The Great Escape || a.i. *completed & editing*

~0.5

I sat in my room and waited for Ashton to text me. I thought about how he said my hair looked good like this. It seems ironic that Sam made a comment about it this morning and then Ashton said something too... But it had to be a coincidence.

I sat and tried to think of a few ideas for a story. Yet no matter how much I wracked my brain, I couldn't come up with something. I finally got to the point where I sat and held my head in my hands and demanded to myself to come up with something to write about. This method, of course, didn't work.

I sighed and threw myself on my bed, wishing I could just come up with something that I could write about. Honestly, it can't be THAT hard to write a story! I did it throughout my entire childhood, why couldn't I do it now?

I heard my phone buzz and I looked over and it was Ashton. "Ready to start unpacking. :)"

Grateful for a reason to get out of my cave, I jumped up and ran downstairs. I realized I was probably a little eager, so I slowed down a bit and casually walked to over to Ashton's house.

I knocked on the door, and Mr. Irwin opened up and greeted me with a smile.

"Sarah," he said. "Ashton's unpacking right now, but I'll have him--"

"Dad, it's okay, she wanted to help me," I heard Ashton somewhere behind Mr. Irwin, and he stepped aside and let me come in. Ashton was standing wearing a rock t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, shorts and a gray bandana around his head. He looked so casual, it made me smile. It seemed to match his personality.

"Hey," he smiled at me. I walked with him to his bedroom, where there were about ten to fifteen boxes sitting in one corner.

"I have... A lot of crap," he said. "I don't think I need all of it, but a lot of it holds good childhood memories that I don't want to get rid of. My mom gets mad and calls me a hoarder but they're of sentimental value, so I never let her throw them away."

He opened up one box and pulled out an extremely flat soccer ball. "Like this. I played with this ball at my first soccer game when I was younger."

"It makes sense," I said. "I keep all my journals from growing up and my mom gets mad at me for it. She wants to burn them, but I couldn't do that."

"See?" he smiled at me. "We understand each other perfectly."

I smiled back. "Well the sooner we get all of your crap out of boxes, the sooner it's done."

"True," he pointed at me and then opened another box.

He said to just throw the clothes into a basket or something, but I insisted on hanging them up in his closet, at which he told me I sounded like his mom, so I ended up hanging up his clothes while he took things out of boxes and put them where he wanted them in his room.

In about an hour, we had all of his boxes unpacked neatly except for one, which he hesitated at opening.

"You have to promise you're not going to judge me," he said, holding the box in his arms so I wouldn't open it.

"Why would I judge you?" I laughed. "What would I have to judge you about?"

He sighed. "Just promise you won't."

"Okay, I promise," I said.

He opened the box and pulled out a few stuffed animals and tossed them on his bed, which made me laugh.

"You're judging me!" he said, sitting on his bed, pouting.

"No," I laughed even harder. "I'm wondering why you would think I would judge you when you saw the dolls sitting by my bed in my room."