Broken

• Chapter 112 •

"Okay seriously, where are we going?" not knowing is driving me crazy.

Ashton shakes his head, "Stop being so stubborn. I'm not telling you."

I groan, "Fine. I'll guess. You made me dress nice, which means we're probably not going back to your house to fuck. Unless this is all a roleplay scenario for you."

Ashton blushes and laughs, "Do you think all I want to do is fuck you?" I shrug, "I wouldn't blame you."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head no. Hm, fine. Scratch that off.

"Is it a dinner?"

Silence.

I scoff, "Are you selling me to rich forty-year-old men in a sex trafficking ring?"

He glances at me, "Really? That's your idea of a date? No wonder you've been single all these years. I'm not fucking selling you to anyone, you're mine."

My heart freezes, as does his face. A gleeful grin spreads across my face, yet I can't seem to mumble a snarky response. I'm left dumbfounded, absolutely unable to speak or do anything but stare at him with a racing heart. He gives me a shy smile and turns his attention back to the road.

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"Oh no shit! You brought me to the opera?" I grin as we step into a beautifully decorated opera house. Deep blood-red wallpapers cover the walls, the floors are covered with a dark carpet.

He nods.

"I've never been, why here?" I shrug as we wind our way through some people, attempting to find our seats.

"My mom and I used to come to the opera every one of her birthdays since I was six. I guess you could say it was our thing. She loved this place," he smiles fondly at the memory. "I haven't come since... But today would've been her birthday."

I turn to him with a soft smile of my own, "Then I'm honoured, and I'm sure I'll love it."

I find our seats and try to sit as fancily as possible. Is that a thing? I'm sure it is. Classy people have a way of doing everything in a more posh manner. Everyone here looks like royalty. I don't exactly know what to expect, what if I laugh and I'm not supposed to? These people look like they'd throw their gloves and tiaras at me if I trigger them. What if I fart too loud? What if I fart and it's smelly? WHAT IF I FART IN GENERAL? Keep your gases intact, Clementine.

It's an hour into the show, and your homegirl is fighting back tears. My throat stings as my attention is completely engrossed in this masterpiece. I feel Ashton's hand touch mine, sending shocks of electricity flying through my body. My heart is already in a fucked up mess, and now Ashton's holding my hand. I take a deep breath and steady my heartbeat. I lace my fingers through his, letting the warmth and comfort of his touch flow through me.

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"I'M NOT FUCKING CRYING!" I hiss.

He snorts, "You are. It's adorable, though."

I roll my eyes and shove him as we make our way out into the main lobby. I hadn't realized I would be a sucker for opera. How typical and cliché. The universe is cruel. Ashton is amused by my reaction.

I pull him aside, "That was beautiful. Really. Thank you for taking me."

He smiles softly, "I'm glad you liked it."

I run a hand through my hair and sigh deeply. "So. Is this your go-to move? Lure innocent girls to the opera and make them cry and act all vulnerable around you? Totally worked," I tease.