A/N: Here's the next bit. Read and review, please.
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Spencer went to a party last night. She waited until eleven o'clock when she was sure that everyone in the house was asleep. Then she waited another hour to be absolutely certain no one would wake up. Then she spent more time dressing quietly and trying to flip her hair in the almost-dark. Sometime around one, Spencer crept down the stairs and out the back door. She couldn't take the car because starting the engine this late would wake the whole block, so she walked. To the bad part of town (which was only about half a mile away from the good part, there isn't much town in Hilliard) where kids threw parties that lasted this late.
The house she showed up at was small and poorly lit. It was cluttered. It smelled like people hadn't ever stopped smoking in it (which, Spencer guessed, they probably didn't) and the music was playing too loud. Spencer had to step around the bodies lying precariously, like fleshy land mines, all over the floor. There was one couple in the corner, a boy with his pants around his ankles and a girl with her legs spread and knees bent on either side of him like a cricket waiting to sing. Spencer looked away.
There was a couch against one wall and on it was a girl with dark hair that spilled over the couch's arm like a waterfall. Ashley.
"Hey there," Spencer said. The girl's eyes rolled open lazily and she blinked. Then she smiled in slow recognition.
"Spencer." The word tumbled from Ashley's lips like a question she hadn't meant to ask. Spencer crouched down next to her at eye level. Ashley was so far gone. Her pupils had dilated so far it was all Spencer could see of her eyes. Ashley was baked like a fucking cake. Spencer lifted a shaking hand (she can't help but tremble when Ashley is this close, every time) and tucked a loose curl behind Ashley's ear. Ashley's eyes fell shut and Spencer didn't hear someone come up behind her.
"Uh, you can put her in my room. She's gonna be out pretty soon." Spencer looked up at the boy scratching uncomfortably at the back of his neck. His name was Adam or Alex or something. This was his house. He was Ashley's friend. So Spencer let him pick Ashley up and carry her into a back room. He set her down on his bed and left them alone. Then the room became small and quiet, the only thing Spencer heard was Ashley's breathing and the end of a song seeping in under the door.
Then: "I fucking hate Styx."
"Hitting it pretty hard tonight, aren't you?"
"No," Ashley said, and it was a lie. "I didn't think you'd be here," which was the truth.
"Me either."
"Why are you here?"
Spencer didn't answer because she didn't know. Instead she struggled for something easy to say, something that wouldn't matter (even though it does). "I liked your song."
Ashley's breath came out slow and even like she was asleep, only her eyes were still open. She'd reached for Spencer and missed. So Spencer scooted closer to the bed so Ashley could lay a tired arm on her shoulder. Spencer cupped a shaking hand on Ashley's arm just above her elbow, started rubbing slow circles. Ashley's pot-reddened eyes were dark and smiling like they always were, even when she was angry, even when she was sad. Ashley asked again: "Why are you here?"
Because I need you. "Because I missed you."
"You wanna hear something funny?"
Ashley was pensive, self-examining and philosophical like she got most of the time when she was stoned. Once, she wrote an entire album's worth of songs while she'd been tripping on acid (of course, she'd only been this productive because she was under the impression that the words were living, breathing creatures inside her pen that would die if she didn't get them out) and half of them were about the color blue.
Spencer decided to humor her, Ashley would say what was on her mind whether Spencer permitted it or not. She climbed over Ashley and crossed her legs on the bed, laying Ashley's head in her lap. "What's funny?"
"I think I'm in love with you," Ashley said. Then she broke into a fit of laughter that was so violent she had trouble breathing and tears rolled down her face. "Don't you think that's funny?" Ashley breathed. "I think it's a fucking riot."
Spencer couldn't say anything.
"You know what?" Ashley said, sitting up fast, hostile and paranoid (this is how Ashley got the rest of the time when she was high). "You should go."
"What?"
"Now. You need to leave. Go."
Spencer didn't move, she couldn't wrap her head around everything at once. Too much information. Ashley can't just say things like that, things Spencer wants to hear over and over and never again. Ashley can't say that she loves her then kick Spencer out of her bed. Spencer wanted to yell at her, she wanted to kiss her, she wanted to slap her in the face, because how dare put this on her? It wasn't fair that Ashley was completely wasted right then because Ashley could say whatever she wanted and wake up tomorrow and remember nothing while Spencer, who was unabashedly sober, would have to carry it around like a cross on her back.
"Where the fuck you get off doing this to me?" Spencer seethed. Ashley only blinked at her, shocked. It was the first time Spencer had ever cursed in front of her (or anyone else) and the word sounded even more vile and dirty coming from Spencer's pretty mouth.
"Me? You'rethe one that came here looking for me. You'rethe one that sneaks out of your house and all the way across town to crawl into my bed at night. You'rethe one who won't even talk to me at school because you're too afraid that somebody might see!" Angry blood rose to Ashley's cheeks and colored her sun-kissed skin an irritated red. "Don't blame this on me, Spencer, I didn't do anything to you that you didn't ask for."
What could Spencer say to that? How could she argue when it was true? Four months ago when Spencer first showed up at Ashley's trailer, when she'd overheard Madison talking about the things that went on there (and she'd gone anyway), she'd been afraid and thrilled and dreading it all. But she wound up there in front of Ashley, drowning in smoke and music and Ashley's eyes. Ashley had kissed her. Clapton had been playing and someone was laughing and Ashley pressed her lips to Spencer's and Spencer had come undone. She'd forgotten everything, her parents and her brothers and her friends and how everyone seemed to just be pulling her apart like they all wanted a piece of her. She had given Ashley all of her. Ashley had run her hands (with those long musician's fingers) up and down Spencer's skin like she didn't know how to do anything else. After that, Spencer couldn't stay away. She craved Ashley like nothing else and would hurtwhen she wasn't with her. But even Ashley had to understand that Spencer could only do so much, could only give so much. It wasn't Spencer's fault that people and things were the way they were.
"What do you want from me, Ashley?"
Ashley just climbed back on the bed and curled up into a ball, exhausted, defeated. "Nothing."
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Tomorrow Spencer will get up and go to Church. She will sit in her pew and rise and kneel and take her communion. She will say her Hail Marys and count her beads and pray for her soul. She will confess to everything. She will beg for forgiveness. Bless me father, for I have sinned.
