Okay, first off, thanks to all of those that read and reviewed, you're all getting hugs and snuggles from me! Also thanks for sticking around, despite me not giving every little detail as yet. It'll all come out, but it's going to take time. Still, I was only planning to update this next week, but you guys kinda made me want to get on with this, you know?

As for this chapter...hmm...it wasn't exactly easy to write, simply because I'm not good writing the physical stuff, but it serves it's purpose here, so I hope I made it clear for you guys in the end.

I don't own SoN, so please don't go and sue!

Senior Year: The Reunion

Chapter 3

Ashley's point of view.

"No, we're only scouting locations at the moment, but we're hoping to start filming in a few weeks...Yeah, that'll work for me...Maybe we could do lunch?...Right, I'll get my assistant to send you the details...Okay, yeah...See you then."

I throw the phone down on the bed, my body moving of it's own accord to the large windows of my bedroom. The ocean is angry today, waves breaking with an almost deafening crash as it hits the sand and then quickly retreats again.

I love the ocean, love standing and just watching it, taking in it's strength and violence. Love to see how the sand takes a beating and doesn't change, never bares any scars despite the continual abuse.

I'm the sand and life is the ocean. It tried to beat me down and I kept on living, no physical proof of the abuse to be seen.

I smirk at my own reflection in the window, thinking I should write that down. Maybe make it a theme in one of my films or something. I'm all deep and shit like that nowadays and it's an added bonus that I get to make money off it too. I guess life gives and takes in equal measures.

It's one of the few things I've learned in life.

Right along with threesomes are fun, but tiring, married chicks means hot sex, but pissed of husbands and that the best way to cure a hangover is to get drunk again.

All good things to know, don't you think?

I turn back from the view and find my laptop, sitting down on my bed and opening my e-mail. My assistant sends a never ending list of things daily, but over weekends he tends to at least cut it down to only the things he thinks is extremely important.

I roll my eyes when I see that my inbox has twenty six new messages, all but one from Mitch, my assistant, and I'm pretty sure it's just junk mail, so I delete it.

It takes me a few minutes to work my way through it, saving the ones I need to and deleting the rest. The second to last message is just a few short words really, just Mitch saying that an invitation came in the post.

King High is having a ten year reunion and I'm invited.

Hmm...well...

I delete the invitation and move on to the last of the messages and then hit the shower, seeing as there's a rather delicious young actress waiting for me at a private party somewhere back in LA. We'd been steadily fucking each other's brains out for the last month or two and I'm thinking this one may even stick around for a while longer than my girlfriends usually last.

I'm not fond of letting them get too attached, so I generally lose them after a few weeks. Makes things nice and simple, clean even. No teary breakups, no emotional minefield and no getting anyones heart broken.

That's the way I like it, so it's unusual for a relationship, if you can even call it that, to last this long, but Patrice is different from other woman. She's like me. We see things the same way I suspect and we both seem to regard what's happening between us in the same way.

I'm twenty eight years old and I'm honest enough to say that even though I can go on fucking as many people as I have the need to do, I'm getting kinda bored with it. I suspect it's the same with Patrice. So despite the fact that neither one of us is declaring undying love or something, we seem to be heading for something a little more permanent.

The sex is fantastic and Patrice is by no means your average dumb little party girl actress, so I'm thinking of making a go at this. It's time to settle a little and as long as we're both on the same page, I'm willing to do it.

So I hit the shower and make sure my make up is perfect, putting on a low cut black dress that screams sex. Hey, I'm hot and don't see the point of not flaunting it.

By the time I leave my beach house behind, the invitation is niggling at my brain.

I push any and all thoughts about high school away, because honestly? It was ten years ago and I haven't thought about it in years. Not about the school or the people that went with me. I'm over high school and it's little drama's.

Ashley Davies lives in the now, so I push up the volume on my radio and drive a little faster, wanting to reach the people and places that make up the now I live in. The need to out drive that bothersome niggling in the back of my mind overpowering almost. I'm not going to start analyzing why, because that would just...well, it's not necessary, because I'm not even going to the stupid reunion and I'm not going to see anyone from high school so it would be pointless to start dredging up old memories.

I hit LA and traffic is a bitch as always, but I don't mind, I can be as fashionably late as I want. I'd still probably end up arriving before half the other guests if I come an hour late. Still I'm relieved when I spot the club where the private party is being held and see I'm only about three quarters of an hour late. Most of the paparazzi haven't arrived yet, knowing the big stars will only show up later.

I smile as I realize that as a simple director I'm not all that big news anyway, despite who my father was. I've managed to keep a relatively low profile in the press, what with the lack of drug over doses or sex tapes leaking out. I leave that to the desperate hotel heirs.

Fine, that and Kyla would probably kill me if something like that ended up in the papers. She thinks it's bad enough that my name is sometimes connected to so many different woman that do end up in the papers.

I park my car and head in, wanting a drink and Patrice, in that order preferably. The large bouncer checks my name off on his Blackberry and lets me in, smoke, perfume and bass hitting my senses all in one go.

Inside pretty bodies are mindlessly grinding on the already packed dance floor, booths strategically placed in dark corners already housing the coke heads and dealers as I make my way to the bar. The drink is cool and smooth as it flows down my throat, the rather bitter taste a welcome companion.

Hands slip around my waist and breasts push into my back, breath warm against my neck as I recognize the feel of Patrice against me.

"You're late."

Teeth dig into my should as punishment and a hand grips my hip warmly.

"Hmm...I was at my beach house and it's quite a drive from there. You're lucky I made it at all."

I turn in her arms, taking in the blond hair and sharp green eyes, the full, glistening lips. Yup, I could do worse than settle down with Patrice.

"You've never taken me there before, we should go for a weekend or something, get away from the city for a while."

She nuzzles into my neck as I stiffen, because...well..

I don't take woman to my Dad's beach house, not ever. It's the one place I have completely to myself, where I can just be me. It's simply off limits to anyone really, even Kyla isn't allowed there and she's my sister for God's sake!

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen, but we could maybe shoot down to Mexico or something if you really want to get away. I'm only starting the film in a couple of weeks, so it might be nice to get away before things get crazy with shooting."

Patrice just nods, not in the least bothered that I don't want her at my beach house. See, that's why I like her, it's nothing personal between us. We can use each other for what we need and neither of us gets clingy. It's perfect really.

"Sure, now come dance with me."

Patrice is a great dancer, all slender and tall while she sways to the rhythm, her body close to mine. We generate heat while we dance, catch the eye of many people that dance around us, but we're so used to that that we easily ignore it. Halfway through the night I have her up against a wall, my hand working furiously at making her come quickly, because as I said, I don't want to end up on the news with a leaked photo in the paper, so getting caught is not an option.

She's still panting against my neck as I wipe my hand clean, my throat dry from exertion.

"Want a drink?"

She murmurs yes and I walk away, finding the bar again and getting us drinks. I'm not nearly as drunk as I want to be, but drunk enough to let things creep into my mind that I usually wouldn't let out.

Hence me fucking my sorta girlfriend up against a wall in a dark part of the club. Distraction is always the best way to go in my opinion. Yet, even after that...

I can feel the thought forming in my mind, a name and a face that I purposefully keep hazy in my memory, clearing up a bit. I thought alcohol was supposed to have the opposite effect? Fuck.

Patrice finds me, hair and dress and make up perfect as always and I smile. Another much needed distraction and another much needed drink. I can feel the picture that was threatening to appear fade back to where it belongs and I smile broadly.

This is my life, this girl and this club and my films, nothing more. No old fuzzy faces that want to bubble up from my memory and no High School Reunion is going to screw that up for me!

I'm Ashley bloody Davies and I won't allow it.

So I grab Patrice and swallow another drink down, my hand already pushing against her lower back, directing her to the exit.

"We're leaving?"

I nod my head and suck her earlobe into my mouth, smiling when she shivers from the contact.

"Yeah."

She frowns for a second and stops.

"I needed to still talk to Francois, he's talking about casting me in his next film. It's going to be a big one, so..."

I sometimes forget that half of these parties are business for most of us. It's about connections and kissing the right ass and keeping up appearances, so I nod my head and we head in the direction of one of the dark booths. Francois might be brilliant, but he's also a raging coke head.

Then again, I'm basically a drunk, so...

To each their own I suppose.

Two hours later I'm in Patrice's apartment, drunk enough to not know how we got there really and not caring either. We're naked and we didn't even make it past her lounge, but it's okay, 'cos her couch is nice and soft and it gives me a view of the city as her tongue works it's magic on me.

My eyes half close as I moan a little, my hand tangling in her golden blond hair.

Golden blond, like...

Suddenly I'm flooded by arousal, my whole body heating up by a thousand degrees. It's almost painful how turned on I am as images start flashing through my mind.

Blond hair spread out on my pillow as she sleeps, crashing waves a soft melody playing in the background...Her breath on my neck as she comes, shivering with my fingers still inside her...Her smile when I tell her I love her...my fingers threaded in her hair as her mouth and tongue drives me ever closer, the way only she ever could...

I come harder than I have in years. My body shakes for minutes afterward, my eyes shut tightly as I try to keep tears at bay while my heart thumps loudly in my chest.

Patrice gently wipes the hair off my forehead and I can feel her watch me, but I still can't open my eyes, because if I do, I know I'll just hate myself for being disappointed when it's not her. When it's green eyes looking back at me and not blue.

"Who's Spencer?"

My world shatters a bit.

"She's no one."

And it's not a lie. Spence...she's no one to me, has been no one to me for a very long time now.

"Then why did you just scream out her name?"

I blink my eyes open and look into Patrice's strikingly beautiful face.

"Do you really care?"

It's quiet for a few seconds as Patrice ponders my question and I just sit there, catching my breath.

"No, I guess not. So, are you staying or going?"

I get up and kiss her cheek, find my clothes and let myself out. Tomorrow we'll have dinner like nothing happened, because really, for us, nothing did. That's the beauty of me and Patrice.

It's a long drive back to the beach house, but I don't feel like going to my apartment in LA. I just want to get away, go somewhere safe and quiet. Somewhere I can go and cry, be as weak about this as I always seemed to be.

When the warm water finally pounds down on my naked back, I let the tears fall.

Who is Spencer?

The question echo's back at me in my head and I finally answer, the steamed up shower door and tiles the only witness to my confession.

Spencer is the girl that showed me who I was, who helped me find the things that made me happy, that made my life what it is today.

She's also the girl that broke my heart, that threw me away like I meant nothing. That cut me out of her life so quickly and easily that it left me spinning.

She's the girl that confirmed everything I ever knew anyway.

People, no matter how much you love them or need them, inevitably leave you. Whether they die on you or go willingly, the point is you always end up alone and hurting.

So screw Spencer and screw King High, 'cos neither are going to see me again!

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