Ashley's Asylum (3)

36 | Ashley's Asylum

"I suppose you could say the same, you claim our mother was terrible" Ashley suggested, bringing him back from whatever memories had surfaced.

Michael smiled frankly and lifted his drink close to his lips but didn't drink instead, he spoke.

"My and Ava's relationship can be summarised simply, she would hold out her palm and in it would be a cube of sugar. I'd take it, put it in my mouth and it'd be salt. It was always salt. I took it for 16 years knowing it was salt," he glanced down at his drink, "but I always hoped for sugar."

Ashley glanced down at her own beverage as he finally drank.

"What changed?"

She heard his empty glass clink against the table and looked up to see him smile briefly.

"I grew tired of having a stomachache."

Ashley couldn't place the few memories of her mother next to the woman he described. She didn't want to believe him, he had already spoilt so much for her, but everything he'd said so far was right enough. He had scars, maybe some of them came from her.

"You look just like her" he added indifferently. "I wonder what you hold in your palm."

The comment struck her to the core. She tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it felt weak to her lips. Michael smiled back at her crookedly but succeeded even less.

"I like it here, shall we have another?" She suggested, quickly emptying her glass.

His lips resigned to a whisper of a smile before he nodded and rose to get them another drink.

Ashley watched him go before turning to stare hard at his empty chair. At that moment he hardly disguised it. She placed her hands on the table and examined her palms. He was hoping for sugar, but he expected salt.

They drank their second beer slower before Michael said they could return. He assumed aloud she was tired, but Ashley was used to long periods of no sleep now even when her body cried out from exhaustion; better yet she had recuperated some of her energy since arriving here. There was no fear of the devil visiting unexpectedly when you slept in his bed.

She wasn't eager to return to Sam and his secrets either, not when she wasn't allowed to know them completely. Michael had barely told her anything. Instead, all he did was consolidate that Sam was an emotional mine-field, no news there.

Before they entered the trailer, Michael caught her arm and held her back.

"Look at me" he whispered.

He dragged a hand down the side of his face in exasperation when she did.

"Fix your face, in fact, if he's awake don't look at him" he advised her.

Ashley's eyebrows rose incredulously. "No problem."

She thought keeping her mouth shut would be enough, but evidently, her face said enough. Perhaps she should put a bag over her head to stay out of trouble.

Michael opened the door, and Ashley climbed the steps first with feather-light feet. Her stealth appeared wasted for no one was home.

She turned to see Michael paused on the outside steps. No words were needed. He backed up before stalking back into the dark without a word, and Ashley watched him go.

She shuffled into the kitchen afterwards and leant against the counter, blowing out a huge gust of air. The image of sugar and salt cubes haunted her thoughts.  Michael compared her to their mother, someone who apparently had someone as manipulative as Michael eating out of her palm until he grew tired of her shit and murdered her. Michael sensed her insincerity, just as Sam had warned her, and if she gave him salt he'd bash her brains in. The message was crystal clear, try harder.