{CURRENTLY EDITING/SLIGHT REWRITE.}
Ainsley Ashter was a freak-show. A psychopath. An absolute and utter maniac.... Or so they thought.
She was imprisoned at the age of thirteen when she murdered her parents using nothing but the metal leg of her b...
Oops! Această imagine nu respectă Ghidul de Conținut. Pentru a continua publicarea, te rugăm să înlături imaginea sau să încarci o altă imagine.
" Why the fuck would I waste my precious time killing Wells Jaha?! " ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
IF IT WAS POSSIBLE TO KILL THE SUN, AINSLEY CERTAINLY WOULD DO IT. The entire camp has been working what feels like nonstop since Wells was killed nearly a week ago, while he was on guard duty. Since then, Bellamy has made them all pitch in to build a wall around the camp. Ainsley doesn't have the heart to tell him that if the Grounders wanted in, they'd get in. Nothing will stop them. Not even a wall. Though, she knows Bellamy himself needs to believe it will, even if she doesn't.
Tension seems to skyrocket wherever Ainsley and John are placed in the equation. Everyone has made it very clear that they don't trust either one of them, and that the only reason they haven't done anything else about them is because of Bellamy. Ainsley doesn't care. In fact, the only damn thing she cares about on this stupid planet is herself, and John. Bellamy is still growing on her, but is not quite there yet. Though, she does trust him.
The board is a little on the heavy side, but Ainsley manages to lift it with only minimal difficulty. She's half carrying it, half dragging it towards the wall, passing it off to the ones actually building it without a single word. She notes with only slight amusement that the one who took it from her, was the same guy she beat half to death, Silas Greer. She smirks lightly, mockingly saluting him, walking backwards with her eyes on his unnerved ones until she makes it all the way back near John.
"They'd be getting this done a lot faster if we were the ones calling the shots," Ainsley mutters while turning to face him.
"Getting impatient are we, doll?" John replies teasingly.
"Remember when you used to just call me psycho?" Ainsley asks, batting her eyelashes jokingly. "Yeah, I think I miss that, Romeo."
"Hm, do ya now?" John murmurs, the smirk growing wider across his face. "Careful, Ainsley Ashter. You keep battin' those lashes and I just might think you're falling in love with me."
Her eyes widen a fraction at his words, before she shakes her head. Ainsley Carly Ashter has never had feelings for anyone. She doesn't do them. She was too young at thirteen to think of boys when her real life had just fallen apart. She wouldn't even know how to begin to open that rabbit hole. Ainsley does know that she likes the way her name rolls off the tip of his tongue, and how his hair is always parted nearly perfect everyday despite not having a hair brush. Ainsley nudges him in the ribs harder than intended, before going back to work. Damn you, John Murphy.
Ainsley knows he's only joking, but somehow that makes it worse. She sighs and reaches for another board, surprised by the lightness of this one.
