Chapter 15 #2
Every morning I wake up alone and I find Ash outside with coffee.
Sometimes the cigarette is still lit, sometimes we both pretend the cigarette butts in the ashtray are old.
One day he’s on speaker phone, and I recognise the voices of his friends Sydney and Darshi with a background of screaming children.
They all scream my name and wish me a quick recovery, and stop chatting about whatever they were talking about before I showed up.
One morning I find him typing furiously on a laptop. It is raining lightly but Ash seems unbothered.
“They’re making them waterproof now?” I ask cheekily.
I’m holding the black mug in my hands, having discovered, after a couple of failed experiments, that I do like coffee when drowned in milk and sugar. Ash faked knowing nothing about it.
“I was inspired,” Ash says.
That day I learn he’s finishing a doctorate in English Literature and that every sentence counts.
Together we sit under the light rain, Ash typing the hours away, and me going back and forth between the couch and the patio.
I’m not sure why it strikes me, how passionate he is about academics. He always has been.
Some days we don’t speak much.
Ash lets me do the cooking, and he wolfs down everything I make, from eggs to salads to simple pies.
In a silent agreement we bypass the dishwasher and press close at the sink, hips touching and shoulders brushing as Ash washes the dishes and I try my best to dry them off with one arm.
After every meal, I drag myself onto a soft surface and close my eyes until Ash shakes me awake with a soft voice and the ghost of a kiss to my hairline.
We don’t speak much, but those days we kiss a lot. I cannot seem to stop myself. Every morning I wake up and I need more of Ash’s soft lips on mine, more of the erratic pants. More of Ash.
I don’t overthink it. I allow myself to feel at home with him and make my choices. And the more I reach for him, the more Ash lets go.
When I first take a shower, he holds the towel out to me and politely looks away. I clear my throat and his eyes are back on me, and I step into his space, letting him dry my body, finally clean. Dry but sweatier and hotter than before.
When I make him an entire portion of bacon, he wraps his hands around my neck and kisses the top of my nose.
“You should be thanking that pig,” I suggest.
He brings the plate to his lips and kisses the pile of bacon, “Thank you pig.” He smiles diabolically, looking straight into my eyes.
And those days, when I feel like crying because I don’t recognise the clothes in my closet nor do I have any idea where my mother lives now, I walk up to Ash, bite his lower lip and I don’t stop sucking until I forget who I am, too.
By now, I know every detail of the photos on my phone. I have stared at each snap endlessly, forcing my brain to remember a detail, a smile.
Every day I wake up and I pick a couple, eager to know if the sight of either Ash or my daughter brings back something. Anything.
It brings back nothing.
With each new day, I get a little moodier. A little less motivated. Sitting on the patio brings me no joy. Kissing still brings me joy, but a little less joy than the first time. It makes me sad, really. It makes it hard to sleep. It makes me only want to sleep.
???
Four days after I have been sent home, we order take out and eat on the couch. When I suggest a movie, Ash’s eyes sparkle.
“You wanna know what the best thing about this is?” He’s almost yelling, jumping up and down with some old DVDs, and I can’t look away, can’t speak.
“Here! Do you remember these?” Ash throws himself next to me, enthusiastically spreading three cases on the couch.
Getting the hint, I sigh. “First of all, DVDs?” I ask. Hasn’t the world evolved?
Then I look at Ash and his proud white smile is answer enough. I give up and study the titles.
“No, I don’t remember these,” I admit, and before I’m even done speaking, Ash is sprinting up and opening one of them.
“Ford. Baby.” With a little dance, Ash presses play.
“Will I regret this?” I ask as Ash is snuggling beside me so naturally it can’t be the first time.
With a shy smile, Ash concedes, “Probably. But you made me watch that Batman crap thousands of times. You owe me. And besides, you love me, so.”
My breath hitches, my heart skips a beat. Ash is already focused on the movie, the words spoken so lightly between them that they must be true.
Making himself smaller against my side, Ash rests his head on my shoulder. His hair is in a high bun, the tips of his hair sticking out and tickling my chin. I wrap an arm around Ash and instantly, I begin to relax. I have never felt safer, never felt more taken care of.
I don’t mean to fall asleep.
When I wake up, it’s Ash who’s whispering my name. “Ford, hey. Come on, let’s go to bed.”
I whine, hugging Ash tightly to my chest. “Didn’t watch the movie.” My brain is slow, my words slurred.
“No shit. Come on.” Ash keeps pulling at me, trying to free himself.
But I’m cosy and I don’t want to move, so I close my eyes instead and hide my face in Ash’s neck. And right there, surrounded by Ash’s smell and warmth, an impossible thought crosses my sleepy head.
“I want to make you come.”
Beside me, Ash freezes. “Ford,” he warns and I know it’s a bad idea.
It’s only been a few days and even though I’m sure I have done it before, this would be the first time for the current state of my brain.
According to this fucked up brain I have never done this and suddenly, I will die if I don’t.
To hell with the strenuous activities. I’m sort of horny, sort of sleepy, and Ash smells delicious next to me and his body is firm and long, and there’s only so much kissing a day a man can handle.
I need to give this a go. I need to have a taste of my current life.
Well, not a literal taste. Although the idea shoots a shiver down my chest to my groin.
Tasting Ash. Yes, put that on the agenda. “Let me,” I plead, hearing Ash sigh.
“We should wait until you remember,” Ash says, but his lips find mine anyway and it’s harder to argue this way.
I might never remember and I have no patience for this new Ash, responsible and considerate. So I let my hands wander to the front of Ash’s shorts and he sure doesn’t need much convincing. I can feel he’s already hard and rocking his hips upwards to meet my shallow touch.
“Okay. Please.”
The words are spoken so softly, I’m not sure if I’ve imagined them. I hook a thumb under the elastic band of Ash’s shorts and pull them down, breathless.
It’s the laziest hand job ever, yet the most wonderful. Two things can be true at once, but in this case three things are true.
This is my first hand job to a man.
This is my first hand job to my best friend.
But also, this is not my first hand job to either a man or my best friend. And I’m high on the idea.
Somehow, I know exactly what to do. I take my time trying to memorise every detail, just in case I ever forget again: Ash’s little whimpers, his slick skin and the way his whole body shakes against me.
How his face tenses and then relaxes, all at once, how his blue eyes open to stare at me with an intensity I’m not sure I can handle.
It’s all I have ever wanted; all I have ever wished for.
And it was right next to me my entire life.
The weight of Ashley’s cock in my hands, the sweaty fingers holding me in place. As if there’s anywhere I would want to go. As if I would ever leave Ash, leave him after seeing the way his lips curl when he comes, the way his eyes roll back and fight against it, just to look at me a little longer.
“I missed you so much,” Ash breathes, later.
Excusing myself, I rush out of the room.
Breathing short quick breaths, a weird melodic sound echoes loudly in my ears and my own screams as the windshield glass explodes are deafening.
I try to cover my ears with my hands but the arm brace is in the way and suddenly everything goes red.
The blood coming from Ash’s forehead, his eyes rolling back, the blinding light, the bodily fluids gathering in the plastic bags.
When I open my eyes again, Ash is bending over me. I don’t remember collapsing on my knees, can’t explain the tears on my cheeks. Ash holds my head to his chest and hugs me, promising it will be alright.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I say over and over again as Ash guides me to lay on the floor, my head in his lap. With soft fingers he strokes my hair and finally, I let myself succumb to sleep.