"I don't know what's wrong with him, but he does this every time. It frustrates the hell out of me."
"Mhhmm."
"And it just comes out of nowhere, you know? I mean, is he actually bipolar? Has he been checked out? Because I swear."
"Mhhmm."
"He shouldn't be allowed to just get away with this. He treats people like shit and they praise him for it. But not me. Oh, no. I'm telling you right now that I will not be a victim to his vindictive ways. Ohhh, no, my friend. I will-"
"Ella?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
I turn to Michael, a little offended. Was he really telling me to shut up during our deep and meaningful conversation about Ashton? I had come to him with my heart on my sleeve and this is how is he dealing with it? How rude.
Michael hangs his legs off the edge of the roof - it took a lot of convincing for me to come up and join him - and drinks from his bottle. He burps and I wince. "Ashton is an asshole, anyone could've told you that."
"But why," I cry. "Why does he have to be?"
"Because he's pretty and he's popular." Michael looks at me. "Duh."
I sigh. I was pretty and popular, yet I wasn't an asshole.
"But then again, so are you. So maybe you two are perfect for each other."
I scowl. "Why are you even friends with him?" I question. "If he's such an asshole?"
Michael shrugs. "Because he's funny, and he's really good on the drums."
"You boys are complete idiots."
"The problem with you is that you keep expecting Ashton to not be himself." Michael suddenly adds the deep and meaningful to the conversation. "And the problem with Ashton is that he keeps expecting you to not be yourself. You two are both who you are, you need to accept that or just move on."
"How can I accept who Ashton is when I don't even know who he is," I counter.
"You just said it yourself," he replies. "He's an asshole."
"And that's it?"
Michael hesitates. "Yeah, pretty much."
I wanted to ask myself why I cared so much about somebody that wasn't me. I had never felt that way before. But I cared a whole lot for Ashton and I really didn't understand why. Did I just miss him? Was that it? Did I miss the Ashton I used to know and be so close with? Because the Ashton I knew now was certainly a lot different than the Ashton I left behind ten years ago. Maybe that was it, maybe I did just miss him. But then ... when I look at him I feel something that feels a lot like indigestion but a lot more pleasurable. I hate it. What the hell is going on?
"I haven't seen Ashton care this much about a girl since Marie," Michael speaks up.
I turn to him. There it was again, that name that was so forbidden. "Who was she?"
"Marie?" Michael straightens his posture. "She's Ashton's ex."
"Who isn't?" I mumble.
"No, but like, Marie was an actual girlfriend," Michael says. "The only one he ever had."
"I tried asking him about her once and he totally shut me down."
"Yeah, he would. If you even just mention her name he loses it."
"What happened?"
Michael sighs. "She screwed him over. Big time. We all knew she was a horrible person but we didn't think she could be that bad."
"What did she do?"
Michael looks a little sad. "Ashton's an asshole because of what he's been through. You can't be too hard on him. He's had a lot of people treat him like shit."
"So he thinks it's fair to do the same to others?" I cry, but I'm feeling a little sad myself. What could this Marie chick have possibly done that broke Ashton so bad?
"He has a twisted idea of what love is, but it's not his fault. I mean, Marie fucked him up pretty bad. They dated two years ago and he's still not over it."
"Does she go to our school?" I was pretty keen to meet this Mysterious Marie.
Michael laughs. "God no. You think Ashton would still be attending?"
"Does she live here?"
Michael just shakes his head.
"Well, where is she from?"
"Why do you wanna know so bad?"
"I don't know, because she's this mysterious chick that apparently broke Ashton's heart and her name is completely off talking limits so I just wanna know who the hell she is."
"She lives in the city," he tells me.
"Did he love her?"
"Yeah. He really did."
"Does he still?"
Michael looks at me and under the moonlight I can really catch a glimpse of who he actually is. He's kind, and he's sweet, and he cares a whole lot about his friends. Especially Ashton. And I find that really nice, because it's a nice feeling to have someone care about you so much. These boys are all extremely lucky to have each other. And for the first time I really wish I had friends like them.
"The thing about people like Marie is that they never really leave. But I see the way Ashton looks at you, and the way he acts around you, and it's really nice. Because I haven't seen him this .... happy since her. He deserves to be happy. I think you could make him happy."
"Wow, Michael," I breathe. "That was strangely nice of you."
He laughs. "I'm very drunk, Stanford. Don't expect me to say this often, and if you ever repeat it I'll cut up your bones in your sleep. But, you're alright. I kind of like you. And I kind of like the idea of you and Ashton together. I think you'll be good for him, and he needs someone good. So just give him some time. I can see he's starting to let you in. It might take a while, but just be patient with him. I can guarantee he'll be worth your time. He's .... he's broken. He needs someone to fix him. And, you know, I'm really glad you're back. I hope you stay for a while."
I'm smiling a real, proper smile for the first time in a while and I can feel my heart expanding in my chest. I don't know what to say. Did Michael really just say that? To me? The idea of having a friend like Michael in my life makes me feel really happy. "Michael, I-"
I turn to him and find him passed out beside me on the roof, soft snores escaping his lips as he sleeps awkwardly on his arm. I laugh and shake my head. I have no idea how I'm going to get him down from here, so I decide to just leave him. "Thanks, Michael," I say softly, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. "I kind of like you, too."
------
After I leave Michael peacefully sleeping on the roof I go back inside. Apparently mine and Ashton's talk didn't knock him down like it did to me because he's in the house busy partying away, playing rap music loudly and drinking like there's no tomorrow.
For a second or so I just look at him, watch as he chugs and chugs and chugs, and I wonder just how much he hurts. He doesn't look happy, but what would I know? I barely know him. But somehow I get the idea that the smile and the laugh that belong to him in the moment aren't anything real. That all he's done is surround himself with fake people in fake situations and held the illusion that they're what's real. And it kind of makes me sad, which is something I didn't think I could feel. But it makes me sad that Ashton has never felt anything real, maybe in the entirety of his life.
The party atmosphere doesn't excite me anymore than it did ten minutes ago, so I move down the hall and try and escape the noise. Even in my room, which is right by the lounge, is too much to handle, so I try and go deeper into the house. I then come to Ashton's attic bedroom and I decide that if I want some quiet and somewhere to escape, that's the perfect place.
I look over my shoulder to make sure no one's behind me and open Ashton's door. I know that I'll be safe from Ashton finding me, because he's too drunk to ever leave the party. I flick on the light and close the door behind me before locking it. And I'm in Ashton's bedroom. Alone.
His room is the perfect escape as I can barely hear the happenings going on down the hall. I look around the room, band posters are everywhere. Anything music related is everywhere. It's very obvious to tell what Ashton's into. I've never been in his room before, only seen it from the doorway or the hall outside. Somehow actually being inside it, and alone, makes it feel much bigger.
I walk over to Ashton's bookshelf containing CD's and scan each shelf. There is honestly every artist ever known in here, not that I know many of them. They're all categorised in alphabetical order, which seems strangely organised for someone like Ashton. I skim my fingers along the spines of each album like they're books. I guess to people like Ashton, they are. Just as valuable and enjoyable.
I suddenly remember what Ashton said to me once about the books in CD's being his favourite part and go to the M's to find John Mayer. There's about four albums under his name so I open each one, flicking through the books to try and find the one Ashton told me about. I finally find it in the album Continuum, a book of John Mayer's scribbling and note taking. There's photos of his studio, of the recording process. I feel as though I'm right there in the studio listening to him record these songs. I start to understand what Ashton meant about these being the best parts.
I look through more albums and their books, perusing through The Eagles, Green Day, Led Zeppelin, Matchbox Twenty, Janis Joplin, Cat Stevens. I don't know any of these people, but through the midst of music I find albums belonging to people that I do know, more modern and popular stuff that I didn't think Ashton would be into at all. There's Justin Timberlake, Backstreet Boys, Beyonce, Justin Bieber, One Direction. There's even Taylor Swift. What album doesn't he have?
I find that in most of the books that have the lyrics to songs on the album, Ashton has written his own notes all over them, like some kind of diary. I flick through The Killers - Greatest Hits album and come across something Ashton's written beside the lyrics to 'Runaway.'
I wish I could runaway to something new but where would I be running to? I'm starting to think it's not a place, but rather a who.
And then beside the lyrics to 'Miss Atomic Bomb',
She's captivating, like the first sight of a storm. She's destructive, like the last.
I'm about to turn the page when I hear incessant banging on the door. I jump about a metre in the air before rushing to put away the albums I'm holding.
"Open up!" I hear Ashton yell from the other side of the door. "Who's in my room?"
I panic. Shit, shit, shit. Could I hide? No, he knows someone's in here. The door's locked. Fuck. Kill me now.
"HEY!" More bangs.
I need a plan and I need one fast. I could say I was in here because I was asleep and someone was in my bed? I could say I was cleaning? Or I could just tell him the truth?
"Who's in there?" Ashton yells again. "My room's off limits, man!" The door handle is jostled. "Why the hell did you lock the door? That's just weird."
I take a deep breath and move around trying to make everything look as untouched as possible. I fix my hair and straighten my shirt. Ashton's knocking has died down a bit and I think he's left, until he knocks again.
"If you don't open this door by the time I count to three, I swear to god-"
I open the door and Ashton literally falls onto me.
"Stanford?" He drawls. I can't tell if he's sleepy or drunk, or both. "What the hell are you doing in here?"
"I ... uh, I ..." I stammer, trying to think of a good enough excuse. "Uh ..."
"Whatever," he mumbles, slowly dragging himself to his bed. "I'm fucking tired."
"Are you okay?" I watch as he tries to pull off his sneakers even though his laces are still tied tight. I bend down and untie them for him and he leans back against the wall.
"My head hurts," he whines.
"How much did you have to drink?" I ask, pulling his left sneaker off.
He holds up his hand as he attempts to count. "I think, only two."
I snort. Because that was believable. I pull off his right sneaker and move his legs around to lie on his bed, but he shakes his head.
"Sit with me," he says.
"I ... are you sure?"
Before I can protest any further, he's pulling me down to sit beside him on the bed. I feel strangely tingly at his touch but try and ignore it. He's incredibly drunk, he doesn't know what he's doing.
"Do you want some medicine?" I ask. "For your head?"
He shushes me. "If we stay quiet long enough, they'll leave."
"Who?" I say.
"Ssssh!"
"Who?" I repeat in a whisper.
Ashton gets really close to my face and I almost die. He reeks of alcohol and bitterness but I still want to just have him hold me. His hair tickles my face as he leans in to whisper in my ear. "The people."
"You mean the people you invited to your party?"
"SSSHH!"
"If you don't want them here, Ashton, just tell them to leave."
"My head hurts."
I sigh. This was gonna be fun.
"How about I go get the others?" I suggest, talking softly so that he doesn't spit all over me again. "They can help get everyone out?"
I go to move and I feel Ashton's arms wrap themselves tightly around me. I almost squeal. His arms. His arms. On ME.
"You smell nice," Ashton says. He then proceeds to sniff me. "Like flowers."
"I wish I could say the same about you."
"Oh, man." He sniffs himself then. "Do I smell bad?"
"You smell like alcohol," I admit.
He grins. "Alright!"
I just roll my eyes. "Okay, I'm gonna-"
"No!" He pulls me into him. "Stay. Please?"
"I, uh, why?"
"Because I want you to," he says in a small voice. And that's enough for me.
I sit down beside him and lean against the wall. Our bodies are so close it's intoxicating, and he still has his arms loosely hung around me. Despite him being totally out of it, I feel very safe with him like this. I think about what Michael said and I smile.
"What are you smiling about?" Ashton suddenly asks.
I immediately stop smiling. "Uh, nothing," I stammer.
"What is it?" He pesters.
"I was just thinking about tonight," I say.
"Did you have fun?"
"Yeah," I lie. "Did you?"
"I guess. Is that why you were smiling though, or are you lying?"
"Michael and I were talking," I say.
"About what?"
I hesitate. "About you."
Then it's his turn to hesitate. "Good things?"
"Michael only ever says good things."
"Not always. He knows a lot about me."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, out of all the guys, he knows the most."
"Why's that?"
Ashton shrugs, and I feel my arms move. "He's very understanding."
"Ashton?"
"Yeah?" His voice is getting slower, more dragged out.
"What did Marie do to you?"
There's a very long pause and for a second I think he's fallen asleep, but when I look down at him I see him staring straight ahead. His grip on me somewhat tightens.
"How much did Michael tell you?"
"Not much," I quickly say. I didn't want him getting mad at Michael, who was just as equally drunk. And probably still asleep on the roof. I had to remember to check on him in the morning. "Just that she was the only girlfriend you've ever had, and she wasn't a very good one."
Ashton doesn't reply.
"He told me she lives in the city. Do you still visit her?"
"Occasionally," he answers. His voice is soft. "I haven't since last summer."
"When you went with Luke?"
"Yeah."
"Why?" I'm suddenly angry. "Why would you even, after what she did to you? Why not just let her go?"
I hear the rawness of his speech, the crack in the way he says, "I ... can't."
"Do you still love her?" I ask him.
"I thought I did," he answers honestly. "But now all I can think about is you."
My heart lifts. "Really?" I say with far too much excitement.
"I'm sorry for how I treat you," he continues. "I just don't know how to get close with anyone."
"Ashton-"
"I don't want you to hurt me," he says carefully.
"Ashton, I would never hurt you. I promise you."
"I think I really like you, El."
I almost don't think I hear him. Did he ... did he just? "I ... I think I really like you too." My cheeks are on absolute fire and the feeling of his arms around me is making my heart thump in my chest. I can hear his breathing getting slower and slower and it's such a peaceful sound. He's so close to me, closer than he's ever been. I feel as if for the first time, to him, this feels real. And I'm glad I'm apart of it.
"That makes me really happy," he says just before he falls asleep on my chest.