Intro:

I've had this chapter rotting in my computer forever, so I figured I might as well post it.

Both Crash (I heart shameless plugs)and this project will be updated as frequently as time and writers block allow.

Summery: A tale of shot-gun weddings, nudist colonies, and all around drunken adventures.

Rating: T (eventual M :)) for Ashley's language, the ridiculously obnoxious situations Ashley manages to get them in, and SEX (dun dun dun)

Disclaimer: Not mine, now or ever.

If I strum chords, would you sing a song with me?

If I leave town, would you leave along with me?

My head hurts. I've had this freaking headache for like six hours now and I'm starting to think it's a tumor, or something. God here's hoping it's not malignant. That's really the last thing I want to die from. I mean, when I die, I want it to be from something cool, like drag racing gone horribly wrong, or alcohol poisoning from October Fest, or Aids. What? I know it's horrible to say that, and tragic, but come on! You die from aids then you've been living it up! Needles and sex… Hell. I don't know what I'm talking about. I think I've downed one to many shots with Aiden recently. It's just, after eight or nine straight, I know I should stop, but I'll be damned if I let him beat me! I just keep killing my brain cells. I think there's probably like ten left and they must be getting royally pissed at my inability to stop butchering them.

So I'm lying on the edge of my bed, trying to bargain with every religious entity I can think of to remove the current pounding in my head. But after a good half an hour of this I've decided that it's really not working so I roll over and on to my feet.

I think mother dearest has some ibuprofen in the cabinet downstairs and I'm on a quest to find it. Unfortunately, after a little excursion I had last summer involving me, my ex-boyfriend and my mothers unopened bottle of Vicodin and Hydro - the meds aren't exactly as accessible as they used to be.

Stomping down the long stairwell is killing my head and as I reach the bottom step I take a moment to breathe, seeing as I've become miraculously dizzy within like a minute and a half.

Stupid body. I had better not be getting sick! If I miss anymore school, I think they'll kick my ass out, again. And my school choice has become limited after being thrown out of damn well near every place in eastern L.A. So sick, not an option.

I force my legs to move and I drag my pathetic self to the kitchen to begin the search for relief. Let's see…there's vitamin C, A, D, Protein substitutes, like seven different dieting pills, and… Laxatives?! Okay, eww. But no Ibuprofen! There's not even any damn Advil! What the hell does that gold digging, woman think? That I'll so bring over all my burn outs while she's gone and we'll get strung out on Tylenol? Now that's just stupid.

Well I suppose I'll just head back to my room and slowly die in seclusion. But as I make my way back towards the stairs, my cell buzzes and I quickly pull the expensive little sidekick from my jeans pocket.

Incoming call: Spencer Carlin

If I weren't in such agonizing pain, I would be pretty excited that she's calling. Well, who am I kidding? I still am. I really love the sound of her voice… God, when did I become all sappy? Again, I blame Aiden. The boys such a freaking girl!

"Hey Spence."

"Hey Ash. Did I wake you up? I know it's kind of late…"

I grin as I fall backward into the thick cushions of our sofa. Ah, my naïve girl, late for me is like five a.m.

"Not at all. You know how I feel about sleep. It's basically a waste of time," I hear her laugh but only for a moment, then she's silent.

"Are you okay? You sound a little, I don't know, pained?"

How does she always know so damn fast? I swear this girl reads minds, or something.

"Just a really persistent headache. Nothing to big," Unless it's a tumor, or I'm getting the flu, "So what's up Carlin?"

"Well, Glens got Madison over and I think they're mid-sex, so I really need a distraction."

Wow, I just seriously gagged. Madison in the throws of whore passion with anyone is a mental anguish inducing thought; but add Spencer's brain dead brother and you've got a serious stomach slaughter on your hands. I mean like, morning after Marty Gras, puking your brains out bad.

"God Spence, I'm so sorry! Do you want me to pick you up?"

"Would you? I don't think I can take the constant mattress squeaking thing much longer."

"That is so sick! I'll definitely be there. When do I need to have you home though? I mean, I don't want Paula to completely ban my visitation rights."

"Yeah, I think she has a late start tomorrow… So probably by five…"

Five? Late start? Okay, I'm never going to be a doctor. Not that I could get into medical school anyway. It's like, I could pay for it, no problem, but they'd get a hold of my file one way or another and I'd be thrown out of there faster than security threw me out of the Atreyu show when I decided the best way to get Alex Varkatzas to notice me was to streak. Again, off my ass drunken ideas, not exactly my proudest moments.

"Not a problem you poor, mentally abused girl. The things you have to live with…seriously, if I had Madison and Glen under one roof, at the same damn time, I would probably get this horrible, random, open sobbing complex."

"I guess I'm just immune, or something. So when can you get here? I've got to make sure Glen doesn't notice me leave or he'll use it against me until we're thirty."

I roll my eyes, even though she can't see it, "Please, with Madison in there skanking it up, he wouldn't notice an axe wielding maniac beating down the door."

That earns me another laugh and I can't help but smile like an idiot.

"You're definitely right about that."

"Well with that possible complication obviously out of the way, I'll be there in ten. Just watch for me, and I'll text you when I'm out front."

"Okay. I just need to change and I'll be ready."

I smirk, "Wear something sexy."

"You're impossible Ash."

"You love me."

"I do." She laughs, but, and maybe I'm just hearing things, her voice seemed smaller when she said it.

We say our goodbyes and I run upstairs to change into my new skinny jeans and my tight, V-neck M.I.A T-shirt. But as I slip on my ragged, grey Converse and a thin, zip-up sweatshirt I notice a small bottle wedged between my box-spring and mattress. I don't remember hiding anything there recently – I used up the last of my lovely hallucinogens like three months ago and that's all I've ever put there.

I tug the plastic bottle free and carefully read the label…

Ibuprofen

My heart is singing, I swear.

"Fuck yes!" I shout to an empty room as I pop the top off and pour three tablets into my opposite hand. I leave the bottle on my dresser and charge downstairs for some water to wash these little God-sends down.

Once the pills are safely in my system I grab my purse and keys. I wonder why the hell that bottle was shoved there?

And then it hits me. Like two months ago my wonderful mother told me I was a disgrace (Not like she's never said that before) and that I was giving her a tumor, or something stupid like that. I think I may have slept with yet another girl in her bed and she caught us. Anyways, I had seen her downing Ibuprofen like a fat guy training to win a hotdog eating contest and I thought that hiding them was just one simple gesture I could use to make her life slightly more hellish.

Is it possible to make Satan's life more hellish?

"Well that's a conundrum," I mutter to an empty room as I open the front door and lock it behind me.

Reviews are like caffeine and cigarettes, so, so addictive. So hook me up :) Oh and P.s, they are just friends right now.