Painting Flowers // Ashton Irwin [au]

One

Ashton’s POV

My fingers grip tightly and tug at the roots of my blonde hair, pulling out a few strands by accident. I throw my head back, intentionally hitting the rough tree bark behind me. All senses have disappeared and the only thing that I can hear is the self-deprecating thoughts in my head.

You fucked up, Ashton.

I let out a frustrated sigh and I can see my breath in the frigid air as I sit here in the snow and stare at the epitaphs left behind for the two people who are as disappointed as I am in myself. As much as I’d like to, I can’t blame anyone for this, not even Natalie who seems to always be the cause of everything—I can only blame myself.  

I should have thrown away those stupid RSVPs weeks ago, but every time I tried to—every time I held them over the trash bin, I couldn’t let them slip from my grasp. Time after time, attempt after attempt, I just couldn’t do it no matter how hard and desperate I wanted to. But that’s because subconsciously, I didn’t want to.

I wanted to keep them, not as a sick form of torture, but rather to act as a stepping stone to break myself away from Natalie altogether. If I were to see her get married to Nathan, maybe then she won’t haunt me anymore; maybe then I can live my life how I’m supposed to—alongside Emilia.

So I snuck into the other guys’ room and took their RSVPs, paid for the postage, and stuffed them along with mine inside my sketchbook for safekeeping because I knew no one would look in there since I’m so self-conscious of my art. I constantly kept close watch on whoever went near it and when Michael told me he went through my desk drawer where I always keep it, I almost blew my cover. I lied to Emilia and told her my outburst was just because my sketchbook was in there, but there was so much more than that.

For a while after that incident, I completely forgot about the wedding. I wasn’t focused on it much because I was always with Emilia and enjoying my time with her and because of that, I forgot about the RSVPs completely.

I gave Emilia my sketchbook for Christmas without realizing that they were still inside. It wasn’t until I was mailing off some small gifts to my family today that I remembered that the deadline to respond to the wedding was only a few days away which trigged a jolt of fear inside me.

What if Emilia stumbled across them while looking through the sketchbook? What thoughts will consume her mind? Will she be disappointed in me for clinging on to something that may potentially hurt me? Or will she be proud that I’m taking a step forward to set myself free?

As I was driving home to go grab them, all I kept hoping was that she was still asleep and not looking through the book without me there. She had only seen a small portion of it and I knew the envelopes were hidden in the last few pages. I was lucky that she hasn’t been able to see more than what I showed her Christmas evening since she left it at my house and has been stuck hanging out with Julia. But since I left her home while I mailed off my stuff, she could have woken up and her curiosity may have gotten the best of her.

I sped home to try and avoid any possible chance of her skimming through the pages, but my stomach dropped and it felt like gravity was pushing me down into the ground when I saw her sitting on the floor with pages from the sketchbook scattered around her.

She wasn’t moving. I couldn’t even see her shoulders rise and fall as she breathed (at least I hope she was). It was at that moment that I knew I fucked up. I fucked up royally and it took all my energy to form a coherent sentence when she asked me if I was going to send off the RSVPs in those tiny hands of hers. I didn’t know how to explain myself. I didn’t know if I should have told her that I had been hiding them from her for a couple of months or just come clean about everything, but neither of those options was possible in my almost paralyzed state. I was so vague and I should have just explained everything but I didn’t know how. She looked so hurt for not telling her. I tell her everything, but I just couldn’t tell her this.