Thanks to a small chat about music (specifically about Tegan & Sara) with jtsec9143, this idea has formed. Hope you enjoy.

/ / /

[The Ocean]

Roll in. Roll out.

And it'll just drown out the things she'd rather not think about – like a father in the ground and a mother a million miles away and a sister left for broken and an education not cared for and a room unclean.

The surfers are running past, kicking up sand like they always do, and she wishes she could put sunglasses over her sunglasses.

They ride the waves and they look so fucking happy, on boards covered in wax and slip-sliding up above sting-rays and schools of silver-fins and she'd give anything to feel that free.

She'd give anything to rush out to the ocean and get covered in salt like others get baptized and find all the hours of her mistakes just washed away under Mother Nature's grace.

It would be nice to see the sun go down on a good day.

It would be nice to share it the very one she threw away.

It would be nice to shove off his hand on her shoulder and ignore his weak-willed eyes upon her face.

Roll in.

Roll out.

And it'll just carry her from this city, this beach, this world.

It'll just pull her out into somewhere new.

/ / /

[Sentimental Tune]

Why the hell am I here again?

The jocks are grinding away on girls and the lights spin and someone is sneaking alcohol into the punch and the cheer-bitches are making stand in their lip-gloss – they are all hips and quips and smirks.

And she doesn't want to be here at all.

Isn't there some story in the Bible about a den of lions and some poor sap being tossed in there?

But the flutter of fingertips, gossamer-soft against her palm, is a siren call she just can't sail away from. And she thinks that this girl named Spencer knows it… a hidden secret in those shy blue eyes that tugs sailors back to the shore.

And what's with the old-time analogies, Davies? It's the year 2005. Get modern or die, girl.

This has all happened before though, a hundred times before – girls and boys and sex and dancing.

This has all happened before though, in every storybook romance – they stare at you and you find your heart beating too fast and then you are closer than ever and a kiss seems inevitable.

This has all happened before though, just not in her life – and Spencer is smiling like the night was made just for them.

And Ashley wants to believe it, too.

/ / /

[Red Belt]

Fear is a funny thing, but she's not laughing.

Oh, she should be, 'coz then it might make it all seem worthwhile and might make it all seem like a joke – a cosmic one, at that – but she is not laughing at all.

Her face is frozen in a freakish smile, like the damn Joker, and now she understands a guy like that – how emotions and ideas can drive one to the point of insanity and then you just snap from reality.

You break from what is normal and you can't seem to grasp the tangible anymore.

She's not laughing, but god she wishes she could.

And maybe that cold humor would coil out like snake and wrap around Spencer's waist and keep the girl there. And maybe that cold humor would flash its poisonous fangs and strike out and sink into this… Carmen… and kill her.

And then the laughter might become real again, not a mockery of joy trapped in this crowded club.

But they are walking away and Carmen is shooting her a look over Spencer's shoulder that screams 'I win, bitch!' and Ashley sheds her false funny skin and falls apart.

/ / /

[Someday]

She wants to be better than before, and then, better still.

And there are other dreams stuck in-between the pages and pages of lyrics, things that no one knows about, and she'll keep them there until the right day comes.

But as she walks away from the stage, guitar slung on her back and faint applause still ringing in her ears, she feels good.

Not because she rocks, which she does.

Not because she is talented, which she is.

But she is alive in a way she didn't believe she'd ever be, the wounds mending and the past receding and that L.A. sun doesn't burn like it used to.

It feels nice on her exposed skin. It feels like someone created this moment just for her – and she'll fucking take it.

She wants to be better than before, and then… better still.

And there are other hopes that lurk in the tender places of her body, desires that have only been hinted at, and she won't reveal them until they are asked for.

But she is finally walking toward something and not running from everything and it feels good.

And she wants to grin wildly, so she does.

And she wants to laugh out loud, so she does.

And she wants this feeling to last forever.

Better and better and better, like an endless pint of ice cream or a never-ending song or Spencer's fingers always trailing up and down her spine, on and on and on... just like that.

And then, better still.

/ / /

TBC