Intertwined

Chapter 24

Asher plays twenty questions with me, as he drives. The light mood and conversation is a stark contrast to some of the other times we've spent in his truck, where tension and irritation has riddled us both.

Asher has one hand on the steering wheel; the other is resting on the compartment between us. It's the first time Asher has dared moving any closer to me than his seat space during a ride. I'm painfully aware of it. The black swirls of ink on his arm seem darker today somehow, standing out from the slight tan of his skin. I wonder what it would be like to trace it. My fingers urge to touch them.

"And that's why I never eat anything pickled anymore," I conclude a story about the time Zoey challenged Brady and I to an eat off in pickles and how the sight of Brady all green with disgust made me snort so hard that pickle juice came out my nose.

Asher chuckles, the deep sound rattling me to my core. I shiver involuntary.

"So what about you?" I ask him, when his chuckle has died down and silence has taken over.

"What about me?" he asks, glancing at me sideways, before returning his eyes to the road ahead of us.

We're pulling up onto gravel. It's almost predictable with Asher. It seems he gravitates towards nature and the quiet. I briefly wonder if he'll be taking me to the Pit again or if we're going to the creek on the other side of the road, as if it's a divider between the good and the bad.

"What's your favorite thing in the world?"

"In the world?" he asks, raising his eyebrows quizzically, "It couldn't just be foods or music, you just had to go and make it hard, didn't you?"

I shrug, already feeling the corners of my mouth pulling upwards. "Nothing good comes easy."

He snorts. "Of course you would say that."

I swat at his arm before I realize what I'm doing. It's only when my hand meet solid skin that I'm aware of it. Time seems to stop. I hold my breath, waiting for his response. I'm terrified that the fun Asher I've had the pleasure of all day is gone and I'm left with the usual brooding Asher. I don't think I could handle knowing that I would've caused that change in him.

My heart is beating a million miles an hour as Asher picks up the hand resting on the middle compartment and digs three of his fingers into my side. I let out a squeal and throw myself against the window in a desperate attempt to get as far away from him as possible. But Asher keeps poking at me, tickling my side.

"Stop," I beg him breathlessly, but to no avail. When his laughter booms through the car I almost sit back and let him do it, just to keep him laughing.

He doesn't stop until he reaches the small curve in the gravel road, where we always park.

I'm still wiping tears from my face when he cuts the engine.

Once out of the car I wait for Asher's direction. I'm relieved to find him heading away from road and in the opposite direction of the Pit. I'm not sure I'm ready for a round two of that night.

We walk in silence, but unlike the many other times Asher and I have walked together he's not rushing ahead of me, but keeping up pace with me.

His hands are still stuffed in his jeans pockets and he looks thoughtful, as he maneuvers through the woods. It's has started to drizzle and the moisture is contorting his tousled hair into loose dark curls.

I'm expecting him to lead me back to the creek bank again, so I'm taken aback when he leads me towards a hilltop.

When we reach the top Asher stops and turns to me. Without a word he nods towards what's ahead of me. I realize then that we're not on a hill top, but standing on the edge of a small cliff, cutting through the forest. It's not quite high enough to exceed the tree top line. From up here we have the view of the small creep below us, and the forest stretching out behind it.

"Is this okay?" he asks, glancing at me.

"Sure," I croak, wishing I had any indication of what is running through Asher's mind. "What are we doing here?"

He turns to me, and I find a huge boyish grin on his face. It's so out of character for Asher, like everything else that's happened today, that it takes me a minute to adjust. It makes his features look softer. "Picnic," he tells me, before he turns around on his heels and heads towards a large oak tree a few feet off from the cliff top.

"But it's raining," I call out to him. He doesn't react. I briefly wonder if he's heard me. I'm about to call out again, when he stops, bends and retrieves something from at the foot of the tree.

It's a picnic basket and a tarp.

"So?" he calls back.

I stare at him blankly, when he puts the basket back on the ground and starts spreading out the tarp.

"What are you doing?"

"Picnicking," he tells me, still focused on spreading out the tarp.

"It's raining," I say lamely. I try to pull my jacket closer around me, hoping that it'll be enough to keep out at least some of the droplets. When it was just a drizzle before it's turned into a slow steady rain. I'm sure we'll both get strep throat if we stay out in this weather.

That's Washington for you. My father used to joke that it would rain three-hundred-and-sixty-five days a year here.

Asher doesn't answer me until he's done laying out the tarp against the oak tree, covering parts of the ground in front of the tree trunk as well. "Sit," he tells me.

I regard the tarp covered space skeptically but decide to play along.

As soon as I'm seated on the ground, Asher retrieves two blankets from the basket. He motions for me to lean forward and when I do he wraps one of the blankets around my back. Then he takes a seat next to me, leaning against the tree trunk, and spreads the second blanket out over both of our legs. He then proceeds to pull the tarp down around our shoulders and up over our legs. We're now covered in blankets and tarp and I realize, much to my surprise, that we're perfectly sheltered from the rain and the cold. Asher has created a little cocoon for us.

"I used to be a boy scout," he tells me, boasting with the kind of pride you would see in a six year old who has just tied his shoes for the first time on his own.

I try to imagine Asher at six years old, with a head full of dark small curls and wide curious eyes, but when I'm reminded of all of the reasons that six year old boy grew up so fast, the image is too painful to linger on for too long.

"We had this leader," he proceeds to tell me, "He was really strict, but I liked him. He used to tell us that there was no storm we couldn't weather and that a little rain never hurt nobody." When I turn to look at him he looks lost in another time. "Sometimes I wonder if he was really only talking about the weather." The thought is so deep that I want to say something, but I don't know what. Then Asher shrugs and I'm saved from having to answer. "I guess I'll never know," he says, his smile returning to his face. Then he looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine, the grey so bright in the natural light. "You hungry?" 

//here's another one, just for you! Don't forget to hit that like button or let me know what you think about this new side of Asher in a comment down below? It'll truly mean the world to me!//