The Deep Dark Web | lrh

[3] Ashton

"Would you like some tea, sir?"

"No, no, sweetheart. I'm fine,"

I smile, carefully placing the pot back onto the tray as Ashton Irwin gives me a friendly look.

"Have you been up to much today?" I ask him, leaning against the cart. I'm not necessarily supposed to be spending so much time in any ward after Ward 8- for the more 'serious' patients get admitted into the later numbers, and I'm not qualified to meet them- but something about the man sitting in front of me keeps me intrigued.

Ashton's in 9, a surprisingly high number to place him in considering the fact that he's self-admitted. And for anger issues, too- compare that to someone like Calum, who's only four hallways down in 13, and it's quite surprising.

"Nah, same old, same old. Reading. Catching up on current events," he holds a newspaper up, bright eyes shining, "Apparently, a famous British boyband is having a reunion somewhere. Can you believe?"

I giggle, taking the roll of paper that he's currently nudging in my direction, "You've only just now heard about that?"

"Mhm. I tend to... stay away, you know, from the news," he says. His words are careless, but they're also slow, "Some of the things on there, well... it doesn't necessarily make me the happiest person alive,"

Ashton Irwin is a sweet man, one of the loveliest people I have ever met in this institute. He admitted himself into Indigo for anger management a little over five years ago, when he was twenty; he's now twenty-five, and further progress has yet to be made.

It's always baffled me, how somebody can willingly put themselves into a place like Indigo for something as little as a normal human emotion. But Ashton's case seemed to be anything but normal.

He was born with anger, and a lot of it; a condition where his vexation soared right through the roof, no matter how insignificant the situation. I'd even been informed that his nickname was 'Chucky' as a child because his attitude resembled the demonic doll from the film. When Sadie first informed me, I laughed. But as she kept talking, the joy quickly faded.

He had managed to keep his anger successfully suppressed, even during his teen years. He was a good man underneath all of that negative emotion, and some lucky young lady was able to see that- I don't know her name, but the story goes that they started talking. They went on a few dates, went on a few more, and eventually got married. It sounds like a picture perfect relationship, if you ask me.

But then you take into account the bumps in the road, the imperfections, the many late nights spent with Ashton hurting himself with random objects in the house to avoid hurting his wife. And all because he was angry.

Anger to you and me isn't the same type of anger for the man currently flipping through a magazine page. Anger to you and me is an emotion typically fuelled by the negative actions of another human being- or in some cases, ourselves. Anger to Ashton Irwin, however, is anything ever so slightly pessimistic that crosses his path.

He viewed ( and still does, to an extent) himself as a human trigger bomb, ready to explode at any minute. And he feared hurting his wife so much that he decided to do something about it; so he called up Indigo, asked for a consultation, and explained his situation.

Ashton was admitted into Ward 9 just a week later.

I don't really know what happened to his wife, nor do I want to ask him. I remember Sadie telling me once that the first year of him being here, a bouquet of startlingly gorgeous white flowers would show up every month at the entrance of his cell, with a little handwritten note from the woman herself asking him how he was doing.

But then time progressed, Ashton's situation refused to get any better, and the bright, beautiful white daisies just stopped coming.

I don't think asking him about her will make him angry, but still. It has the potential to make him sad, and Ashton is not a man who deserves to be either of those things.

I think that he could lead a very beautiful life with his condition, if the world wasn't the way it is. There's just too much negativity going around. Placing him right in the middle of that would just be cruel; Indigo is his safest bet.

"Ah, look at you. Working so hard," he chuckles, wringing his fingers together and resting them on his stomach. He has butterflies on his wrist and on his legs, drawings done by himself with a non-toxic black marker; I'd learned a little while ago that he does this to cope with his emotions.

Some people cry, some people throw things. Ashton just so happens to draw innocent little butterflies on his skin when he can feel something inside of him stirring up.

One of the most potentially violent men in Indigo, yet he has the biggest heart this world has ever seen. Sometimes it's hard to believe that he's even telling the truth about his condition. Then again, I've never seen him angry.

"Yeah," I say, re-tying my apron. I'll never know the true reason as to why it gets so loose when I move; it's not like I'm doing anything too abrupt that makes it do so. "I'm only allowed up to fourteen today,"

I'm not allowed past Ward 8 full-stop, but the older nurses almost always make an exception when they're too lazy to push the cart around. So I'm left with the job myself, all the way up to Ward 16 (usually); and although it's a little terrifying, I don't mind.

"Only Ward 14?" Ashton repeats. I nod, "Ah, I see. It's because of the new guy, isn't it?"

I shrug my shoulders, stirring a small mug of hot chocolate for him. Another thing about Ashton is that he never asks for things, even if he wants them; rejection also seems to be something that's enough to trigger his rage. So, he tries to stray away.

He takes it from me with a small grin, and I rest my elbows on the metal cart. "I don't know, actually. Yesterday, I wasn't allowed to go to sixteen, but I could go to every one below. Now they've blocked off fifteen entirely,"

"Wish I could help you out there, Soph. Unfortunately, I'm as clueless as you are," he chuckles lowly. I nod, the levels of understanding (and no doubt respect) I have for the man at an all time high.

He rarely stays up to date with the other patients, which is difficult for Ashton seeing as he's such a friendly guy. But some of the things people did to get admitted into Indigo are enough to make the calmest person's blood boil, and he knows this- so, he distances himself from that, too.

When I finally push my cart down the hall again, he's settled into the small armchair, long knees tucked up to his chest. His eyes are trained on the field outside, on the chainlink fence, and all the flowers. I wonder what he's thinking about.

As soon as I turn the corner, I try to catch one more quick glimpse of Ashton. His sad gaze isn't just on a random spot in the field, not anymore; it's on a bunch of beautiful white daisies, growing right in the middle of the uncut grass.