Many have speculated about Ashley's expression at the very end of Love and Kisses (3.12, the dance). I honestly don't know what to make of it, so I thought I'd write up a little Ashley introspection. I actually wrote this back when the episodes were airing in France, so I'm happy I can finally post them without the whole spoiler drama. And, of course, the dialogue has been tweaked with proper English translation.
A companion piece with Spencer's point of view will be posted as a new story under the title "A Glimpse by Candlelight."
Windows of the Heart and Mind
"So seriously? You're not mad at me?"
JONICA. What the fuck kind of name is JONICA, anyway? Ugly name for an ugly ho, that's what it is. Christ, Spencer must've been drunk to kiss that. My girl's expression when she told me was priceless: a mixture of shame, horror, and nausea, and I'm betting not just from the alcohol. On any other day, I might be able to laugh about it. That is, if my life wasn't falling apart around me.
But I can't think about that now. Spencer is looking for reassurance and a strength I'm not sure I have right now. Still, I do my best. For her. Always for her.
"No, please," I tell her, giving her leg a light rub. "If our relationship cannot survive a few slutty, embarrassing, would-be indiscretions, then what's the point?"
In my heart, I know it's true. But my mind doesn't always listen to what my heart's telling me. I wasn't lying when I said I'm not mad at her. I can't be. She's been next to perfect through everything, even when I royally fucked things up over and over again. The problem is, I was already hurting, vulnerable, putting myself out on a limb, and now this.
Fucking JONICA.
I know I should blame Kyla—and I do—but it's so much easier to blame the whore who got Spencer drunk instead of the sister who got high and trashed me on tape. Gotta love family.
Honestly, I don't even know what I'm feeling. Anger, hurt, jealousy, understanding; it's all the same to me. And now Spencer is giving me that look—half accepting what I've said and half begging me to convince her just a little bit more—and I can't bear to see it anymore. So, I do the only thing I know how to do.
I plaster on a smile, turn the stereo on, and let my music be my escape. Just like it always has been.
The way Spencer's face lights up as 'Dirty Mind' begins to play almost makes me forget my troubles all on its own, and I do my best to help it along. Taking her hand, I pull her off the sofa and hold her close. Close enough so she can't see me. Turning away and hiding my face in the darkness of the candlelit room.
I'm terrified to let her look into my eyes.
What's the saying? Eyes are the windows of the soul? Well, I don't believe in souls and crap, but I definitely believe that a person's eyes are windows into their hearts and minds. That's why I have to distract her with the song. Because Spencer would know. And I'm not ready for her to know. Not yet. Not when I don't even know myself.
So, we dance, clinging to one another in a desperate attempt to shut the world out for just a little while longer. She tells me she loves me, and I return the same. It's one of the few constants in my life, one of the only things I can ever be absolutely sure of. I know Spencer is smiling, and for that, I'm grateful. If I can shield her from my own pain in this precious moment that's ours and only ours, then I'm going to milk it for all it's worth.
Cheek on her shoulder, arms around her waist, and my own recorded voice serenading the quiet house, I sway us both into the night—her into a blissful dream, myself into a numb trance—until all I feel is Spencer. In the end, she's all I ever need. The last string of coherent thought that wanders through my mind wonders if she feels the same, but I can't look her in the eyes.
I'm afraid of the answer I would find.
End.
