this time | ft. luke hemmings

prologue;

There was nothing left inside of me that loved Ashton Fletcher Irwin.

His face was a poison. His eyes were deceptive like open-mouthed caves with no end. His mouth had spoken lies. His voice had corrupted me. His hands had been tainted. His laugh had been like nails on a chalk board and I did not love him. Not anymore. Every fragment of him that lingered in my mind had been carefully pushed to the furthest parts of my memory and locked inside an indestructible box a year ago. That's how long it had been; one year since God had stripped him from my life in a way that was like ripping off a band-aid. Painful then. But I felt nothing now.

He'd used to be the drummer of the world's newest pop-punk band obsession, 5 Seconds of Summer. He'd used to be my boyfriend; the love of my life. I say 'used to be' because he's dead.

Dead.

Yep, I could say that aloud now without even flinching; voice monotone and matter-of-fact as though him being dead was something trivial and lacking claim to emotion. And I guess, that was just it. He did not claim any of my emotions anymore. He did not claim me at all.

I did not recognise him in pictures as someone that had meant anything to me. Instead, seeing him in pictures was like staring at a stranger. My attention did not lie with him for any longer than a few seconds and I would never let it do so again. Ashton Irwin was the reason for many painful, lonely nights spent gasping for breath through tears that I just couldn't get to stop. Ashton Irwin was the reason for my friends' pain. Ashton Irwin was the reason I couldn't love anything now.

In a way, I was grateful. Ashton Irwin had shown me that love was fleeting; an illusion that wasn't worth the trouble. Ashton Irwin had taught me that you can give someone your whole heart and have it still not be enough.

Ashton Irwin hadn't meant to kill himself. Ashton Irwin had 'accidentally overdosed'. Ashton Irwin had known what fucking with drugs did to people. And Ashton Irwin had still gone ahead and dealt with his own struggles in that manner. Dickhead.

You know, for at least four months after his passing I'd felt as though I'd been the one to hurt him. As though I was the reason for his death. For at least four months, I'd allowed myself to believe that had I not broken up with him then he'd still be around to this day. I'd allowed myself to drown in sick and helpless self-hatred because I was under the impression that it was my fault that he hadn't been able to cope with life; that it was my fault the 'accident' had happened.

But you wanna know what I'd learnt since then? I'd had a right to wanting a relationship that didn't consist of me giving my everything and him giving what he'd wanted to give. I'd had a right to ending something that was toxic to me - and to him. I'd had a right to my own happiness and if that meant being forced to 'break his heart' then that was my right.

I was allowed to break up with my boyfriend. I was allowed to break up with Ashton Irwin all those weeks before his death.

It was my freaking right within the relationship to be able to voice when I'd wanted out.

Who knows - maybe if he'd spent more time trying to make things work between us and less time trying to advance his already highly-successful career then maybe we'd have never split in the first place.

Sure, he was allowed to want to put his career first. He was allowed to want to go as far as he could with his job. There was nothing wrong with that. But I wasn't someone's last priority. I wasn't going to let him make me his.

Instead of spending the rest of my life unhappy and lonely most of the time, I'd decided that things needed to change. Ashton had needed to know that I wasn't fucking around and that seeing him once every three months wasn't enough. Ashton had needed to know that I wasn't going to be one page of his life when he comprised many chapters of mine. He'd needed to know. And so I'd told him, I'd broken up with him, I'd stood up for my feelings at the cost of his because if he had a right to hurt me with his work schedule then I had a right to hurt him with the concept of losing me altogether.

He'd chosen his career over me. I'd chosen my mental well-being over him.

We'd been even. We'd still had futures - maybe not with each other but futures nonetheless.

Was it my fault that he didn't take his future as seriously as he should have? No. It wasn't my fault that he'd chosen his path weakly. It wasn't my fault for hurting him. It wasn't my fault that things weren't working out between us.

It wasn't my fault. And yet, there was still this nagging inkling of guilt that had kept me awake for nights upon nights upon nights. There were still these tiny cells within my body that were adamant that his death was on me. He was gone and it was because of me. And it was those inklings, those cells, that made me hate Ashton Irwin with my whole heart.

I did not deserve to spend the rest of my time on earth feeling bad for someone who'd made his own choices and had had to suffer them. I did not deserve to spend the rest of my time on earth missing someone - grieving for someone - who had chosen to make their fatal mistake.

And so to avoid being upset forever, to avoid missing him when I had no reason to, I'd reinvented myself completely.

I'd moved into a new apartment in LA that held no memories of him whatsoever and had thrown out all of my clothes to make way for new ones that had never been tainted by his touch. I'd cut my hair short because he'd liked it long and dyed it black like I was going through some fifteen-year-old goth phase. I'd quit my job at Marcy's Barber shop because he'd often come to visit me there. Also because I needed to leave behind my friends who were holding me, and themselves, back from true happiness. My best friend of forever Melissa worked at Marcy's. And I'd needed to get away from her; leave her behind. Now I'd landed an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlour working for a guy called Stone. His eyes wandered and he said creepy things but at least he didn't remind me of my old life in any way at all.

I'd left Melissa and Charlotte behind because they'd been my best friends and an anchor that had been keeping me tied to Ashton. I'd left Michael, Calum and Luke behind because they'd been Ashton's band mates and their hearts were heavy laden with a thick kind of sorrow since Ashton had died.

They were all weak. And so I'd cut them off. Friends were a liability anyway. They either left or died and the pain that they always ended up causing wasn't worth the trouble. People weren't worth the trouble.

And hence, I'd secluded myself within a life that meant absolutely nothing to me in the hopes that I'd find something that meant absolutely everything. There was this dark and depressing lure to starting over. Something lonely and dull and undesirable. But then again, all of that was present in my old life.

What was the difference?

This time I would not allow myself to feel for people. This time I would not hate myself for things that were out of my control. This time I'd put myself first and mend the stupid, shattered heart that rested hopelessly beneath my ribs. This time I'd be alright when someone walked out on me. This time I wouldn't feel a thing when people turned out to be pure shit. This time I wouldn't wake up pining for someone who didn't love me enough. This time I'd make happiness my priority and other people my last. I needed to be okay. And I was going to do that my own way.

This was the new me; Olivia Ackley starting over. This was me becoming the person I needed to be, the person I wanted to be and the person I had to be if I was ever going to find true happiness.

Ashton Irwin was dead. I did not love him. I did not need my friends. I was different.