invisible // a.i.

10

Not even five minutes later, the doorbell rings. Groaning, I pull myself from the bed, careful not to jolt myself too much for fear of hurting my swollen nose, and trod to the door. Pulling it open, I see a drenched Aussie with a huge grin, which quickly turns into a look of concern.

“You weren’t kidding, Fi! It really is broken!” He steps forward into the house, bypassing the traditional customs of being invited in, and slowly reaches his hands to my face, gently turning it from side to side. As he examines the injury, I can’t help but examine him as well. His hair is wet in curly ringlets from the rain, which I had not been aware of until I opened the door to let this manchild in. His green eyes twinkled in the dim light of my living room, and as I watched his focus suddenly turned from my nose to my eyes. I saw the flash of realization at how close we were; I could feel each puff of breath coming through his lips, still a bit ragged after running from his car to the door. Only a few inches closer and our lips would be touching. I was almost certain that he could hear the rapid beating of my heart and feel my pulse racing under my skin.

“Erm, I think we should go to the hospital, your nose does look broken,” he awkwardly tells me, pulling away from me and releasing his hold on my face. I could already feel the absence of his heat, and the feeling was unwelcome. I already missed the warmth of him on my skin, wishing he’d held on for just a little longer.

“Oh, right, of course,” I reply stupidly. “Let me just grab my purse and, maybe some shoes? Then I’ll be ready to go.” I turn and walk farther into the house, listening as his footsteps clumsily follow after me.

“Oh, you should probably get your insurance card or something? I think they need that when you go to the hospital. At least, that’s what I’ve seen on those medical television shows.”

“Yeah, I’ll grab that too. Stay here, I just need to run up and get my things.” I scramble up the stairs, afraid that if I take too long he’ll stumble into my warzone of a room. It’s disgusting, I seriously need to clean. Quickly I grab the things I need and scurry back downstairs, only to find an empty kitchen waiting for me.

“Ashton?” I call out, slowly walking through the rooms trying to find him.

“In here!” he yells back, from what sounds like the den. I follow the sound of his voice and find him by the fireplace and the television, holding a picture in his hand. I know instantly which one it is when I see the frame. My grandmother had given it to me for my eleventh birthday, silver with small metal flowers along the edges. That was the year before she died, simply of old age and probably sadness of missing my grandfather, who had gone two years earlier. I can’t remember much about her, except for the frame and a small, smelly house that I used to visit for holidays.

 But it’s the picture that is in the frame that is what has captured Ashton’s focus. A fifteen year old me, laughing into the camera as my father tickles me from behind.

“Is this your dad?” he asks me, an innocent enough question, but already I can feel the lump forming in my throat. I nod, unable to speak for fear that I will not be able to hold myself together.

“Oh, oka- hey, are you alright?” Ashton had turned to face me and caught a glimpse of the single tear that ran down my face.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” I promised, clearing my throat and wiping off the wetness. I take the picture from him and set it back in its place, letting out a deep breath to control myself.

“You sure?” he tries one more time and I nod in affirmation. “Alright well we should probably get you to the hospital then. The sooner they see you, hopefully the sooner you’ll get better.”

We start walking back to the front door and as we exit, it turn to glimpse at the house once more. Through the rooms I can see, sitting on the coffee table, the picture of a much younger, much happier me. Shaking my head to clear the onslaught of memories, I close the door and head out into the rain. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: wrote this during classes today, hope it's not too shabby!