It was fully dark when they arrived outside of Ashley's house. The chill had deepened in the air, and Craig shivered in his jean jacket. Ashley felt the tip of her nose getting cold.
"We're here," she said softly, not wanting to leave.
"Yeah," Craig said, stepping closer to her. She kissed him in the cold, the light from her living room almost reaching them where they stood.
"Bye," she said, still holding onto his hand. She didn't want to let go. She didn't want him to go back to his house where all those bad things happened.
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Upstairs in her room she played the stereo almost loud. She laid on her bed and thought about Craig, how he drove her crazy and how she wanted to save him. She saw that wounded look in eyes, that troubled hurt expression that he tried hard to hide. But she could see it. It was there more and more.
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Walking fast, hands shoved into his pockets, feeling the cold burning through him. He had the feeling he always did going to his house. Heaviness. Weariness. His inability to change anything. Waiting it out. Waiting and wondering what would happen next.
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He stepped inside, trying to tell from the quality of the air what mood his dad was in. Things seemed calm enough.
"Hey, Craigger," The nickname. That meant things were fine, more or less.
"Hey, dad," he said. They were in the living room, and Albert was reading medical journals. That reminded Craig of his homework, and his failing grades, and his likelihood of staying back. Sure, his dad had fixed it once but what would he say when he found out he had fucked it up again?
"Who was the girl, Ashley? Your girlfriend?" There was a slight tone of teasing in his father's voice, a rare thing. Craig blinked, swallowed hard and denied it.
"No. No, she's, uh, she's just a friend," he said, not wanting to give it away. He couldn't give that piece of himself to his father.