on the floor between her knees, looking up at her, silently begging her for some hint of what happened.

"Sweetie, what's wrong? What happened?" Whoops. Didn't mean to let that term of affection slip out, but oh well. She either doesn't notice or doesn't care because she just shakes her head. "Where's…" Oh crap, what was that chick's name? "…Cameron?"

"Carmen." Finally, a word. "She left."

I open my mouth to inquire further, but I stop when I take in more details about the scene. Spencer is hunched over, almost like she's trying to physically withdraw into herself. My eyes roam back across the room to the objects scattered haphazardly on the floor. A stool is overturned. The corner of the displaced painting is crunched as though it had fallen from the wall. I look back into my friend's clouded blue eyes.

"Spence…"

I reach up a hand to brush another lock of hair out of her eyes, but she flinches, and I instantly freeze my movement. I search her eyes and see regret flashing in them from the involuntary reaction. My blood runs cold as the realization dawns on me. Slowly, very slowly, I continue to reach until my fingers can gently trace her cheek.

"…did she…did Carmen hurt you?"

"Just take me home?"

She sounds so fragile, so unlike the strong, spirited girl I fell in love with. I look at her, and I can tell that yet another piece of her innocence has been stripped away, adding another slash to the vulnerable flesh of her pure soul. I feel the prick of tears. The girl I love more than anything is bleeding, and I don't know how to stop it.

The door opens, and a dark-haired girl walks into the studio. She stops in her tracks when she sees me. My blood, earlier frozen with concern for Spencer, now boils with anger.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I growl.

Carmen's eyes narrow in recognition. "I would ask the same, but I already know the answer." Her eyes shift to the only blonde in the room. "Spencer, look, I never should've done that and I'm sorry. Please forgive me?"

Feeling Spencer tense, I stand up, putting myself between her and Carmen. " I think you've done enough."

Oh, if looks could kill. "Do you mind?"

"Yeah, I do. Come near Spencer again, and you and I are going to have a serious problem."

"What are you going to do? Pay your boyfriend off to come kick my ass?"

"Why would I waste the money on that when I can just as easily kick your ass myself?"

"I'd like to see you try."

"Oh no, you see, I've put up with Madison Duarte, Queen Bitch of L.A., for years, and trust me: she's a lot scarier than you."

Spencer stands and touches my arm. "Come on, Ash. Let's just go."

I'm about to agree when Carmen turns her sneer on the blonde. "Why am I not surprised that the first thing you do is call her?"

I clench my fists. "Back off, Wal-Mart."

"Bite me, Paris."

"Two-bit tramp."

"Vapid whore."

Spencer gives my arm an insistent tug. "Ash, please? Take me home?"

"Spencer—"

"Carmen, just don't," the blonde interrupts.

I tear my glare away from Carmen and immediately soften for my friend. Only for her. "Yeah, okay, Spence." I follow her to the door, but I pause and look back at the other brunette. "Touch Spencer again, and I'll break every bone in your face."

With that, we leave the studio and get into my car. Spencer is silent for several minutes as we drive.

"Thank you," she finally whispers.

"For what?"

"For coming. And not hitting Carmen."

"Well, first, I'm always going to come whenever you need me. And second, it took all my willpower not to, believe me." I glance over at her. "I'm glad you called."

Another few minutes of quiet pass until she suddenly speaks again. "I changed my mind. I don't want to go home."

"All right. Where to, then?"

"…can we go to your place?"

Admittedly, it catches me off guard. "…if you want," I respond carefully.

Now, I'm not stupid. Far from it, actually. I've dealt with girls in this frail state of mind before—hell, I've been the girl in this state of mind—and we always want the same thing; to forget the pain. A mindless fuck to push everything else away, even if only for a few moments. I did it with Aiden more times than I like to admit, and quite frankly, I think he was doing the exact same thing (he's such a woman, no wonder I slept with him). Usually, I'd just give the girl what she wanted because it gave me what I wanted.

I don't think I can with Spencer. Because what I want isn't just a mindless fuck. A one-night stand. Another reason for her to hate me in the morning. What I want is a meaningful connection. Forever. Another reason for her to love me in the morning. And I don't know if she's willing to give me that.

We reach the loft, I park the car in the underground garage, and I lead her up the stairs to my door in silence. I'm rather nervous, which is really odd considering this sort of thing is usually my forte. Then again, Spencer isn't exactly like the girls I used to bring back to my place. My hands shake as I try, unsuccessfully, to unlock the door. It seems I can't steady my hands enough to fit the damn key into the damn keyhole, and it doesn't help that I can feel Spencer's eyes on me.

By some miracle, I finally get the door open, and I take my time closing it after Spencer walks into the loft. From the complete silence, I know Kyla is still out.

"Do you want something to drink? Food? Kyla eats like a rabbit, but there might be something edible around here…"

The blonde shakes her head as she stands in the middle of my living room. She looks small. Young, but somehow aged far beyond her seventeen years. It occurs to me that maybe I look the same to her.

"Do you…want to talk about what happened?"

She shakes her head. Her whisper is so soft, I almost miss her words. "Make me forget? Make me feel you and not her?"

I sigh. That certainly didn't take long. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if she even realizes what she's asking of me. My words begin tumbling out of my mouth before I even know what I'm saying, but it's the only way I can detract from my desire to give in to her plea.

"For what? One night? I can't do that, Spence."

"Ash…"

My resolve is already wavering because I want nothing more than to feel her.

"I mean, I can do that. Hell, I've done it with every other girl I've come across, but—"

"Ash—"

Love her.

"—Spencer, I still…want to be more."

"Ash—"

Protect her.

"And I realize this thing with…Carmen and these other girls—"

"Ashley!"

"What?"

"Just kiss me?"

My train of rambling broken, so breaks my self-restraint. The request is barely out of her mouth before I claim her lips with my own. I'm a person who has prided myself on my stubbornness and detachedness, and yet this girl next door from Ohio has somehow wormed her way through my walls to become my biggest weakness. My worst addiction. My reason for breathing. Maybe I'm bleeding, too.

The kiss is deep. Passionate. Needy, hot, tender, consuming, burning, and a million other things that I can't sort through at this particular moment. Tongues meet and slide against each other in a dance so gloriously familiar to us and at the same time, so painfully foreign. My left hand cups her face. Hers buries itself in my hair. My right hand slides from her waist up her sides to the base of her neck. Hers grips at my shoulder blade, holding me tight against her.

We separate when the backs of her knees come in contact with something. Breathing heavily, I look down and see that we somehow made it to the edge of my bed. I honestly have no idea how we got here. I drop my head to rest in the crook of her neck, my mind warring between two very different instincts. Simply put, fight or flight.

"Love me?"

I know what she means. She's not asking me if I love her. She's asking me to make love to her. I stare into her stormy blue eyes and put both my mind and hers to rest with a single word.

"Always."

Lips meet. Clothes are shed. I push her back—or maybe she's pulling me forward—and she settles down into my pillows as I lower my body onto hers. I realize in this moment just how much I missed her: her skin, her hands, her legs, her belly button, her hair, her lips, her eyes. Her hand begins trailing down my body, but I catch her wrist, stopping it from its southward drift.

"Spencer, no."

"What?"

There's confusion and hurt in her eyes as she meets my gaze, and I want nothing more than to make sure she never has to doubt me again.

"Tonight's about you." I press my lips to hers in a silent promise, and I whisper what I so desperately need her to know. "…I love you."

She stares up at me for a small eternity, and I can see her turning my words over in her haze-filled mind. Finally, she lifts her head up and captures me in a soft loving kiss. Right now, that's answer enough for me.

Spencer's POV

Ashley is fast asleep, face next to mine on the pillow, hand on my shoulder, leg hooked over mine. Gentle puffs of warm air brush across my bare skin with every breath she takes. I'm tired—exhausted, really—but I don't want to fall asleep just yet. I'm happy here. Safe. I don't know what the morning will bring, and that scares me.

I didn't plan for this night to happen. When I asked to come here, I wasn't actively hoping to sleep with her. I just didn't want to deal with my family and their questions. I just wanted comfort from the one person I knew I would actually be comforted by. Maybe on some sublevel of thought, I knew what would happen. I certainly didn't stop it. Hell, I initiated it. What surprises me even more than that, though, is that Ashley was…different. In a good way. Attentive, like she has always been but also completely selfless.

She isn't perfect. I know that. She still has her baggage, her faults that I know will rear their ugly heads along the way. But I also know that she's changing. Consciously or unconsciously, Ashley is becoming a stronger person. More mature. She has a long way to go, but then again, so do I. God knows I'm not perfect, either.

I look over at Ashley's peacefully sleeping form. Brushing a strand of hair out of her face, I wonder if maybe, just maybe, I won't have to bleed anymore.

The End