WELCOME.
I hated how melodramatic I made Ashlen in Alone so I rewrote everything! This time Ash has a back story before I even started writing and one that is more believable! Hurray for better developed writing!

Rated Mature I don't think I'll ever go full smut but who knows... I might try.

Disclaimer I do not own anything. I don't even post regularly!

Chapter 1: Got Any Vodka?

-Ashlen-

"So I guess what I'm trying to say is that… Well…" He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his reddening neck. I suppressed the need to roll my eyes as I stuffed yet another load of spaghetti into my mouth. This guy really loved to hear himself talk. "Ashlen, baby."

I cringed, the pet name leaving something of a bad taste in my spaghetti filled mouth. Or perhaps that was just because I didn't actually like spaghetti, but it was a free meal and I wasn't going to waste it. I could tell that he was trying to get my full attention and if I wasn't so hung over perhaps I would have been able to do just that… or maybe if I was still drunk. Either way, a large portion of my attention was focused on the pounding migraine racking inside my head.

"I love you."

I froze, spaghetti noodles dangling from my lips and at that moment I wasn't sure if that was any better than straight up taking a spit take. Even though I was putting all of my effort into not looking in his direction I could feel his hopeful green eyes burn into me as he patiently waited for me to answer him. I took my time slurping up the noodles that waterfalled out of my mouth, praying to every god out that he just changes the subject. No such luck.

"Ashlen?" He pushed, gently smiling at me like I was some sort of child that needed to be coached through whatever romantic exchange he was hoping would happen. Even though he was nudging me to just simply say three stupid words it felt more like he was shoving me off of a cliff.

"Uh." I blurted dumbly, looking around desperately for a way out. "Thank you."

Wrong answer. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He snarled, bashing his fist on our table and gaining the attention of everyone in the restaurant. "Thank you? Really, Ashlen?!"

I instantly groaned. Here we go.

"Twelve months! Twelve fucking months I've wasted trying to get you to feel anything!" He snapped, green eyes suddenly on fire with the fury of a nice guy scorned.

My nose wrinkled. "A year? Are you sure?"

He froze, his eyes slowly transitioning from fury to incredulous surprise. "Do you even know what day it is?"

"Tuesday." I scoffed, taking a big gulp of my wine.

"It's our one-year anniversary, Ashlyn!" He all but screeched. "I can't fucking believe this. What has gotten into you? You haven't acted like yourself all night."

I shrugged, he was on to something there. I was someone else entirely when I was drunk, especially when I got black out drunk which happened more often than not. I liked to refer to Drunk Ash as Dash for short. From what I hear she's quite a fun gal… and the exact opposite of Sober Ash. That makes sense actually, since Sober Ash is constantly hungover. Speaking of hungover; I grabbed my half empty wine glass and downed the rest.

"Look," I paused, realizing that I didn't even know this poor guy's name. "Bud, I'm sorry…"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Bud? Really? Do you even know my name?"

"Busted," I muttered to myself, choosing to snag his drink and down that as well. "Can we get some more wine over here? Or maybe some vodka."

"Do you really think you need more to drink?" He sighed, relaxing in his chair and rubbing his reddening eyes.

I rose an eyebrow at him. "I think we both do."

XxX

If I'm being honest… waking up in my bed wasn't something that happened a whole lot. So, when I rolled over onto the empty half of my own bed, entwined in my lavender sheets and coated in a sheen of sweat from the hot day, I was confused. The sunlight leaked into the room from my homemade blinds, burning my sore eyes as I tried to force them open. Judging from the pounding head ache, sore muscles, and churning stomach… I had a hell of a night.

"Fuck." I grumbled, forcing myself out of my bed and hobbling to my bathroom. Puke erupted out of my mouth the second I got close to the toilet and I dropped to my already bruised knees. "Fucking Jager." It was my kryptonite… loved it when I was drunk but no matter what I did I ended up puking the entire next day.

A cold shower did help ease the nausea though and that's exactly what I did. By now I'd developed a decent routine to help with the torturous side effects of my favorite indulgence. Shower, medicate, and drink more. The cold shower was a heaven sent, and absolutely mandatory when you live in Atlanta with a broken AC. Realistically, I should have gotten that fixed the day it broke. Hell, I could have fixed it but being in my apartment was never how I liked to spend my time and I just couldn't bring myself to justify the amount of time I'd have to be here to fix it.

My hands ran through my wet hair as I sat at the bottom of my shower, head between my legs and cold water running off of me. If I could get away with it… I would spend the rest of the day in there, in just that position, but I'd had to clean my own puke out of my shower before and that wasn't something I ever wanted to do again. I cut my shower short when I felt the familiar intensity of nausea that always came before a proper vomit. Crawling out of my shower, I slipped and slid on my white tiled floor in my rush to reach my toilet. It took three solid hurls to empty my stomach and for that split second of absolute euphoria after puking there was only one thought in my mind. "Where the fuck is my bath mat?"

I'd bought the ugly thing for this exact moment. So that I wouldn't bruise my knees and elbows while trying to scurry to my toilet. Lot of good that did me considering the horrendous pastel orange rug was MIA and my limbs were aching from the harsh contact with the cold, tiled floor. There was a good chance that I'd drunkenly thrown it out the window considering how much I hated the thing.

Sensing that my puking was halted for the time being, I slowly rose to my feet with shaking legs and made my way to my sink. Brushing my teeth after a morning like this was a risky move. I couldn't tell the amount of times I'd ended up puking in my sink but I just couldn't stand the taste of bile. After brushing thoroughly and gargling, it was time to make myself presentable; or something close to that.

Gazing tiredly into the mirror I assessed the damage my drunken night had left me with. The dark circles that permanently resided under my tired, bloodshot, blue eyes were especially dark today; making them pop out against my paler than normal, dry skin. Normally soft pink lips were more of a tan color and cracked from dehydration and damn I have had better days.

"Damn it, Dash, did you drink any water?" I complained quietly as I gathered my damp red hair into a half hazard bun, slathered a decent amount of moisturizer onto my face and headed back into my studio apartment to get dressed. My towel dropped on its own accord as I made my way over to my dresser, pulling out simple black underwear and bra, a pair of blue jeans, and loose white t-shirt. Luckily, today wasn't what I would call a business day.

The perk of being a carpenter in Atlanta, other than having rich idiots paying obscene amounts of money to own unique furniture, was that I was my own boss. I decided what projects I do, when I do them, and how much to take on at a time. It was perfect for my alcoholic lifestyle especially since today was a day I dedicate to just crafting… I do my best work while drunk.

Once I was dressed it was coffee time… well mostly coffee. Depending on the day my morning drinks tended to be 50% coffee and 50% kahlua… today felt more like 70% kahlua day… maybe even a splash of something a little stronger. The sooner I was drunk again, the better.

My kitchen wasn't far from my dresser. Hell, nothing was far from anything in my tiny apartment, which only makes what I'm about to admit that much worse. As my bare feet treaded on the cheap linoleum kitchen floor leading up to my coffee pot they were met with a familiar, plush, disgustingly pastel orange rug. My nose wrinkled in my confusion, just finally noticing the distinct aroma of brewed coffee as my eyes traveled from my misplaced bathroom rug to the half full pot of hot coffee.

"What in the fuck?" I mumbled to myself, eyes now scanning the area for even more misplaced objects. Did I bring someone home? An uneasy feeling sprouted in the pit of stomach as I spotted a neon green sticky note on my fridge.

"Ashley, something came up and I have to go check on my wife and kids. Stay safe. I'll come find you when I can. I love you. -B"

I rolled my eyes, doing all I could not to face palm. Not only did I bring home a married man but one that didn't even get my fucking name right. "Got yourself a real winner, Dash. At least he left me some coffee." Pouring the coffee and alcohol in my thermos I let out a long sigh. God help me if I gave that asshole a key… maybe I should have my locks changed.

Shrugging it off I decided to focus on that problem at another time. Now, I just needed to get to my shop and get drunk. Dash could deal with this problem, considering that she's the one who made it. Tugging on my timberland work books I set out to the streets of Atlanta. My shop was a small building not but a block or two away from my apartment, really making it stupid to drive my beat-up truck to and from the two places. Besides, I wasn't a fan of drunk driving.

XxX

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." I snapped after receiving the third text in a row from my current client. She'd changed her mind on the stain for the fifth time since we'd had our last planning meeting and if I wasn't done building the stupid bed set, I'd tell her to fuck off. I rolled my eyes; it was just perfect that she'd settle on wanting the one stain I'd just run out of.

After sending her a text, letting her know that this was the last time she could change her mind, I grabbed my wallet, chugged the rest of my rum and pepsi, and set out for the hardware store. There was a liquor store on the way and while I did have an impressive stash at my shop, I was in the mood for a lot of vodka… and a jimmy johns sandwich which was conveniently across the street.

"Good afternoon, Ash." The greeting came from the closest person the sober version of me had to a friend; the owner of the hardware store, Jerold. He was a fit older man, closing in on retirement not that I believed that he would ever do it. With my mouth full of a #12, I simply raised the sandwich as a greeting and bee lined to the stain section.

"I saw it on pintrest." Two blondes stood in the isle, one staring, overwhelmed, at the assortment of wood stains on the shelves in front of her while the other frustratedly checked her watch.

"We've got to get going, Amy. I've got a long drive home and work in the morning." She complained, looking at her watch yet again as if to stress her point.

Not wanting to get involved, I simply located the bigger, gallon cans, and got to searching for red oak. I could hear the two bickering and even considered helping if just to get them to shut up for a second so I could think of all the stains I was low on. While I didn't mind the walk, I'd get a lot more done if I didn't have to go to the store every day. Glancing over to the two I saw an employee nearby, Cason. He was a nice enough kid… only had surface amount of knowledge on anything in the store but he always sounded convincing. He'd help them.

"Excuse me," the older blonde called out, gaining Cason's attention and sending him staggering towards the two. "Could you help us? My sister here got it in her head that she could make...hey, are you feeling ok?"

Cason just grunted, a strange sound that made my head snap up to him. He looked… off. Sickly pale with dark circles that could rival mine and… Jesus Christ was that blood? I stood abruptly, gallon of Red Oak held firmly in my right hand just as Cason lunged for the older blond, bloody hands outstretched towards her throat and just as he reached her the gallon of stain in my hands smashed into his head. He collapsed into the aisle, causing cans to fall and spill onto the polished cement floor as he struggled to get back on his feet. A sickening gurgle escaped his now bloodied mouth, followed by a bestial snarl in my direction… whatever this was, it wasn't Cason anymore.

"Oh my god!" the younger woman shrieked; a horrified expression etched into her face as the elder of the sisters grasped onto the younger in protection.

In a preemptive strike, I slammed the gallon of stain into the boy's skull again, and again until he laid on the ground, head smashed and body unmoving. Stains that had crashed to the floor mixed with the dark blood that oozed from the now corpse, leaving a strange mixture that I found oddly pretty. Dropping the gallon to the ground, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and looked to the frightened girls.

"You ok?" I asked, breathlessly. They simply nodded, still too shocked to speak.

Jerold came running in a second later, horrified and demanding. "What the fuck happened?"

"Hey Jer…" I greeted surprisingly calm for what I had just done, the shock still too strong for me to understand what I had just done. "I killed Cason." The announcement hung in the air for a few moments before I added. "You got any vodka?"

So that was the first chapter of my rewrite of Alone. Did i mention that this is a rewrite of Alone? Because it's a rewrite of Alone.
But seriously if you did happen to read Alone let me know how I did. I felt that it was just a shit show and I could do better so I tried my hand at creating a more cohesive character with an actual back story, that has yet to be fully shown of course. Plus I think this is a better excuse for her to join the group by saving Andrea and Amy at the very beginning.