Ash is a fashion model, not by choice but the desire of his projecting mother. People think he's too cocky for his own good, judging him based on what he posts online. But Ash hates the brush he's been painted with, along with the stereotypes of the...
sorry: (adjective) 1. feeling regret or penitence.
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I couldn't sleep last night. I tossed and turned until I rucked up my sheets and I started rubbing my fingers into my eyes with frustration.
Ash hates me. He fucking hates me. And he has the complete wrong end of the stick.
Knowing I've upset him hurts, a lot more than I thought. When I used to upset Ciara I cared but it never bothered me this much, but seeing Ash distraught and angry at me, that shit burns me to my core.
I get to placement early the next day and Ash shows up one minute before we're meant to start. When I approach him and attempt to talk, he avoids me like the plague. Then he pushes headphones into his ears, drowning out the world completely.
My jaw aches from squeezing it so tightly but I don't push him. If he wants to ignore me for now then I'll give him the space, but I'm not leaving here until we have a proper conversation. Even if it kills me and I have to pin him to the wall so he listens to my side of the story.
There is twenty minutes before the end of our probation, Carol informed us that she'll be signing our sheets tomorrow but we are to stay to complete all our hours today.
I watch as Ash pulls his headphones out and shoves them into his bag, probably leaving early despite what she said. My feet take slow and steady steps towards him but he remains facing the wall.
"I'm sorry," I say loudly.
Ash scoffs and zips up his backpack. "Your apology means shit to me."
I purse my lips and rethink what I'm about to say, not wanting to push him away before I even get him into the conversation.
"She got under my skin, she humiliated me in front of everyone. I couldn't bear her saying shit about me to everyone!" I exclaim, my breath becoming short.
He whips around to me with a look of disbelief. "What, so you fucked her?" There is so much hurt in his voice and it pauses my heart. "Does that make you a man now? More of a man than I am?!"
I step closer and hold out my hand desperately. "Ash..."
"Just admit it!" He yells at me. "You never fucking cared about me. All you cared about was getting in your gay fetish fuck. I don't matter to you."
My mouth falls open, head shaking violently. "That is not true." My throat turns dry.
That is the last thing Ash has been for me. He's helped me understand my sexuality but I know I never used him for my own pleasure, what we had together was like no other. He makes me feel seen and worthy and everything else in between.
"Isn't it?" Ash's voice cracks. "Because If I mattered to you then you wouldn't have fucked her when I was in the same house as you!"
"We didn't even fuck, Ash. We did nothing. This is not what it looks like," I step closer, my hands falling together in a begging gesture. At this point I'm desperate for him to believe me. "I felt guilty the whole time because I was thinking about you. Doesn't that prove how I feel?"
