Road To Damascus

I wipe my forehead before giving the bag in front of me another punch. I've been doing this a lot lately, hitting the shit out of a poor, innocent bag of sand. First Glen had to drag me out here, but now I willingly oblige when he asks me. I still haven't been the one to ask first, to initiate a work out session. It's not that I'm afraid to ask him, I'm so comfortable around Glen now that being myself around him without any extra guard isn't something I have to strive for. It comes naturally. 'Cause Glen is not the problem. He's not the reason why I don't ask him to go to the gym. Neither is the work out session in itself. I treasure the times we spend together in the gym, even though we're usually in our own separate worlds. I treasure the timeout from daily duties, blocking out every occurring thought fighting for dominance.

The problem in itself isn't based on outer factors. Asking a question doesn't necessarily need to have a common bond to the thing you're asking. I don't have a problem with the theme of a question, or how it is pronounced. It is the question in itself, the expectation of a reciprocation, a reply, that sends a chill up my spine.

However welcome and supportive the Carlin's have been since I moved in with them, some things doesn't leave without a fight. What makes it even worse is the fact that it's all rooted in me. I'm my own enemy, battling for balance between the different sides of my personality.

When I first entered this house, I had major troubles even with my physical appearance. I didn't know where to look, how to act, when to speak. I've come a long way from those insecure times, but there's still things I have to work on.

Like asking for someone's time.

---

He's no longer doing his push ups when I look in Glen's direction. Instead, he's aimlessly walking back and worth, with a hint of worry etched across his forehead. He's not far away from me, and I can see the creases in his forehead disappear as I take in his body language. His right hand is picking at his sweatpants, his shoulders slouched forward. His jaw is clenched while his left hand is holding the phone up to his ear, he's obviously oblivious to his own demeanor as he listens intently to the voice inside his phone. It doesn't seem like a pleasant conversation, as Glen is usually the happy type, always grinning or making a joke. I'm not sure if I should walk toward him or just leave him be, but his knitted eyebrows makes me choose the latter. He's obviously having a serious conversation, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't want any interruptions.

As he clicks the phone shut, he doesn't put it in his pockets, nor does he slip it into his bag where it previously resided. His feet travel the same aimless path as before, and his head hangs low. A hand is being pressed against the side of his head, before he looks up and meets my gaze. He's obviously upset, and the expression in his eyes tell me that I'm allowed to ask him what's wrong. I walk hurriedly toward him, concern the emotion that drives me.

"Uhm, my grandmother just died", he says, pain evident in his voice. All I can do is walk straight up to him, and although this is not how I normally behave, I can't help but envelope Glen in a hug. It's a clammy one, due to the excessive amount of physical exercise we've been participating in the last hour, and I can smell the unpleasant scent of his sweat, but it doesn't matter, right now I just want to comfort the guy in front of me.

---

It would be a lie to say that I enjoyed these last 6 hours of road I've been traveling. It didn't help one bit that I was sat between Spencer and Glen either. I've never been a fan of sitting in the middle, a wee bit higher than the ones situated on my sides. The fact that we're pressed into each other ,added to the discomfort of being afraid of getting too close to either of them, is making this trip that much more horrific. I can barely feel my ass where I'm sitting, and the tension of trying to stay in the same spot in every sharp turn, and not to suddenly lean over either one of them, is making me feel absolutely exhausted.
Not that it would be so horrible to fall over Glen, I know for a fact that Glen wouldn't have minded, he's a good guy. It's the fact that on my other side a girl I'm not so comfortable around is seated, and I wouldn't want it to look weird when I fell on Glen and not on her.

So it probably isn't a big shock to say I am utterly thankful when we arrive at the hotel we're staying at before the funeral tomorrow. It's Arthur's mom that died, and although the whole family seems sad at the loss of a family member, none of them is in deep sorrow. As Arthur said, they had been expecting it for over a year, and with the pain his mom was living in, it was more of a blessing than a curse that she passed away. His only sorrow it seems, is that he never got to introduce her to me, the newest member of the family. God, I can't even describe how loved I felt when he uttered that sentence, how much I felt like I belonged.

The hotel isn't overly fancy, but it's not some dingy motel either. As we step into it, we're met by a tiny bald man who happens to wear the funniest looking glasses I've ever seen. If you don't count Dame Edna's.

"Welcome, can I get you a room?" is all I hear before I follow Glen down the hall and plop down next to him as he sits down on a couch. Spencer stays with her parents, and while they arrange rooms for the night, Glen and I throw a tiny, soft basketball back and forth between
us to keep us occupied. It's not long after that the rest of the family appears right in front of us, and while I notice them from where I'm sitting, Glen doesn't, and while I throw the ball towards him, Paula says his name, effectively making the ball hit him square in the face. Everyone chuckles except Spencer.

"Okey, so the rooms have been arranged, I hope it's no problem for you to share a room with Spencer, Ash?"

"Uh, okey...sure", is all I can mutter, as I force my eyes to not look at Spencer's expression. Though it doesn't keep me from seeing the indifferent look on her face from the corner of my eyes. Of course I'm afraid, I'm literally shaking in my boots, but somehow during the last week, the fear has slowly lessened. I have my suspicions that it was the small glimpse of a human being inside her when she gave me the aspirin a week ago that has left me less frightened. It gave me a glimpse of emotion from the other girl, not counting the various glares and the hateful confrontation in Madison's bathroom, and somehow it gave me a tiny fraction of hope.

Glen's carrying my suitcase before I have time to register that everyone's walking in the direction of their rooms. I try to grab it from him, telling him I can do it on my own, but he refuses to let me carry it myself. 'It's a man's duty' apparently. Seeing Spencer drag her own luggage into the elevator, Glen carrying my tiny suitcase, is making me feel uneasy, like something is not quite right. Why isn't Glen carrying his sister's suitcase? Why isn't he helping her instead of me? It's not like I'm incapable of carrying my own luggage, and it's not like I'm new to this family anymore.

As we find mine and Spencer's room, Glen shuffles further down the corridor, turns around a corner and out of sight. I fidget with my key card as Spencer puts her own into its lock, opening the door with ease. Thank God it wasn't me that had to open it, I would've spent an hour trying to steady my hand enough to fit the key card into the lock. It's just what Spencer does to me.

I barely notice that she's walked into the room before the door almost locks behind her, and I rush forward, pinning my shoe between the door and the door frame. My attention focused on the way I behave, I barely manage to notice what's going on around me.
As I enter the room hesitantly, my eyes bug out, and I have to refrain from taking a sharp intake of breath. As I see the double bed in front of me, I can't help but look longingly at the uncomfortable-looking couch on the opposite side of the room, pained at the prospect of having to share a bed with Spencer.
It's not rooted in disgust of sleeping next to a girl, especially not a gorgeous girl like Spencer, but it's the fact that it forces her to sleep next to me. I don't want her to feel annoyed at having to share a bed with me, even though it's big enough for us to not share any space at all. Still, it makes me feel uneasy and uncomfortable.

A loud thud breaks the silence in the room, as Spencer's suitcase has fallen off the bed it previously occupied, and her clothes are shattered all over, making her curse softly under her breath. My first thought is to help her, and as a second, more reserved thought threatens to overcome the first one, I leap forward in an attempt to stop my head from overpowering what my heart tells me to do.
I almost crash into her from the quick movement, and as I fall down on my knees, trying to locate all the stuff that has rolled out of the suitcase, I accidentally bump my shoulder into hers.

There's no immediate response from her, as she continues to grab all the stuff that's scattered around, and I mirror her actions. However much I want to deny it, I can't help but feel relief flood inside of me at the prospect of Spencer not being appalled by bumping into me.

But what really gets my mind reeling is the feeling of her eyes suddenly being on me. I'm afraid of turning around, realizing it's not me she's looking at at all, but at the same time dying to know if it really is me her eyes are focused on. I know it's going to haunt me forever if I don't turn around at this particular moment, still I cant' help but chicken out and focus all of my attention at the task at hand; gathering up all her stuff.

I slowly build up my courage to look her way when Glen frantically knocks on the door, begging us to open up. I swear that guy just can't stay alone more than five minutes at a time. While I usually love his company, treasure it, right now I'm having mixed feelings about the intrusion. He's always there to save me from the awkward moments, but for the first time when I've been around Spencer, this time the awkwardness felt oddly intriguing.

"So, you guys wanna go check out this hotel or what?"

The smile on Glen's face is infectious, and I can't stay mad at him for even a second. I know he only means well. I turn my head in Spencer's direction, and she's not looking at me anymore. I don't even know if she was looking at me in the first place, but strangely, I don't wanna think about the possibility that she wasn't. The mere idea of her eyes scanning my features is enough to make my body tense up, and while I know I shouldn't be thinking these thoughts, I can't help but entertain them, 'cause they feel oddly pleasant.

"If there's nothing else to do", is muttered from Spencer's lips, and I have to rip my eyes away from her as I'm about to give my own reply to Glen's question. Thing is, I don't have a chance, as Glen shouts "Wicked!" before dragging me by my hand out the door, Spencer reluctantly following.

----

"We have a pool!"

"Think it's too late to jump in?"

"Glen!"

"What?!"

"It's 12, do you really think the pool's open this late?!"

"So what, it's not like anyone's gonna notice!"

"Then go jump in the fucking pool then, mom and dad is gonna be thrilled when we get kicked out of the hotel we're staying at for our granny's funeral!" is all I hear when I'm about to come up with a witty reply to Glen's invitation for a reckless night in the pool. It's the first whole sentence uttered from Spencer since we left the room an hour earlier.

That's the thing about being around Glen. He's so happy and fun to be around that I usually forget the current situation, as what just occurred. Spencer, on the other side, hasn't been chipper at all. Shocking, no? Well, the shocking thing to me isn't that Spencer never participated in any of the rants between me and Glen, what shocks me is that even being accompanied by a chipper Glen, I still haven't forgotten that Spencer is around. I'm still completely aware of her presence wherever we're at. It's uncomfortable, tense, nothing to hope for at all, still I can't help but feel the need to follow Spencer when she says she's tired and wants to go to sleep.

"You guys do whatever, I'm going to bed"

"Spencer, wait, I'll uh-... I'll go now too."

"Whatever."

I internally cringe at her comment, although expecting something awfully worse from her. For some reason, I rather wish for anger, frustration, menace, than to be met with indifference. It could be all the years in foster care, it could be years of neglect, but the sheer thought of disregard pains me more than anything. I'd rather be hated than to be nothing at all.

She's walking away from me, and as I skip to keep up with her, Glen softly turns me around with his hand and envelopes me in a hug.

"Goodnight, Ash. Call me if it gets too ugly, okey?"

I only smile, before turning around and following Spencer down the hall.

She's already well inside the room when I enter, a pair of shorts and a tank top in her hands. At least I know what she's sleeping in then. Believe me, even what to wear to bed crossed my mind several times, not wanting to wear the wrong thing, too much or too little. I swear that girl is going to be the death of me. It's like every little detail becomes so much more important when I'm around her, and I don't know why. I can't understand why this particular girl has gotten me so tensed up when I've met a fair share of fucked up people in my life.

--

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Fuck.

I can't do this.

I'm sleeping with half my body off the edge of the bed, even though Spencer's not even close to being on my side of it. I take back everything I said about the tension being oddly fascinating, I take it all back. I can't stand it, laying this close to Spencer, not daring to ruffle the sheets or breathe loud enough for her to hear.

She's not making any sound either.

I sigh soundlessly, before getting some courage and roll myself around so I'm in the middle of my side of the bed. Her back is turned towards me, her hair spread across the pillow, some of it gently touching her shoulder. The darkness of the room is broken by the sheen of the lamp post outside our window, and it's making it easier for me to look at her. Her blanket it tucked halfway up her torso, and it looks like she's sleeping on one of her hands. I'm not entirely sure since she's facing the other way, but the mere prospect of her sleeping like that makes me want to smile. There's something oddly reassuring with seeing someone sleep. However harsh and inhuman they seem while awake, everyone becomes this peaceful being, it's showing how human they really are. The way her hair is situated, some of it making an indentation on her skull, is surely gonna give her a nice hairstyle in the morning. This time I can't help but smile. Another thing I love about the peacefulness of sleep. You can't help what happens, however perfect or unreachable one might appear in daylight, the way a body moves in the night is instinctive, uncontrolled. You can't help but end up with a bad hairdo, or tired eyes, or marks from the bedsheets on your body.
I'm not stupid, I know you can teach your body to act somewhat the way you want it, even in your sleep, but there's no certainty it's going to listen. There's no guarantee you'll end up how you hoped you would when the morning arises.

She's stirring quietly, and as I trail my wandering eyes up to her head again, she happens to turn around, eyes meeting mine. If it weren't for sleep fogging my mind, I undoubtedly would've turned away, closed my eyes, pretended to be asleep. But I don't. I meet her gaze, sleep overtaking her features just as much as mine, breaking her attitude down, leaving her bare. She blinks a few times, each time the eyelids falling heavier, at last accepting defeat, sleep overtaking her. And as I join her, closing my own, I hear one sentence whispered from her lips.

"Please don't lead him on."

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