Clean Slate » a.i. au

Eight

        How unlucky does a person have to be to walk in on this sight two nights in a row? is the first thing that goes through my head as I stand at the door frame that leads to the living room, inaudibly sighing at the sight on the couch; Ashton, wearing the same clothes he was in a few hours ago, staring through the TV that's also the only source of light in the room, with a cigarette in his hand – and judging from the look on his face, I don't have to guess if he'd ripped the filter off first.

        "Ashton..." I tilt my head to the side as he blinks slowly, and once he opens his eyes again, they're set on my face. His expression stays blank as he raises the cigarette to his mouth, sighing to blow the smoke out.

        "Come here."

        I merely frown at his request; I wasn't expecting seeing him like this when I got up to have a glass of water – I should probably stop getting up at four in the morning for anything – and I certainly wasn't expecting those words to leave his mouth when I did find him like this. "What?"

        "Come on," He jerks his head to the side, physically inviting me to join him too. "This is a friendly zone."

        I contain the snort that would've been my natural reaction to that last bit – I don't think there's anything he could have said that'd be more inaccurate and untrue than calling his presence a friendly zone, especially for me. But I still grip my crutch and walk over to the couch, making sure there's at least half a foot of space between us; if anything goes wrong and he says something he would never even think of in a sober state, at least he won't remember it when he wakes up. So I have nothing to lose.

        "You really need to stop with that," I calmly point to the cigarette in his hand, "It'll murder your lungs, if it hasn't already."

        When I don't get a reply, I slowly avert my eyes to his; and I can't help but gulp at the look on his face. His eyes are half lidded and he looks like he's gonna pass out any moment now as always, but the way a corner of his mouth is pointed upwards confuses me more than anything. "What?"

        He blinks at the sound of my voice, parting his lips while his weird smile widens, to my surprise. "He was right, you know," He says, bringing the cigarette to his mouth once again; I knew I should have expected this, him to randomly start talking about something that would make me cry in a matter of minutes.

        "Who was right?" I ask in a flat tone, assuming I already know the answer. "About what?"

        "Riley," Ashton says through a breath, pronouncing the name as if the word weighs a ton. "During that game. He was right, I did make you feel worthless for the decisions you made concerning your own body, for fuck's sake, I even remember what he said word to word."

        He sighs again, seeming annoyed with himself, and I bite my lip at the confession. This is yet again not what I expected, but I think I'm liking it so far. "You did?"

        "Yeah," He confirms casually, as if he didn't spend months resenting me for this decision that I made without him. "I mean... it was your body and you were the one carrying the baby... I guess I just got caught up in the fact that I was the father, so I gave myself the liberty to think you'd choose to do what I wanted you to do, instead of listening to yourself. And it wasn't even a baby, it was a bunch of cells the size of a nail, if not smaller."

        Man, if only he'd realized this stuff half a year earlier. God knows where we'd be now. "I'm glad you figured that out," I tell him quietly, carefully placing my hand on his forearm, a content smile spreading on my face when he doesn't move away.