The greatest of apologies. Seriously, my bad.
Ouch.
Fuck that hurts.
Did I fall off that giraffe and hit my head on that rock for real? I thought it was just another one of my wacky safari animal themed dreams.
My eyes are clenched shut but my head is still throbbing so badly that I really wish I'd never woken up in the first place.
My hand twitches slightly on what I think is my pillow as I try to recall what happened last night and why exactly my head feels like it's about to split clean in half and my body can hardly move it's so heavy and limp.
An incoherent groan emerges from the back of my throat and I open my mouth slightly only to snap it shut as a wave of nausea hits me like a frying pan to the face.
Fuck.
What happened last night?
This isn't any normal hangover. This is like the big daddy of hangovers. In fact, it's like the big daddy's daddy of hangovers.
I don't know how long I lie here but it feels like hours. I can't even so much roll over or open my eyes because I'm scared the pain might literally kill me.
"Ashley?"
A gravelly, almost unrecognisable voice comes from somewhere to my left and it's the motive I need to force my eyes open just a crack. Another groan tears harshly from my stinging throat as the tiny stream of light entering the room burns my retinas like hot coals.
I vaguely hear someone shuffling around the room as, to my immense relief; the small, but incredibly painful beam of what I assume is sunlight is eradicated.
I try to open my eyes once again to find the room is now almost completely dark. The tiniest amount of light seeping through the bottom of my 'blackout' blind is the only indication of the fact that it must be past sunrise.
"Ashley?"
There's that voice again. I think I recognise it but the intonation is oddly concerned and the sound strangely muffled, as though the person has a bad cold.
Taylor didn't have a bad cold the last time I spoke to her.
"Ashley? Can you hear me?"
"T-Tah?" I try to speak but as soon as I open my mouth I feel like a might throw up. Not to mention the fact my tongue is stuck to the roof of my horribly dry mouth.
I feel a rough hand close around my wrist as something cold is pressed into my hand. After clutching at it with my uncoordinated fingers for a moment I realise it's a glass of water.
I can see movement in front of my heavily lidded eyes as the silhouetted figure of who I believe to be my best friend brings their arm around my neck and helps me into a sitting position.
"Ashley. It's me. Taylor." She affirms in my ear, still speaking in that strange voice. It sounds almost as though she's developed a speech impediment over night or something.
The cool rim of the glass is pressed to my lips and I take a few sips of water before nudging it away with my chin, unable to keep my mouth open for long for fear of throwing up on my best friend.
She wasn't particularly pleased the first time it happened and I promised never to do it again.
The water soothes my system a little bit and loosens up my heavy tongue as I open my eyes a little wider.
Everything is blurry and spinning horribly and it takes almost a full minute to focus on anything for more than a second.
"Ah, god..." I rasp out, bringing my wobbly hand to my head. A moment later I realise that there's a foreign lump just beneath my hairline. I touch it lightly but quickly retract my hand.
Shit. That hurts like a bitch.
"Waah? Waah happened las' nigh'?" I direct the question to my left hand side, where Taylor is likely to be sitting on the wicker chair near my bed.
"You went to a club." Taylor lisps. "Got completely blitzed out of your mind." There's a pregnant pause and I can almost hear her brain whirring from here. "And I think Carmen Sanchez's brothers' spiked your drink with date rape drugs."
The memories come flooding back to me and the fear that I felt last night causes my heart to clench in my chest like long, skeletal fingers are squeezing and constricting around it.
Bile rises in my throat and I lean over and empty the pitiful contents of my stomach over the side of the bed.
Almost immediately, a warm hand is on my back, rubbing soothing circles in a continuous and calming pattern as my breathing begins to regulate.
A cool hand is placed on the back of my neck as it squeezes lightly, applying a little relieving pressure.
"Oh god." I gasp, feeling more than a little hysterical. "How?..."
Then I remember the last noise I heard before I must have fainted. The roar of a motorcycle engine.
"I came looking for you, after you left my house." Taylor's voice is close by but a little behind me. "You had to be at the last fucking club I searched. I only just got there in time. God knows what..." She trails off, too sickened to voice her obvious train of thought.
It's all rushing back now and I struggle to keep my breathing under control as I remember the callused, dirty fingers on my neck and the warm, alcoholic breath on my face.
My stomach heaves again but there's nothing left to come up so I just cough and splutter before I feel Taylor's hand on my back again continuing its soothing ministrations.
"Tay...Taylor..." I reach for her desperately and feel the hand leave my back to wrap around my neck. It's not long before I'm clinging desperately to her as she rocks me back and forth as tears begin to seep from my clenched eyelids and sobs and shudders wrack my body.
"Ssh...S'okay...I've got ya..." I vaguely hear her mumble in my ear as I bury my face further into her neck and cry noisily.
I've never felt so scared in all my life. And even though I know I'm safe now, here in Taylor's arms, the fear continues to wash through me causing goosebumps to pop up all over my body.
"Sssh." Taylor whispers again as my hysterics begin to calm. "You're okay."
"I'm s-still mad a-at you." I choke out and I'm not sure if she's heard me until I feel her chuckle vibrate against me.
"I'm still mad at you too." She's still talking as though her tongue is swollen and as I clench her tighter she lets out a hiss of pain.
I frown a little before blinking my eyes open. They sting badly and I can tell that if I were to look in a mirror they would be puffy and inflamed. It takes me a moment to focus but eventually the black spots marring my peripheral vision clear and I pull back so I can look at my best friend properly.
"Fuck!" The expletive slips out of my mouth just before I bring my hand up to cover it. "Oh my god, Taylor." I mumble behind my hand as I take in the sight before me.
Taylor's face is a mess. Her left eye is swollen shut and the cheek below it is mottled with a huge green and purple bruise the size of a large fist. Her lip is split and horribly engorged and dried blood stains her nostrils.
She looks away from me, seemingly unable to stand my absolutely horrified expression before looking back with a sheepish smile which does nothing except highlight the yellowing bruise that stretches grotesquely along her defined jaw.
My stomach turns again. But this time it's not from the urge to vomit but from the twisting guilt that's developed in my gut. This is all my fault.
"Tay..." I gasp through my fingers when I've gained control of my voice.
"You should of seen the other guys." She rasps in response and as what I assume to be an attempt to reassure me. It doesn't.
Instead, I glance down at her fist which is resting in her lap and tears rush to my eyes when I see the state of her knuckles, split and bruised and probably broken.
"Taylor." My throat feels like it's closing up but I force the words out; "You need a hospital."
"No." She responds immediately. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine!" I exclaim, tears rolling down my face. "Jesus! Look at you!"
"Stop." She says quietly, the fingers of her good hand wrapping around my wrist, grounding me. "They're just flesh wounds. They'll heal."
Something in her eyes tells me that there's a deeper underlying meaning to that comment but my head and heart are pounding so loudly that I can't think straight.
"Taylor, you really need -."
"I'm sorry." She interrupts me and my mouth quickly snaps shut. "I'm sorry for not telling you about Madison."
"Taylor..." I try to stop her. Everything that happened before just seems to pale in comparison to what happened last night.
"No. I mean it. I should have told you. I was a bad friend and I'm sorry." I can tell that she means it but I can also tell that there's something else she wants to say:
"But what you did last night was so fucking stupid."
Her tone is so icy that a shiver runs down my spine.
"You need to short your shit out Ashley because that was not okay." She continues and although one of her eyes is swollen partly shut the other one is flashing dangerously. "I know that you were upset about the Madison thing and I get it, okay? I understand why. But what I do not understand is why the fuck that means you have to run off to a club in one of the dodgiest parts of the city alone and get so fucking drunk that you can't even see straight!"
She's absolutely furious. I can feel the tension rolling off of her in waves and I can't even look at her so instead I stare at the palms of my hands, tears once again stinging at my eyelids.
"But that's how you work isn't it?" She spits harshly, and specks of blood fly from her mouth and onto my duvet. "Every time something happens you just take off! With absolutely no regard for your own safety! God knows what would have happened if I hadn't of gotten there in time." The steady anger in her voice quivers for just a second. "And how were you planning on getting home, huh? Or have you conveniently forgotten that you own father was killed by a drunk driver?"
I know that behind her rage she's just as terrified as I am but at the mention of my dad all rationality drains from my body and anger starts to bubble in the back of my throat.
"You're pathetic. When are you just gonna grow up, Ashley?"
That does it.
"SHUT UP!" I scream at her and she physically scoots backwards. "Just shut up!"
All the fear and guilt I was feeling just a second ago channels into anger, fuelling my fury.
"You're acting like you're some fucking saint in all of this!" I shout at her. "If you hadn't of been sneaking around with her behind my back and lying to me for the past two months none of this would ever have happened! And if you hadn't have forced me to go to Jake Slater's party none of that stuff with Sanchez would ever have happened and her brothers..." Bile starts to rise in my throat at the thought of what they could have done to me but I force it down, focusing on my anger. "And you knew what a hard time I was having with this Spencer thing and when I needed you to be there for me you were off fucking that thing."
"Oh yeah. Of course. Blame everything on somebody else just like you always do." She literally growls, throwing her left hand up in exasperation. "You know what? For just once in my life I'd like for you to admit that it's you with the problem. Do know what I do when I'm upset about something? I go for a walk to cool my head. Or I go to the gym and beat the shit out of a punch bag. I don't almost get myself fucking killed!"
"How the hell was I supposed to know what was going to happen?" I shout defensively.
"Exactly! You had no idea what was going to happen! That's why it was so bloody idiotic of you!" She hollers and I cringe as my head starts pounding even worse. "Don't you get it Ashley? Life's too short -."
"Oh, don't start feeding me some fucking bullshit line that you read off the back of some clichéd life enrichment magazine."
"No! I will feed you a line of bullshit. God, Ashley, you don't get it do you? It's a cliché because it's true. Life is too fucking short for you to mess around like this!" Taylor sounds angrier than I've ever heard her and I can tell I've gone too far. It's actually quite frightening. "Do you know what the average life expectancy is for women in the UK?" I have no idea where she's going with this but simply shake my head. "It's eighty one. And do you know how old my mum was when she died?"
My heart drops in my chest like a brick, my initial anger dissipating.
"Tay..."
"She was thirty-eight. Thirty fucking eight!" Taylor lets out a cold, forced chuckle that rips from her throat with the force of a sob. "She didn't even make it halfway." She shakes her head disbelievingly. "So yeah Ashley, life is too fucking short. Undiagnosed cardiac condition? What the fuck even is that?"
Taylor throws her hands wildly up towards my whitewashed ceiling hysterically and I have no idea what to say. Taylor never talks about her mom. Ever. And now all of this bottled up rage is rolling off of her in paralysing waves and I don't know what to do.
"One moment she's fine, and the next? The next she's on the garage floor." Taylor stares hard at the ceiling but I can still see the unshed tears forming in her glassy hazel eyes. "Not enough time for a transplant. Bypass wouldn't work. Too complex for a valve replacement." She muttered the words like a mantra, slurring them due to her swollen lips and the obvious need to cry. "I sat there all day and all night. I just wanted to say goodbye. But she never woke up again."
The tears that had been threatening to spill begin to cascade down her cheeks. Rivulets running over swollen and split skin and dropping onto the bedspread.
"So, yeah. Life's too short." She nods firmly, ignoring her tears completely. "She never smoked, she barely drank, she ran a yearly marathon for Christ's sake! And you're getting so hung up on Spencer Carlin, a girl you've known barely two months and who you made the decision not to get involved with that you've turned into a complete reckless fool."
She chokes back a sob and my heart clenches in my chest at the sound.
"God, do you have any idea how fucking terrified I was?"
I can't meet her eye, completely jarred by her tears. I never thought of the possibility of how shocked I would be to see Taylor truly cry but now that it's happening I wish I'd never known.
"I can't lose you Ash." She murmurs quietly. "I can't. You're all I have."
My head snaps up. Surely that can't be true...
"But you have your Dad..." I manage to mutter.
"My Dad? Please Ash." Taylor snorts. "Haven't you ever wondered why he's away so much?"
I'm stumped by her question.
"Because it's his job?" I answer and she looks at me like I'm missing something obvious.
"And why do you think that he took a job where he has to be away from home almost nine months out of the year, huh?" She sniffs and wipes her nose on her sleeve, cringing when it brushes against the bruised and torn skin.
I have no idea where she's going with this. As far as I know, Mr. Jones is some kind of travelling sales marketer. He has to go to all these conventions to promote the services of some kind of important insurance company.
"I'll give you a clue." Taylor breaks my confused silence. "When we lived in England he worked in admin. It was an office job and he always told me he loved it because it was regular working hours and he could come home at the end of the day and be with his family."
This new information strikes me as more than a little odd. For the three years that I've known him, Mr. Jones has always seemed the flighty type.
"When he requested a transfer to the headquarters in America they offered him the same type of job."
"Why didn't he take it?" I ask her. It sounds like a far better deal than the one he's got now.
"Because he can't stand the sight of me."
Taylor's tone is so brutally honest that I shudder.
"Tay...you know that's not true." I lean over and place my hand on my wrist but am slightly hurt when she flinches and shrugs it off. She may have stopped shouting but she's clearly still angry at me. "Why would you think that?"
"Because it's the truth." She chuckles but it's not her familiar warm laughter, its distant and cold. "You only know the man he is now. I once had the pleasure of knowing the man he used to be. The father he used to be. Did you know he used to be a very affectionate man? He would read me stories and tuck me into bed at night and kiss my forehead. I haven't had a hug from my Dad in three years. And did you know that he used to be my biggest fan? He would come to all of my football games when I was a kid and he used to tell me that I would be a superstar one day. He even had these sweatshirts made for him and Mum to wear when they came to my games that said 'Team Taylor' on the back. God, they were so embarrassing." She chuckles again but this time it's filled with a rueful longing. "But now, now he can't bear to be around me. He always used to tell me that I was the carbon copy of my mum and that I was so lucky I didn't take after him. But now I'm just a constant reminder of her and he can't stand it."
The guilt in my gut is back and I feel like smacking myself in the head repeatedly for being such a jerk. Taylor was supposed to be my best friend and yet I let myself get so caught up in all my own drama that I just dragged her along with me regardless of how she felt. She had been so good to me when my Dad died and I had never bothered to notice that whilst hers was physically still there, he might as well have died along with her mother.
"So yeah Ash." She's talking so quietly now that it's almost inaudible. "You are all I have."
"Tay..." I had no idea what I wanted to say. 'Sorry' would probably be a good start but I don't think it will ever be enough.
I look up and finally meet her eyes to see, even with the abnormal swelling, that she's panicking. Even though I've just discovered that maybe I don't know Taylor as well as I thought I did, I do know her well enough to recognize that she's just realised what she's said and she's freaking out about being so open and is probably embarrassed about letting me see her cry.
"I've gotta go." She states abruptly, rising to her feet and teetering a little before moving rapidly to the door, clearly too uncomfortable to wallow in the fact that she just laid herself bare and made herself completely vulnerable to me.
"Taylor!" I call after her desperately, wanting to make this right before she leaves but as she turns back I can tell that this conversation is over.
"Don't." She says quietly, her hand already on the doorknob and before I can move a muscle, she's gone.
Special thanks to those who sent prompting reviews. Sometimes I really need a good kick up the backside.