Broken

• Chapter 135 •

"I'll be back after school," I tell Ashton as I plant a chaste kiss on his forehead.

"Clementine, your mother does not need to come here. I'm going back to school next week, anyway. I'm completely fine," he tells me.

I shake my head, "Stop fighting. She's coming whether you like it or not. Just try to get along, will you?"

He purses his lips. I frown, "What? What is it?"

He shakes his head, "Nothing. It's just that your mom hates my guts."

I wince, "She doesn't hate you! I just... I don't know what her problem is, babe. She'll have to get over it, though..." I scratch the top of my head.

He remains silent, I sigh and grab my bag, "See ya."

- AURORA -

"Hey," Ashton mumbles awkwardly as he opens his front door. "You don't have to be here. I know you're a busy woman, I can take care of myself," he says as he begins shutting the door.

I step up and open it, "No no, open the door."

He sighs in defeat and opens the door, exposing his face. My heart sinks, there's a scar across his cheek, and another through his eyebrow on the other side of his face. There's a small cut on his lip, but it looks old and almost completely healed. It's occurring to me I didn't ask Clementine what had happened, purposely. I didn't care to know, or want to let my guard down around this kid now that he's hurt. So what? It doesn't make him a good person.

I clear my throat as I walk past him, setting my bag down on his kitchen counter. "Have you eaten?" I ask him.

He shakes his head, "Yeah."

I purse my lips, "Okay. Sit down, I'll make you something to eat."

His eyebrows furrow, "Aurora. That's unnecessary. Look, I know you want to be here just as much as I want you to be here, so you can leave. Clementine doesn't have to know."

I drum my fingers against the counter and disregard his comment, "So you're allergic to bell peppers is that right? Anything else?"

He seems confused. I roll my eyes, "I'm not going to poison you. I'm just thinking about what I can and cannot cook for you."

He presses his lips into a thin line, staring at me with a blank expression. He shakes his head and trudges to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. I sigh in exasperation, looks like we've got a drama queen on our hands. I sit on a stool and examine his kitchen, my eyes land on a photo of his family. Him, his father, and his pregnant mother.

My heart squeezes tightly inside my chest despite myself. I clench my jaw and stubbornly shake thoughts opposing my viewpoint of him away. I can't let my guard down. The second I do, something shitty will happen. It's not worth it—to assume the best in people—anymore. I march up to his door and knock before letting myself in.

"You can either tell me what you want to eat, or I'll make you something and you'll be forced to eat it whether you like it or not," I tell him sternly.

He looks up at me with a clenched jaw before turning back to the pile of laundry on the floor. He folds his sibling's clothes and diligently puts them in a basket. I sigh and walk over to him, taking a seat opposite the basket and beginning to fold with him. He glances up at me, then turns his attention back to the clothes.

I look at him, at the scars on his face, then my eyes trail down to his hands. He's wearing a long-sleeved shirt, but his wrists are exposed. I notice a small scar underneath his watch. My heart sinks into my stomach as the opposing thoughts fight through my stubbornness and into my train of thought.

"What happened to you?" I whisper.

He doesn't respond. He simply shrugs uncomfortably, folding the clothes like a damned robot. I groan and slap the clothes from his hands. His eyebrows furrow.

"I don't have to tell you shit, no disrespect. But you've made it clear what you think of me, and like hell am I going to try explaining myself to you," he snaps.

A familiar feeling of guilt swarms in my stomach, "You told me I wasn't wrong about my assumptions of you. Now I'm just asking what happened."

He scoffs a laugh, "Why? So you can pity me and make me soup? Or will it reaffirm your thoughts that I'm a violent no good for shit bad guy, who should steer clear of your daughter?"

The words are caught in my throat. He shakes his head at me, "Yeah. In either case, I don't want to tell you."

I shake my head, "Fine. How about you tell me something about yourself, and we can try to be civilized, for Clementine's sake."

He looks at me with an unimpressed expression, "I hate your show."

My jaw drops and he simpers in amusement. I clench my jaw and shake my head, "Fine. Tell me about your siblings, then."

Ashton rolls his eyes and sighs, "Zachary and Vanessa. Eight. Brightest kids in the entire world," he shakes his head, "Zach's got a knack for astronomy, the universe fascinates him. He's really bright when it comes to logical things. Math, science... He's brilliant. He wants to become an astronaut when he grows up."

A small smile tugs at my lips, but he doesn't see it. "Vanessa... She's kind but tough as hell. She's really smart and questions and uncovers everything no matter what. If something bothers her, she'll always get to the bottom of it. I've got a feeling she might end up being an FBI agent, or a detective."

He smiles softly, then shakes his head and clears his throat.

"What about you?" I ask him.

He frowns in confusion.

"What do you want to be? What do you aspire to do with your life?" I ask him.

His face darkens, he shakes his head and turns back to the clothes. I purse my lips in thought. This guy is a tough one to crack. He keeps a lot to himself, and I'm just beginning to think what he keeps may not be psychotic, but simply because he doesn't open up to strangers.

"When will you be going back to school?" I ask him.

He shrugs, "Next week. I'm just glad Clementine has finally decided to go back to school."

I nod thoughtfully, "Yes. I'm going to be honest, Ashton... I don't like that she's so distracted by taking care of you."

He clenches his jaw and shakes his head.

"I think it's because she's got a heart of gold... Something I heard she takes after her mother," his eyes meet mine.

The ice covering my heart dissolves slowly. I blink several times, and I don't see an enemy, or Derek anymore. I see a boy, who has had a shitty past and is being judged and mistreated by someone who doesn't even know it. He nods slightly and stands, taking the laundry basket to his siblings' room. I follow him. The guilt has spread from my stomach and into my veins, coursing through me like gasoline, needing only a match to set it aflame.

"Catfish."

My eyebrows knit together in confusion.

He smirks, "I'm allergic to catfish."