So here's Chapter 3. Some people are still pretty ticked off at Ash which okay because right now that's the point. As for Ashley's bad reputation, I wasn't really referring to prom, more to season 2 in comparison to season 1 as well as how in season three Spencer kisses Jonica and nothing happens as well as Spencer moving away for college. I feel like they only showed Spencer's side of that story. Anyways, feel free to disagree with me, but please continue reading.

I'm booking the next flight to Boston. I'm doing it before I lose my nerve. I can take whatever I find.

Spencer's PoV

Out of a mix of sheer desper- exasperation, I went to Chelsea, the one non-Ashley related friend I have.

That's what happens when you date Hurricane Ashley. Somehow everything and everyone becomes inextricably tangled up with her.

I met Chelsea at her art studio. She hadn't been totally clueless on the Ashley situation. She was the only person outside of family that I'd really had to talk to in a while.

"So what's with you and Ashley these days?" She asked the moment I sat down. "Last time I checked you were ready to kick her out to the curb. I mean, you're not exactly cuddly, but you're not acting like to people who have just broken up either."

"I don't know," I sighed. "I was going to do it, but there's something weird with her. She just isn't all there. Part of me is still really mad. But the other part is worried. And the mad part of me is saying 'who cares' and the other part is saying 'shouldn't I at least try to figure out what's wrong'. So now I'm in limbo between concern and anger because what if there really is something wrong and I break it off when she needs me?"

Chelsea paused in her project to look at me sagely. "What about you and what you need? You could end it and still be there for her."

"If I end it she might push me away from her." And I need her. Something I didn't admit to Chelsea because that would have been a lie.

Right?

"Well, ask her. Push your way into her crazy head because I can't believe that girl would have abandoned you for anything in the world."

"What about anyone?" That's my greatest fear. That she met someone in Europe. That she's distancing herself from me as she falls back into old habits. I thought I'd made my peace with Ashley's less than reputable past before we even became a "we", but at that moment I was flooded with sudden doubt. I remember a nightmare I had, the night we first met.

I was in the locker room. Standing in a towel with my hair still damp and suddenly Madison and a bunch of other girls start accusing me of looking at them and being gay. Their mantra: "You're so gay" echoed of the walls and I couldn't escape, no matter how hard I tried.

I can almost laugh at that part now, because I am "so gay". Honestly, I don't get how you can be "so" gay. I don't even know exactly why that should have been so terrifying, but at the time I was scared witless and completely disoriented. That part of the dream no longer scares me. I've come to terms with who I am. As I've said before it's kind of funny.

There's one part of the dream that still can eat away at me whenever I remember it though. As I run around in circles in the locker room, on the verge of tears, I turn a corner and see Ashley standing there, expressionless.

My heart cried for her to save me, protect me. I called out to her, but when I do Aiden appears and puts his arm around her shoulders. And they walk away.

"Spencer, if Ashley left you for someone else she's an even bigger idiot than I thought she was, 'cause damn girl, you're hot, and if you were available all the eligible lesbians and not-so-eligible guys in California would be following you around like a pack of lost puppies."

I snorted. "Yeah, right. Last time I checked there was no puppy pack mooning over me."

"That's only because Ashley's scared them all away. She doesn't like sharing Spencer."

We talked some more and Chelsea held firm to her belief that I needed to bully the answer out of Ashley and at least try to get the relationship back on track. She finally persuaded me that despite the risk of Ashley growing even more detached, Ashley couldn't get much more aloof, we weren't getting anywhere, and Chelsea was Chelsea and hadn't ever steered me wrong before.

So I went to find Ashley, literally and figuratively. I didn't know what she would do, but I had to try.

Ashley's PoV

I sat on the couch in the sitting room. It was more secluded than the living room so there was less of a chance of having yet another awkward run-in with Kyla. The only real difference was the lack of a television in the sitting room.

I'd just been sitting there as always and brooding. I'm such a sucker for punishment because even though I never wanted to think about it again I kept going back and just sitting there and reflecting. Trying to find a way for it to be okay.

Going to Europe was the worst thing I could've done to Spencer at that time, and I bet the universe had just found the perfect way to punish me. At the time, it had sounded like the perfect thing to do. My mother wouldn't stop talking how wonderful it would be for us to both go, which should have warned me that something horrible was about to happen.

I'm clearly not very good at recognizing apocalyptic signs.

By the time I got on the plane I was beginning to regret it. I would have turned around and got on the next back to LA when I first landed, but my mother dragged me off. Besides I was still a minor and flying unaccompanied was tricky. Someone has to pick you up at the other end and my mother would've had to fill out forms. Chances of my mom actually taking the time to do that: 0 out of 0.

"Ash,"

I leapt and twisted when a hand descended on my shoulder. It's just wild unreasonable fear. No logic to it. Like that time I watched a program on killer crocodiles when I was nine. Even though I knew the crocodiles were in Africa and they wouldn't be living under my bed, I still jumped from three feet away every time I got on and off my bed.

I had my back on the floor and was supported by my elbows as I stared wildly at Spencer. Her face was carved into concern.

"It's just me," she says as I struggle to rationalize away my fear and the flashbacks, -oh God, the flashbacks. Rough grabbing hands on my shoulder, my arms, my face, my hair, everywhere. And that sneering voice, taunting and cruel, "What are you so afraid of? It's just me."

My eyes are screwed shut, but I feel someone tuck my hair behind my ear. And the softest of whispers, "What's wrong, baby? Are you all right? What are you so afraid of?" Her fingers caress my cheek where the bone is still sharp, having never quite regained its old layer of flesh.

Her fingers were light across my skin, but increased in pressure as she stroked more firmly, trying to soothe me even though she didn't know what she was fighting.

Without warning I grab her face to seek her lips with mine. I soldered them together because I needed her. I needed her to prove to me that the world wasn't horrible, that someone cared, that someone would understand everything, that someone wouldn't leave behind as they moved on.

I needed her to prove that someone doesn't shove their tongue into your mouth, or hit you, or seize your everything, but fear.

It had been so long since we kissed. Since the night of prom. Eventually we stopped and slowed the pace, panting softly. I felt Spencer nuzzle my neck.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." Pathetic.

"Stop lying,'" she says without anger. "What are you hiding from me?"

I don't like directly lying to Spencer, all of my instincts shriek at its wrongness. The thought of actually saying it makes me nauseous though because this way it can still be a dream. I can tell myself that it wasn't real, that is wasn't that bad and I'm just blowing it out of proportion so I don't have to deal with the guilt of leaving Spencer. If I tell, suddenly, people will want me to do all sorts of things and everyone will want to know everything.

I settle for parts of the truth.

"I'm afraid you're going to leave me. That you're still angry, that I don't deserve you. I think that you hate me for going to Europe. I feel guilty about giving up on trying to find you and not pushing harder. I hate that I left the entire summer. I hate the way things turned out. And I can't blame you if you leave me."

Let's face it, I'm a good liar. Partly because I can tell half-truths and convince myself that they're the whole truth. I can convince myself that lies are real.

Nobody realizes how well I can lie when I really try. Usually with teachers I enjoy making up ridiculous stories, but when push comes to shove I can convince anyone to believe me.

For the moment, at least, she appeared a little reassured by my answer. We fell asleep on my couch.

. . .

Something was wrong. I felt it the moment I woke up in the middle of the night. There was a searing pain in my lower belly. I was terrified because it felt unexpectedly familiar.

Suddenly the pain reached a climax and I screamed.