LVIII

Calum's POV:

It's been a week. Jackie hasn't heard anything from Ashton. Neither have I. Apparently he hasn't been at class, either.

And it's definitely affecting her. She doesn't smile as much, doesn't laugh quite the same. I liken it to what my life would be like without Luke and Michael and in an instant I understand her pain. I understand that it would be like losing a part of yourself. I understand that her world's off-kilter because I know that mine would be.

"Maybe you should go over to his house." I tell her as we lay in bed. I run my fingers through her hair absentmindedly as I await her response.

"I don't know." she whispers into my t-shirt.

"Why not?"

"Because," I feel her chest expand against me as she inhales, "I'm scared of what he's going to say." she admits quietly. I pull her closer to me, her thin fingers tracing the outline of my horseshoe tattoo so lightly that it sends shivers through me.

"It'll be okay." I tell her, forcing myself to sound confident.

"I hope so." she says tiredly and I don't respond. I just lay there, holding her in my arms as my eyes fixate on the abstract shadows that're cast onto the ceiling by moonlight intruding via the window.

...

When I wake the bed's empty. My pulse quickens at her absence, at the thought that she left. And I realize that I struggle with the issue of abandonment just as much as she does.

But the worry melts away as I hear a clatter followed by a frustrated curse from the kitchen.

"Damn it!" I hear again as I stumble out of bed, laughing to myself.

I stand in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her as she stares at the pan, hands on her hips, hair fresh from sleep, nose scrunched, oblivious to my presence. She's beautiful in every single possible way.

I clear my throat, a grin already on my face.

"Oh, hi." she squeaks and I watch her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"I thought I'd like, make you breakfast. You know, to apologize for being such an emotionally unstable girlfriend lately. But -" she looks over to a puddle of what looks like pancake batter on the kitchen bench, "then I made a mess."

"We'll clean it up later." I smile at her, "It smells really good." I wipe a smudge of flour from her chin and pull her to me without thinking, resting my chin on top of her head.

"What's wrong?" she asks, wrapping her arms around me in response.

"Nothing." I tell her but change my mind, "I thought maybe you left." I add quietly.

"What?" she asks into my chest.

"I woke up and you were gone and I thought - " I say but she pulls away slightly and looks up at me with nothing but seriousness filling her blue irises, halting my explanation. I think she's about to say something life changing, something that'll alter my stance of reality, something monumental, so I can't help but laugh as she says, "Why on God's green earth would I leave when you have pancake ingredients? Pancakes must be made, Cal. In fact, pancakes are the only thing keeping me here, really." 

"Oh, is that right?" I chuckle, squeezing her hips.

"Mm-hmm." she nods eagerly, a smile breaking through her seriousness. I'm about to kiss her when the smell of char-broiled pancakes invades my senses.

"Shit, shit, shit." she huffs, turning the burner off, "This one's yours. You distracted me." I follow her finger to the semi-blackened pancake.

"Fine by me." I shrug my shoulders.

"I suck at cooking." she laughs with a shake of her head. I watch her brown hair swoosh from side to side and I feel myself falling for her even more if that's possible.

"Well," I realign my thoughts, "I would've burned the house down by now so I'd say you're doing just fine." I tell her, getting a carton of orange juice from the fridge and pouring us each a glass.

"Why would I leave?" she returns to my statement with a scrunched nose as she sits down at the table across from me.

"I don't know." I shrug my shoulders.

"Well I'm not going to. You're stuck with me." she laughs.

"I'm quite alright with that." I tell her in all seriousness.

She's still laughing and I'm laughing, too, until I see her emotion shift, a frown slowly overtaking her dangerously soft features, "So, I was, uh, thinking about what you said last night... " she trails off and I nod once, taking a bite of food, "And I think you're right. I'm gonna go over to his house today. I'll try to talk to him. Try to fix whatever the hell's wrong."

"You have no idea what's going on?" I ask her for what's probably the tenth time.

"No." she practically whispers before filling her mouth with a piece of pancake.

"It'll be fine." I reassure her for what's probably the hundredth time.

"We'll see, I guess." she mumbles through her mouthful, leaning back in her chair as a weak smile creeps onto her make-up free lips.

Jackie's POV:

Inhale, exhale. And again - inhale, exhale.

Don't panic. Calm down.

It's only Ashton.

Ashton. The single most important human being in my life for the past five years. At that thought the statement 'It's only Ashton.' loses all credibility. It dissolves into meaningless oblivion. Because it's not only Ashton, it's my best friend that I love, my best friend that I'd die for, my best friend that I need, my best friend that needs me, too.

I drive slower than usual to his house, thinking about what I'm going to say, how I'm going to say it.

I see his house and it looks the same. I don't know what I expected. Nothing's changed with it in all the time that I've known him. And it hasn't been very long at all since I've been here. It's the same house, the same paint color, the same everything. Yet I expected a change of some sort, maybe because it feels like so much has changed between us. But maybe we're like this house, unchanged. That's my hope, at least.

I pull into the driveway and take another deep breath before I force my feet to meet the cement.

It's only Ashton, I repeat this meaningless mantra to myself in time with the sound of my shoes smacking pavement and crunching crumbs of leaves as I make my way to the front door.

I hope he's home. Or maybe I hope he's not. I don't know.

I force myself not to think as my fist meets the metal screen door, knocking rapidly.

His mom answers and I just want to fall into her arms, to tell her how sorry I am for whatever it is that Ashton's mad about. I want to apologize to her instead of Ashton. It'd be easier that way. She'd be more understanding, more forgiving, I think.

She pulls me into a hug before I can even say hello.

"Hi, Anne." I mumble into her shoulder as we stand in the doorway.

"Hi, dear." she answers and it's just like old times when I'd come over for dinner or to do homework or to listen to music with Ashton. But it's not old times. It's now. And now kind of sucks.

"How're you?" I ask when she pulls away.

"Oh," she sighs, tucking a chunk of hair behind her ear, "I'm alright, I suppose. I'm a bit worried, though."

"About what?" I ask but I already know the answer.

"Ashton."

"Yeah," I breathe out in response, "me, too."

"He's been gone a lot." she states, pursing her lips, "Has he been with you a lot?"

My stomach turns at her question and I just shake my head in response.

"Why haven't you been around lately?" she says, her eyebrows drawing together in concern.

"Um," I try to decide between telling her the truth or not. But I can't lie, she'll know if I do, "I - he - we - " I stutter then quiet down all at once and take another deep breath, "He's mad at me." I state simply.

"Why?" she inquires as we walk into the kitchen, my eyes scan for Ashton as we pass the living room.

"That's a really good question," I nod my head once, "that I don't know the answer to."

"Well you should know," she starts and my chest tightens at the infinitely alternate possibilities that could finish that sentence, "he's been around this girl an awful lot lately."

I hear myself exhale in relief at her statement. Then I feel myself inhale in pain at her statement.

She's my replacement, I think to myself. "Alice?" I try to keep my tone neutral but it's still tinged with bitterness.

"Mm." she confirms.

"How is she?" I ask and I try to hide the scowl on my face that comes with hearing her name.

"I wouldn't know. Her and I don't get along." Anne chuckles lightly. I feel my anxiety trickling away as time passes in her company.

"That makes two of us, then." I laugh, "Her and Cal used to be a thing." I feel sick at the thought of them together.

"I heard." she says and I want to ask what it is that she heard, ask her what Alice said about him, or what Ashton said about the two. But I don't. It doesn't seem appropriate.

"Is, uh," I mumble, feeling nervous again, "is Ash here?" I fiddle with my fingers, picking at the polish. I shove them into the pockets of my jacket when I remember watching my mom do the same thing.

"He went out but he'll be back soon, I reckon." she smiles, "You're more than welcome to stay, of course."

"Thank you." I try to hide my nerves with a smile.

"I'm sure he'll be happy you're here. I am." she says and I know she can sense my uneasiness about seeing him.

"I miss him." I admit out loud for the first time.

"I know," she says, pulling me to her in that maternal way that I can never remember my own mother doing, "he'll come around, m'love. Just give him time." she tightens her arms around me and I allow myself to feel comforted. But most of all I allow myself to believe that he'll come around like she says he will.

I don't answer her. I know that if I do, I'll end up crying. And I don't want to cry.

When she pulls away she shoves a mug of coffee into my hands and I reach across the sink to the sugar cubes, grabbing a pair. I watch them dissolve in the steaming black liquid, still thinking about what I want to say to him, thinking about what he needs to hear right now.

I sit with Anne making small talk about work and news and weather and everything in between. Then I hear the front door and I stand from the table immediately without second thought.

"I, uh - " I gesture to the front door while looking at Anne.

"Go on." she smiles, "Make it right." she reaches out and squeezes my hand reassuringly. And I realize that I needed that. I needed to be reassured. I needed to be told that it can be fixed. I needed to be given hope by someone who knows mine and Ashton's friendship first hand. I needed Anne's reassurance. And now that I have it my feet carry me just a little bit easier than before and my chest aches just a little bit less than before.

I nod with a smile and start toward the sound of his keys hitting the coffee table.

When I see him the breath is taken from my lungs all at once. He looks tired. 

I watch him throw off his Ray-bans and run a hand through his hair before I finally work up enough courage to speak, "Hi, Mr.-Best-Friend-Man." I try to joke. It's not funny. And I know it's not. But seriousness hurts right now.

Two weeks did this to him? I ask myself as I wait for him to respond. I look at the dark circles underneath his eyes, look at his pale skin, his frizzed hair. Look at how worn down these past couple weeks have made him.

"Hey." he finally looks at me. And I know he sees me. Unlike anyone else ever has. And I see him unlike anyone ever will. I see the caring, loving, compassionate, protective man who has been through thick and thin beside me. I see him underneath his currently tattered exterior.

"How are you?" I squeak, as he makes his way to his room.

"How do I look?" he scoffs and my chest contracts again.

"Like shit." I answer, standing in the doorway to his bedroom.

"There's your answer, then."

"Can I come in?" I ask, the toes of my shoes barely peeking over the boundary of his door and the hall. I don't know why I even ask that. I never would, usually. But I guess I ask because I don't know what boundaries have been set within his mind.

"Bloody hell, Jackie, quit acting so weird." he chuckles and I scoff to myself, I'm the one acting weird? No. But his lax statement dissolves the tension fractionally. And for a split second I forget that anything's wrong.

But then I remember. And so I speak, "So, uh," I try to force myself to think, to not say anything stupid, "how's Alice?" Immediately I try to put the words back into my mouth. Try to rewind time. But there's no point, it's already been said, already been heard. So much for not saying anything stupid, I scold myself.

"C'mon why do you wanna talk about her, Jackie?" he whines.

"Because, Ash, I'm worried about you." I sigh, pulling my unruly hair to one side.

"Well don't be." he says coldly. I watch his fingers press against the screen of his phone as he streams music to the speakers that are set on his dresser. The speakers that have played hours upon hours of all sorts of music. The speakers that were the provider of the soundtracks of our summer breaks.

I listen as Blink-182's "I Miss You" plays. He switches the song with a sideways glance in my direction. All Time Low's "Weightless" starts and leans back against the dresser.

"What are you doing, Ash?" I ask quietly, looking over to stare at his green eyes that're laced with an emotion that I haven't seen him wear in a long while. Laced with desperation and loneliness. Laced with an emotion that I can satiate if given the opportunity.

"Standing here." he says, a grin threatening. Tired as he may look, it's still Ashton. And angry as he may seem, he's sarcastic as ever.

I think about just letting it all go, forgetting about the two week stretch of silence, getting on with life. Or trying to, at least. But I have to know, "I'm serious." I state eagerly, watching his face contort with emotion.

"What do you mean?" he nods once to me like nothing's happened. Like the silence hasn't been killing me slowly.

"Why have you hated me for the past two weeks?" I say sharply, clenching my fists at my sides.

"I don't hate you." he scoffs softly, "God, that's the farthest thing from it, Jackie. I could never hate you." his eyes burn into mine and relief flows through my veins like a drug, releasing all the tension, reducing all the anxiety.

"So what is it then?" I press on.

"I guess I'm trying to get over something that never existed." he says, breaking eye contact from me and screwing his shut. His foot's tapping in time to the music just like it always does. I find comfort in the familiar fidget. I find comfort in him.

"Which is?" I press further, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"What the hell do you think, Jackie?" he growls and my blood runs cold at his tone. But it reminds me that something's really wrong. That something's really bothering him. Although two weeks of the silent treatment was proof enough that something was wrong.

I have the urge to hold him, like he has me so many times before. Like he did on Thanksgiving after me and my mom fought. To just try and hold him together as best I can. To absorb his discomfort and pain and replace it with contentment and stability.

So I try to. I stand and try to wrap my arms around him. And he lets me. But his hands go to my face instead, holding me away from him slightly as he forces me to look up at him.

"What?" I ask, realizing he didn't answer my last question.

"I remember." he whispers, eyes burning into mine.

"Remember what?" I ask confusedly.

"What I said that night."

That night. The first weekend of me and Calum living together. The night that I met Alice. The night Ashton was totally wasted. The night he said he was in love with me. The night he woke up from with a hangover. The night that he told me that he didn't remember.

He lied about what he remembered. He lied.

A/N: Hellooooo! How're you?

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