Chapter Six

The vague and variegated lights of the city streets sped passed the car and danced on Ash's eyes as Rosita's castigations rang in her ears. It was worse, at first, but now that they were on the road (and she'd realized that nothing she could say would change Ash's mind) Rosita's motherly scolding had devolved into telling personal and second-hand anecdotes about bad relationships, along with the occasional warning. Ash was doing her best to tune it out, with arms crossed and a detached look, but it was difficult. Whenever Rosita reached a salient point in one of her little stories that actually made Ash think of her own boyfriend, she'd get agitated and construct an argument in her mind for Lance being a misunderstood genius–but never actually put it forward. It all reminded Ash too much of her real mother's scathing admonitions.

At least when it was all said and done, Ash had her own place to go and lick her wounds (after one of her mother's dressing-downs, Ash would lock herself in her bedroom and feel anxious for the rest of the night). The irony of it was that the light at the end of this emotionally turbulent tunnel was the root of the trouble itself: Lance. While her boyfriend had the emotional intelligence of a child, he was a very good listener and could be extremely profound when the mood struck him, so it made Ash feel better to talk with Lance at the end of a bad day. It had always been this way, even when they were in high school: whenever Ash's parents reprimanded her for being with Lance, the first thing she'd do after was call him and vent. And he'd never complain. Lance, as it occurred to Ash, was always much more sensitive than any of the other boys, even if he didn't show it. That was one of the first things that attracted her to him.

"And it happens to so many girls, and it just changes everything," Rosita had come back into tune, and sounded like this was an especially important topic, so Ash starting paying attention (even if she didn't look like it). "And you never think it will happen to you until it does, and… I know that you two live together, so I know that… Ash, are you safe ?" she asked, and Ash suddenly looked very offended.

"He's not going to hit me, Rosita! He isn't like that," Ash had to speak up, she couldn't help herself.

"What? No, I mean…" Rosita began, looking over at Ash then back at the road. "I was asking if you and Lance… do you use protection- "

"Oh, God! Will you just stop?" Ash's hands shot up, instinctively reaching to cover her ears at the word 'protection' but she stopped them half way and crossed her arms, looking out the passenger-side window. "It's none of your business, anyway."

Rosita looked shocked, and a little hurt. "You are my business, Ashley-"

"You aren't my mom, Rosita! So quit acting like it," said Ash, and upon seeing how much it had hurt Rosita, immediately regretted it. But she didn't apologize. She only looked ahead, silently, arms still crossed and with an unhappy expression. Rosita was also quiet, keeping her eyes on the road and a heartbroken look on her face. They both wished the radio was on, but neither reached for it.

For the first few minutes after the little outburst, fears flashed across Ash's mind that it was happening again–that she was going to have to lose Rosita to keep Lance, and she felt a lump forming in her throat. But this all gradually subsided when she realized that Rosita really wasn't her mother, that she was much more understanding and loving than her mother. It also occurred to Ash that she herself wasn't the same person she once was, that she had matured and was more willing to apologize (which she intended to do, but not tonight). After awhile, she convinced herself that everything would be alright, but then she cast a subtle glance at Rosita and could tell, intuitively, how badly she was hurting emotionally–and this sent the panicked fears flooding back.

Rosita had said some upsetting things herself, once Ash had broken the news, but softened her tone after Norm (who could be more tactful in conversation than he let on) scornfully suggested that, if Ash was going to set such a bad example to the girls by going back to a man that treated her poorly, perhaps she shouldn't come to dinner anymore. Ash considered herself a good enough person, but never saw herself as a role-model–so this not only hurt her, but also took her by surprise when it did. For a moment, she thought about her little sister, to whom she could no longer speak, but quickly banished this thought and the pain that came with it. She didn't want to break down in front of Rosita.

In the end, Ash couldn't blame herself for yelling at Rosita. She was only defending Lance, or thought she was, at least. Since the very first day she'd met him, Ash had to defend Lance. And herself for loving him. She knew, or a part of her knew, that this was just a justification for yelling at someone who cared about her, but it was better than shouldering the guilt (right now).

She hoped he wouldn't be too upset with her for talking to him the way she did that morning; Ash needed Lance, tonight.

Lance was sat on the couch, banging on an empty coffee can he'd flipped over and set in his lap like it was a bongo, occasionally wailing, "Mister Mojo risin'!" and comparing various models of Gibson Les Paul on Ash's laptop. He'd always wanted one of the mythical guitars since he'd first started playing, and was saving up for a wine red custom. He only had a couple thousand dollars in the bank, and regularly put dents in the fund whenever he couldn't convince Ash to buy him something he wanted, but with every gig he came a little bit closer to his custom Les Paul. Every so often he'd wonder if a little bit of his savings couldn't be put to better use taking Ash out on a real date, but it was becoming readily apparent that she'd stay with him no matter what.

Ash came from a working class family herself, but Lance's household was totally impoverished, and he had a deprived upbringing (even as a single child). Ash never let it slip, but Lance could tell whenever she came over to his house that she pitied him. As far as he could figure, even after they moved in together and started 'pooling' their finances, Ash still considered him poorer than herself; so she was willing to put up all the money for rent and pay for the things Lance wanted.

Lance stopped slamming his hands on the coffee can when he heard the front door's lock clang open. He flipped the can over and set it on the floor, and Ash walked in. Lance could tell immediately that she was upset, and reached for the remote to turn off the television. She had her arms wrapped around her torso, cold (or feigning to be), and walked over to him without a word.

"What's wrong, Ash?" asked Lance, nestling himself in a corner of the couch when Ash crawled up and sat next to him.

"Hold me," said Ash, cuddling up to her boyfriend, and he complied.