Seventeen

14

((I'm having a crisis so here u go

-Mel))

Ashton's hands curl into fists, fingers tightening around his thumbs, while he storms down the hallway. His teeth are clenched tightly, nostrils flaring with the force of holding back tears, and eyes burning. His entire body feels tense, tight in a way that makes his throat burn and his muscles ache.

He doesn't bother knocking, just slams Seventeen's studio door open harshly. It knocks against the wall and nearly swings shut again, but Ashton kicks his way in. He whips the door closed and storms forward with his fists still clenched and his muscles screaming in pain.

Seventeen is perched calmly on a stool across the room with an easel in front of her, brush in hand, with her back to the giant windows. There's light pink lip gloss on her lips, but otherwise, she's left Michael's appearance as it is. Which makes everything a bit easier for Ashton, really.

She looks over at him curiously at his entrance, one eyebrow quirked, but leans away when Ashton stomps closer. She barely has time to stumble off her stool and strategically place it between them, before Ashton gets close enough to swing and slaps her hard across the cheek.

"What the he-" she mumbles, hand cupping her red cheek with a surprised expression on her face.

"Let me talk to Michael," Ashton demands.

She opens her mouth, hinges her jaw slightly, then looks down at Ashton curiously. "Michael can't come to to phone right now. Can I take a-"

Ashton slaps her across the other cheek this time, the loud smack echoing through the studio, as tears blur his vision. He screams at her, pained and desperate, but she just stares at him. "Let me fucking talk to him!" He yells, smacking Seventeen upside the head. Her short blue hair ruffles at that and she flinches. Her shoulders scrunch up and her balled up little fists jerk up in front of her head, like that'll protect her from Ashton's blows.

"I'm here-"

"I don't fucking care!" Ashton cries, kicking the stool between them angrily. It chatters across the tile floor and makes Seventeen flinch again.

"Maybe you should calm down," she suggests gently, stumbling back a step.

"Maybe you should stop being a narrsacistic bitch and let me talk to my fucking boyfriend, you-" he cuts off and reroutes his anger to grip his hair sharply, tugs on it until pieces fall off between his fingers. He sobs and lurches forward, bending over with the force of his agony, screaming just to scream. His throat is rubbed raw by the time he stops yelling and starts sobbing hysterically.

"Ashton," Seventeen says cautiously as she places a hand on his shoulder. He jerks away harshly. "Ashton, maybe you should sit down. I don't know shit about men or pregnancies and especially not pregnant men, but I don't enjoy being abused, so go sit down."

"Fuck you!" He yells. "Maybe you should let me talk to Michael!"

She shrugs and takes a small step backwards as subtly as possible. "Nah," she looks Ashton up and down for a second, eyes lingering on his tear stained red face. "What's your issue, anyway?"

"My fucking issue," Ashton screams out, fists clenching again. "Is that you and your fucking piece of shit personalities got your fucking wish! My baby is dead and it's your fucking fault, you fucking-" he cuts off, breathing angrily through his clenched teeth and probably spitting, but he doesn't care.

Seventeen stares at him with something like horror written across her features, before her face drops and her eyes roll back. She sags forward, but Ashton just steps out of the way and let's her fall like a tree at his feet. He wipes his sweater sleeve covered wrist under his nose and hiccups a few times while Michael cringes into himself and rolls onto his back.