Why do you pick fights with other boys? It's the question Ryan has been running from all his life. The answer will shock you.
For as long as Ryan can remember, he's always wanted to be someone special. Now, a promising high school wrestler and a po...
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Ashley's bedroom reflected the lavishness of the rest of her home. With nearly a thousand square feet of space, she had plenty of closet room to store her wide array of casual to upscale clothing. Her queen sized bed with half a dozen pillows and comfy blankets was perfectly situated in the center of the room with silky drapes hanging around it. Several floating shelves held pictures of family and friends, trophies, medals, and boxes filled with jewelry and other expensive valuables. The private, tile floored bathroom had a walk-in shower next to a bathtub and a medicine cabinet with common toiletries and make-up for any occasion. Outside was a balcony overlooking Lake Whatcom that was built after Ashley's father bought the home to add more value to the property.
Based on her quality of life from her sleeping situation alone, many students, acquaintances, and friends were envious of Ashley. She was by no means a Disney princess, but in a place like Barclay where the socioeconomic statuses of many fell into the categories of the haves and have nots, she was the closest thing to lavish living most people in the Barclay would encounter. But the envy was presumably going to change as the news of Ashley's infidelity spread through Squalicum. The knowledge of the impending gossip kept Ashley from going to school for days after the weekend of the block party.
Ashley laid in her bed, crying into one of her pillows while Cindy tried to comfort her.
"I fucked up..." Ashley wiped her tears on her $100 pillow case. "I fucked up..."
"Ashley, I don't think - "
"You should go to school," she cut Cindy off. "I shouldn't be the reason you're missing."
"I already called out. I'm not missing much today."
"You shouldn't be wasting your time on me. Like I said, I fucked up."
"I mean..." She's not wrong, but you can't say that. "It's not as black and white as - "
"Don't be a good friend to me right now. I know what I did."
"There were rumors he was cheating." Which you know aren't true.
"Yeah, but that's all they were: rumors. Cyrus actually saw me. God, I don't know what I was thinking! I don't even remember the other guy's name."
"Do you think - " Say something that makes it make sense. "Do you think this was maybe a reason you were looking for to - you know - end things?"
Ashley slowly nodded her head. "It was heading there, but I - I didn't think I'd be the bad guy in this." But you are, you dumb slut. That's exactly what you are now.
Not much Ashley said privately to herself did anything to calm the reality of her situation. For the most part, her inner conversations sounded more in place with the critical nature of her mother. Any optimism or confident, tough as nails mentality she'd inherited from her father seemed all, but vacant. That's because you know you fucked up. You fucked up and know you have to deal with it. But she didn't want to. She wanted to cry in her bed until she couldn't cry anymore and once that was done, perhaps, she could just become her bed and disappear from her reality; embody the emptiness of her possessions others envied and contribute nothing to the world except insecurity.
