She knows I know she can see me looking at her. She's staring straight ahead through the windshield, starting the car and saying nothing. Amber lights outside are illuminating her face for split seconds, then gone through the backseat as we pass. There are entire conversations in every glance she flicks at me. Grief and fatigue are a thin, tenuous film on my skin. My eyes are raw.

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to begin to talk about tonight, to make sense of it. And I have to the fight the urge to hide, and never bring this up again. Because that would make everything feel so simple, and so easy. Because in moments like these, leaving it to fester seems infinitely easier than addressing the issue. My mind wanders, and I start thinking that maybe in the larger scheme of things, no one would care if we never talked to each other again. That nothing would happen if I stayed or if I ran. I almost believe, for a moment, that I can.

The car stops and we react. A key turns to an unlit apartment, purses dropped and collars loosened. Somewhere in the dark, she touches my back. I feel five points trail down the fabric, loosening bits of clinging dirt and crumbling brick. I don't flinch, and Ashley seems to breathe a sigh of relief, of regret maybe.

"We need to talk," she says, but she's already turning, walking away.

"I know," I murmur, but we're already scattering ourselves into this dark place, waiting and hiding and mourning, because tonight, it's easier to believe we can forgive and forget.

-

It's only the thud of a door against frame and a key turning that encourages me to finally leave the guest bedroom. Yet the apartment isn't as empty as I wished it would be, despite the going-out noises. Ashley sits at the counter, clear as day. Somewhere, separated by walls, is a visitor with loud shoes. We look at each other, and she's the first to look away, crossing then uncrossing her arms. It's too late to wish I had never left the bedroom.

"Ash, stop being so suspiciously quiet," a voice calls out, a greeting reserved for a close friend. "You better not still be in bed. Have you seen my sweater, the red one? I've been turning my place upside down looking for it."

I don't miss Ashley slipping me a sideways glance, as the visitor is frozen in the doorway. Or, maybe, it's just my mind bringing a rush of vague memories to the forefront of my mind from the simple sight of her.

"Spence? Is that you?"

I smile broadly, overcompensating. "Kyla."

"Oh, you. Come here." Her voice is quiet, belying just how much she knows. But she shows no surprise, asks no questions, like nothing's changed. Just her arms stretched out for a hug.

"You've shrunk," she comments brightly, slinging her arm loosely around my shoulder.

"She's lost weight."

I look down at the parquet, disconcerted. Kyla doesn't appear to react, other than turn her head to look at Ashley. I don't risk looking up to see what emotions are playing out on their faces. What kind of messages they're exchanging with their shared glance, for siblings alone.

Kyla squeezes me lightly, then lets go. "Talk to me for a second, Ash."

They disappear down the hall and it's not long before I'm hearing raised voices. There's a squirming feeling in my chest, and I imagine it's one of a trapped animal.

Voices filter back to me, coherent now that they're walking back down the hall towards me. "You forgot? I can't believe you!"

"I've been busy, as if that's not very, very clear."

"It's been planned for months, God damn it. Don't mess this up now, Ash. Don't mess us up."

"I know..."

"We can't back out now. Not today."

"There are just some things I would rather do."

"Look..." Kyla's voice lowers, tapering off into an unintelligible murmur.

They round the corner into the kitchen, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

"Hey Spence, you probably don't want to hear this and it might you uncomfortable, you probably already are, but--"

"We were going to throw a surprise party for Kyla's uh, friend tonight." Ashley's eyes are fixed on me, and I know even the most miniscule of reactions will register.

"Yeah, we planned ahead for months--" Kyla stops and raises her eyebrows, turning to slap Ashley's arm with an open palm. "Wait, were? You mean we are."

"We are." Ashley repeats, shrugging, smiling at me.

And some part of me, maybe not so surprisingly, doesn't find it hard to dredge up one to give back.

-

"Ashley..."

I slid a hand down to the end of a lock of my hair, brushing her cheek with it.

"Wake up."

Prodding her shoulder, tugging at the sheets, jumping on the bed. Every attempt I made was hopeless.

"How shall I ever wake the dead?" I rolled my eyes, certain she would never see it.

She let out a large, uncharacteristic explosion of a snore, rolling over onto her back, her arm choosing to land, forcefully, on my thigh. I jumped back, shocked initially, irritated finally.

"Fine, okay. No more nice girl." I jumped on her, settling on straddling her hips, and grabbed her cheeks.

And when I was just about to make a photogenic face with my hands, she bucked hard, tossing me sideways, reversing our positions.

"Alright, Spence," she looked down at me, wide awake, a cruel edge to her smile, hands on my cheeks. "We can start with the fish face, and move onto less popular ones. Good idea?"

I felt my face give under her hands.

"Uncle! Uncle, uncle, uncle," I repeated quickly, in case the words from my misshaped mouth did not reach her ears.

"You sure?" She let my face return to normal, patting my cheeks. Every part to her expression was fine-tuned to one of thorough enjoyment.

"Yes!"

"Your loss." She smirked at me, tweaked my nose, and picked up the brown paper bag I had left on the nightstand. "What's this?"

"Dad made it. Muffins. Blueberry and chocolate chip, take your pick. I haven't eaten yet, so..."

"So...?" She grabbed the first morsel her eyes landed on, crumbs scattering over us.

"Hey!"

"What? Oh. Sorry." Ashley grinned, her mouth full. "This is good. Really good."

"Did you forget you're sitting on someone?"

"Who?" She pulled off a look of pure innocence, tore off a piece of muffin, and held it over my lips. "Want some?"

"I can't eat flat on my back, moron."

"True. None for you, I guess. Unfortunate."

"You're heavy, Ash." I lied, hunger getting the better of me.

Quickly rolling to the side, her eyebrows were raised—almost comical. "I am? God, I'm sorry. Did I crush you?"

She was rubbing my stomach, I was trying to snatch food out of her hands. And we were smiling, like fools.

-

"Ordering in?"

Ashley looks up from the phone book. She cranes her head over her shoulder, at Kyla warped into some odd position, searching the expansive alcohol cabinet, the source of continued jangling of glass against glass.

"Do you want me to cook?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Do you want to cook?"

I can feel an uninhibited smile growing on my face, but meeting Ashley's smirk is enough for the both of us to look away, thankful for Kyla's presence.

Kyla crawls out of the dark space, staring at the two of us. "Would you two stop smiling like that? Jesus." She sighs, dragging a hand over her face. "What are you ordering?"

Ashley points and Kyla grabs the book off the counter. "No you're not. We need vodka and paper plates. Go."

We look at each other, small smiles painting our faces. "Coming?"

"Yeah."

But without Kyla and that brief truce, we're thrust back into our aftermath. That awkward silence, that incessant tension. Something akin to nausea breeds inside me. Last night, in the car.

"I thought we were going to talk."

"I don't know what to say." She's forceful and curt, but her bottom lip is tucked between her teeth.

"Fine. I will. I honestly hoped you'd let me live my life," I'm trying. "You can't keep me cooped up here. I appreciate you helping me—but you've got to let me get back on my feet."

"I know."

I rub my temple, trying hard not to burst out of the starting block into this unsteady ground. "A conversation takes two, Ashley."

"What do you want me to say?" She slams her open palm into the centre of the wheel, out of frustration or because of a deserving driver. Maybe both. I keep my eyes on her, even though she hasn't stopped looking straight ahead. "That I feel like I never want to let you out of my sight after that night I found you? You'll say I have no right to feel that way. That I want to try and fix things? All we ever do is fight. It doesn't matter what you think or what you don't want to think, Spencer. I still care. I do. It may not feel it or look like it, but I do. And I want—I want so much from us... this."

She gestures with her free hand, ineffectually in the air.

"Want what? What could you possibly want that you couldn't have had?"

"I know that!"

"All this time. You had all this time."

"I know."

I look away from her for the first time. Out the window, but never seeing a thing. "There's nothing you can say."

"Yeah." Her voice is barely audible now, and it becomes less one reason to look back at her.

She parks the car, takes the key out of the ignition, and gets out. I stare out the window, even when the anticipated slam doesn't come.

"I'm sorry, Spence, I'm sorry and I know that'll never be enough," she breathes, and shuts the car door.

-

"I remember when you guys had the first real taste of these." Kyla beams, hands gesturing to the translucent bottles, boxes of them, littering every available counter space.

"Yeah, that was..." Ashley drifts off, tilting her head slightly from in front of the sink. She doesn't have eyes on the back of her head, but somehow, she's looking at me.

"You two were fun drunks," Kyla chuckles, turning a bottle over in her palms, oblivious to everything but the past. "Everything anyone did was funny. Ashley cracked these horrible, horrible jokes and you just kept laughing. I thought you were going to wet yourself."

"I remember how you had to answer my phone and explain why there was someone vomiting in the background," I throw in, trying too hard be casual, losing myself too easily into a moment brighter than this.

Ashley turns around, leaning back. "And I came up with this huge lie. I couldn't even remember half of it. A pregnant woman, I think. Then your—Arthur asked what a pregnant woman was doing in my house."

"How drunk were you to suggest that I was?" Kyla laughs, high and contagious.

"Didn't take him long to figure how out of it we were," Ashley concedes.

"Wait." Kyla gives us a wide-eyed look. "Where's my purse?"

Moment successfully drawn to a close, Ashley turns back to the sink. "Bedroom."

We exchange smiles. Those of two friends remembering the same moment. And maybe that's what we are, because there's too much of a history to forget, too much that has happened for us to not remember.

Kyla's voice filters in from another room, over the ring of the phone, "Can someone get that?" And Ashley, hands submerged in a sink of dirty dishes, looks at me and shrugs.

"I got it," I raise my voice and call back, leaning over to collect the handset from the charger.

My greeting is cut short. "Yeah, this is Glen Carlin."

The lengthy pause serves to encourage him. "Uh, some lady left me a couple messages telling me I should call this number and that it's urgent? Look, I know I took my time calling back, but if this is about the fender-bender, I already paid the goddamned thing off."

"Alright, well, whatever. I guess I got the wrong number. Hanging up now."

I put down the phone and meet Ashley's expectant gaze. The smiles are long gone from our faces. I bite down on the side of my mouth, roughly, but I can't stop myself. Like I can't stop her.

"I can't believe you."

She cocks her head. Frowns. Then her eyes widen in understanding. "Wait, wait. Let me explain."

I slump down in my seat, struggling with a multitude of emotions. "You can't explain this."

"I just—I wanted—"

"Damn it, Ashley," I speak over her. Betrayal barks at my heels. Urging me to lash out, to hurt like I have been.

"I just wanted to know."

"To know what? You don't care that I don't want to tell you. You don't care you don't have the right. You want to throw Glen into the mix? Involve my family? Because what Ashley wants, Ashley gets?" I stare at her, hard. "You went behind my back. I can't believe you went behind my back."

"I wanted to make things right. Spencer, I just... I wanted to know how you got here. I couldn't... I can't just accept that this is how things turned out for you." Her voice is stronger now, vehement. "There's no way they could've let you end up like this now. No way."

"I did anyway. You can't let things go, can you? Can't accept me as I am, things as they are. This is me, Ashley. Spencer. You left, time passed, things changed. Don't pick my life apart because you can't get over it. And don't, God, go behind my back. I don't even know why I feel like this. Maybe you've fooled me twice, after all. After everything." I've gotten up somewhere mid-sentence, facing her head on. My hands are clenched by my sides, hers are open in front of her. "And you found Glen's damned number and called him. Went through all that trouble. Was it worth it? Was it?"

"No."

"I should've known." My hands in my face, my heart in my throat.

And just like that, we deflate. She circles me, touching my arm, my back, my elbow. Little light, frightened touches, but her voice is strong. "Don't do that, Spencer. Please. Just do something. Say you hate me. Hit me. Do something. Please, oh God."

A throat clears, Kyla's interruption driving us apart. She's visibly upset, standing at the doorway, watching and hearing for who knows how long.

I watch Ashley's back as she turns to sink. Her entire body twists into something I've never associated with her: defeat. Knuckles white against the black granite counter, shoulders hunched, head bowed. The silence is all-encompassing.

Movement is minimal until guests begin to arrive. Then the din of voices and heavy steps outside and inside is continuous. Ashley reappears to meet them like nothing's wrong.

It's hours later, of mingling and false smiles, of her looking at me and me avoiding her, that I finally, inevitably, meet her eyes. She's draped over a chair, relaxed and confident, knees bent, apart, feet flat on the floor, an arm thrown across the back. Her lips part, teeth flashing in a friendly gesture when someone directs a comment her way, but her eyes are centred on me. Daring me.

-

"There."

"What are you talking about?"

"Stop asking me things. Y'know, good things and waiting." She looked over her shoulder, letting out a breathless chuckle. "Walk faster."

I stumbled; she grabbed my hand in reinforcement. I made a face. "Your hand is cold!"

"Sorry." She glanced over her shoulder again, she shrugged and it hid her expression. Her hand dropped from mine, but I grabbed it in its swinging arc.

"It's really dark."

"No, no, no. Just wait."

"For what?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

"No, I won't." I was skeptical, but Ashley shot me a grin that dared me.

"Believe me."

"We have school..."

An interruption, in the form of a burst of colour against the sky, followed by a pop. It lit up our faces and the grass and the sky, then the smug grin Ashley shot at me.

We stopped, watching, as I contemplated what to say.

"Ash, I'm sorry. I was--it's just--"

"You were scared."

"What? No!"

She smirked, slinging her arm around and me and pulling me against her as tight as she could.

I laughed and winced. "Stop that!"

"Was it worth it?"

"Always."

"And that's why you keep me around."

-

I step outside, unable to meet her eyes, unable to own up to my harsh words. My heart has taken on a rapid beat all evening, concurrent with pulses of nausea and bouts of dizzying uncertainty. Never have my emotional states taken such a physical toll on my body.

"You okay?"

Ashley again, draping a red cardigan around my shoulders. I feel my back straighten involuntarily, my loosely clasped hands curling around the steel railing. "Are you?"

"Only if you are."

I bite my lip, close my eyes and turn away. A corner of my lips quirk up as I see us as we are now, afraid of our own shadows. "I don't get you," I say.

"I..." She exhales forcefully, finding the right answer. She comes forward in the ample balcony, leaning against the railing, facing the glass doors. Looking in an opposite direction. "I don't get myself, sometimes."

"I don't get why you did it."

"Did--"

"Stop skirting around it, Ashley."

She does, anyway. "I didn't mean what I said, last night. I didn't mean a lot of what I said. I didn't even want to think about how much of this is my fault," she catches her breath for a moment. "I didn't want to think about us. I didn't want you to know about Glen. I wasn't even going to tell him you were here. I just figured he'd never call back after awhile. When I did that, I thought it was worth the risk. I... I wanted to know. And now I know I was wrong—am wrong. Incredibly wrong."

"I hate that you went behind my back. And I did use to blame you," I admit. She breathes in a quick, sharp breath.

"But I don't anymore. It's my fault I couldn't pick myself up after you--whatever you decided to do. I decided where my life went." I end in a decidedly bitter note. Then again, every thought of Ashley always has.

"So if you want to know where we are?" I continue, powerless to look anywhere but the lights of the city. "Back to zero. We went fell so fast from friends, if we were ever there, we can hardly be civil. I don't hate you, Ashley. I hate what you did. I hate why you did it. That makes it so hard for me to—to—"

"Like me," she finishes quietly. I turn my head slightly, to look at her. A side of her mouth turns up in a grim smile, acknowledging a simple truth.

It bubbles up inside of me in that one moment, seeing her, hearing her accepting what it has come to between us. Recognizing what I have been unable to tell her, unwilling to say. Bringing all those months past into a sharp closure, and tears to my eyes. "Just tell me why, Ash. Just tell me why."

"There's never going to be a why enough to answer for what I did, Spencer. Or..." Her voice fails, betraying her. "Enough for you to forgive me."

We turn towards each other simultaneously, my head bowed and hers looking down at me, my own grief reflected in that face. Like so many other similar moments in the past, mingled together into this incomprehensible present.

"I'm sorry, Spence."

"I know."

Her hand trails down my back, fingertips falling unintentionally into the indent of my spine. She gathers me into her tentatively, my head finds that place on the crook of her shoulder and it's almost a physical sensation, a distinguishable sound.

The fight leaving us.