Burn ▹ Ashton Irwin

nine

About 4 hours later, I was about ready to rip that radio out of the car, and throw it out the window. The drive to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, was agonizingly clouded with classic rock songs, and Ashton yelling at me or not knowing whatever band was playing. He would drum along to the songs on the steering wheel, know every single lyric to every song, and turn up the volume to full blast everytime a Guns N' Roses song was playing. As safe as being in this car was, opposed to being out in the open with someone who everyone apparently hates...I would much rather be out of this auto mobile right now. The only bright side to this whole 60s-80s rock obession Ashton seems to have, was that he hasn't caused any actual arguents with me this whole time.

"Ew bye." Ashton scoffed, flipping the volum switch down to 0.

"Why ew?" I asked.

"That was from the 90s," Ashton sighed. "The late 90s. Fuck that."

"Oh. Well that makes sense," I rolled my eyes, mocking him in a way. "God forbid a song from the 90s comes on. Not even the 90s...the late 90s."

"Still not in the mood, sweetheart," Ashton grumbled, pulling off the freeway. I stared out the window, noticing the same things as Baltimore, or basically the same things in every city. I was once again amused by the sudden change in Ashton's attitude, now that the music was shut off.

"What a dramatic shift." I laughed.

"Shift in what? How much you annoy me?"

"In how you act," I said coldly, involuntarily pouting. I decided to just say what's been on my mind the whole morning. "You're mean and pissy all day, then you're all giggly and talking nonsense when you're high, and then you get...almost, angrily excited when your weird little obsession with classic rock kicks in. What gives?"

"Pft. Okay," Ashton muttered. "What about you?"

"What do you mean?" I cocked an eyebrow at him, now facing his direction. As much as I would like to stare out the window, I felt cowardly to do that. If I was going to corner him, I might as well try to make eye contact. "I have the same emotion everyday."

"And that's the problem." Ashton rolled his eyes, sitting back in his seat, and just having one wrist draped over the steering wheel. We were driving down a road that led to an intersection, with the light ahead of us red. The junky old truck came to a stop, next to other old cars.

"Fuck," Ashton cursed under his breath, picking up the empty cigarette box. "I need more."

"Technically, you don't." I pointed out.

"Technically, you get on my nerves," Ashton retorted. "And yes I do. Is there an age limit here? Is there an age limit of twenty-one in every state?"

"I don't like playing twenty questions." I said casually, staring out my window. As much as I could feel Ashton's face changing to an angry expression and how much I longed to see it, I was too scared to make actual eye contact with him.

"I will literally push you out of the car."

"And yes, you have to eighteen." I reluctantly answered his question, punching the words into google on my phone. Ashton groaned a relieved groan, sitting back in his seat again. I guess that was good news to him, since he then took a turn and started to drive towards a gas station.

"How old are you?" I asked. He's at least 18, obviously, which is a little reassuring to me. He definitely looked at least 18, I'll give him that. Ashton peered out the front window, probably reading the gas prices that were on the big sign outside of the station. I didn't expect to get answer to my question, and of course I didn't. We slowly pulled into the area where cars would get refilled with gas, and I glanced over to the gauges on the dashboard. The little hand was on the "E", indicating that we needed two things: cigarettes and fuel. Well, we didn't need cigarettes, but Ashton was so compelled to get them.