Nothing Left to Lose
Page 31
“What look?” he questioned, still doing it.
“That look on your face right now. What are you thinking? You had that same face last night when I gave you that photo frame,” I said, biting my lip wishing I hadn’t asked.
He turned, looking out of the windshield as he started the car. “I was just thinking that you’re extremely thoughtful and that no one has ever really thought of me like that, that’s all. I’m not used to getting gifts or having people think of me. It’s weird; I don’t quite know how to deal with it.”
I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. “Because you grew up in foster homes?”
He nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I never really had a family or anything from the age of ten, so I never got presents and stuff. I just got used to it, I guess,” he explained, pulling out of the driveway.
“When’s your birthday?” I asked curiously, after a couple of minutes of uncomfortable silence.
“November fifteenth.”
“How old are you?” I asked, trying to commit the date to memory so I could get him a present.
“I’m twenty-one,” he answered, smiling. He was obviously enjoying driving my car.
“You can put your foot down, I don’t mind a bit of speed,” I suggested, looking at the speedometer to see that he was just one under the speed limit.
“Yeah? And what if I get you killed?” he teased, grinning at me.
I shrugged and spoke before I could stop myself. “Then you’d be doing me a favour.” He slammed on the breaks and pulled the car to a stop, looking at me shocked and actually a little horrified. “What?” I asked, looking around for some animal or something that we hit.
“Please don’t ever think that again, Anna. That’s not nice to hear,” he said sadly. “You actually want to die?” he inquired, his face serious.
“Everyday,” I confirmed, not looking away from his gaze.
He gulped. “Why?”
“Why not? What have I got to live for? A whole life on my own? Waking up every day with the knowledge that I got one of the nicest people in the world killed? Knowing that I’ll never have that again, never feel loved, never feel whole, or clean, or pure? Why would I want to live?” I asked seriously.
He looked so sad, his eyes glazed over. “You don’t have to be on your own. You might meet someone, fall in love again. As for feeling clean or pure, that may not ever change if you don’t let it. That’s a state of mind; you need to let it go because there’s nothing else you can do about it. And you didn’t get Jack killed, he was murdered by a sick ass**le. It wasn’t your fault,” he said softly, reaching for my hand and squeezing gently.
I sighed deeply. “Ashton, I’ve heard all of that in every single one of my therapy sessions, and I’ll tell you the same thing that I tell them. I don’t care what anyone else says, I know it was my fault, so let’s just drop it and change the subject,” I suggested, tugging my hand from his and turning on the radio.
He sighed and gripped the wheel tightly. “Anna, you shouldn’t-”
“You gonna drive, or shall we just go back to the house?” I interjected, putting my feet up on the dashboard.
“Anna, it wasn’t your fault,” he whispered, looking at me pleadingly.
“I know it wasn’t,” I lied easily. This was the other tactic I used on my therapist occasionally.
“You don’t believe that,” he stated, gripping my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning my face so I had to look at him.
Frustration built up inside me. I didn’t want to be having this conversation, not with him, not with anyone. “Oh for f**k’s sake, Ashton! You don’t want the truth, you don’t want the lie! What the hell do you want me to say? What will make you drive us to the f**king mall?” I ranted, throwing my hands up dramatically.
He looked at me a little shocked before he laughed at my outburst. I felt the smile twitch the corner of my mouth and then I laughed too before he composed himself. “Right then, Miss Spencer, you want to see good driving?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows at me. I nodded, a little unsure if that was the right answer, and his eyes sparkled with excitement as he gunned the engine loudly. He pulled away with the tyres squealing. We sped down the winding road so fast that everything was just a blur. He was a kick-ass driver and my heart was beating so fast, I thought I would die of a heart attack. As we approached the populated area he slowed right down to normal, legal speed, glancing over at me and grinning his ass off.
“Enjoy yourself?” I asked, chuckling and still trying to calm my racing heart.
“Shit yeah, this car is awesome!” he gushed, rubbing the dashboard lovingly.
“Well, I’ll tell you what, if you can last the full eight months, you can have it,” I bargained, shrugging. He laughed and shook his head, obviously thinking I was kidding around.
Chapter Eight
The shopping was a pleasant change. It was good to get out of the house for a little while. The only trouble was that I felt like I was on my own for most of the time. Ashton was constantly distracted and checking everything out discreetly, so it was almost as if I was talking to myself half the time.
“Maybe you should have told Dean where we were going and then you could have actually relaxed and paid attention to what we’re talking about,” I snapped as we sat in the café, refuelling before we planned to shop some more. I glared at him as he watched a group of teenagers walk past near me, rather than answering the question I’d just directed at him.
“That look on your face right now. What are you thinking? You had that same face last night when I gave you that photo frame,” I said, biting my lip wishing I hadn’t asked.
He turned, looking out of the windshield as he started the car. “I was just thinking that you’re extremely thoughtful and that no one has ever really thought of me like that, that’s all. I’m not used to getting gifts or having people think of me. It’s weird; I don’t quite know how to deal with it.”
I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. “Because you grew up in foster homes?”
He nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I never really had a family or anything from the age of ten, so I never got presents and stuff. I just got used to it, I guess,” he explained, pulling out of the driveway.
“When’s your birthday?” I asked curiously, after a couple of minutes of uncomfortable silence.
“November fifteenth.”
“How old are you?” I asked, trying to commit the date to memory so I could get him a present.
“I’m twenty-one,” he answered, smiling. He was obviously enjoying driving my car.
“You can put your foot down, I don’t mind a bit of speed,” I suggested, looking at the speedometer to see that he was just one under the speed limit.
“Yeah? And what if I get you killed?” he teased, grinning at me.
I shrugged and spoke before I could stop myself. “Then you’d be doing me a favour.” He slammed on the breaks and pulled the car to a stop, looking at me shocked and actually a little horrified. “What?” I asked, looking around for some animal or something that we hit.
“Please don’t ever think that again, Anna. That’s not nice to hear,” he said sadly. “You actually want to die?” he inquired, his face serious.
“Everyday,” I confirmed, not looking away from his gaze.
He gulped. “Why?”
“Why not? What have I got to live for? A whole life on my own? Waking up every day with the knowledge that I got one of the nicest people in the world killed? Knowing that I’ll never have that again, never feel loved, never feel whole, or clean, or pure? Why would I want to live?” I asked seriously.
He looked so sad, his eyes glazed over. “You don’t have to be on your own. You might meet someone, fall in love again. As for feeling clean or pure, that may not ever change if you don’t let it. That’s a state of mind; you need to let it go because there’s nothing else you can do about it. And you didn’t get Jack killed, he was murdered by a sick ass**le. It wasn’t your fault,” he said softly, reaching for my hand and squeezing gently.
I sighed deeply. “Ashton, I’ve heard all of that in every single one of my therapy sessions, and I’ll tell you the same thing that I tell them. I don’t care what anyone else says, I know it was my fault, so let’s just drop it and change the subject,” I suggested, tugging my hand from his and turning on the radio.
He sighed and gripped the wheel tightly. “Anna, you shouldn’t-”
“You gonna drive, or shall we just go back to the house?” I interjected, putting my feet up on the dashboard.
“Anna, it wasn’t your fault,” he whispered, looking at me pleadingly.
“I know it wasn’t,” I lied easily. This was the other tactic I used on my therapist occasionally.
“You don’t believe that,” he stated, gripping my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning my face so I had to look at him.
Frustration built up inside me. I didn’t want to be having this conversation, not with him, not with anyone. “Oh for f**k’s sake, Ashton! You don’t want the truth, you don’t want the lie! What the hell do you want me to say? What will make you drive us to the f**king mall?” I ranted, throwing my hands up dramatically.
He looked at me a little shocked before he laughed at my outburst. I felt the smile twitch the corner of my mouth and then I laughed too before he composed himself. “Right then, Miss Spencer, you want to see good driving?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows at me. I nodded, a little unsure if that was the right answer, and his eyes sparkled with excitement as he gunned the engine loudly. He pulled away with the tyres squealing. We sped down the winding road so fast that everything was just a blur. He was a kick-ass driver and my heart was beating so fast, I thought I would die of a heart attack. As we approached the populated area he slowed right down to normal, legal speed, glancing over at me and grinning his ass off.
“Enjoy yourself?” I asked, chuckling and still trying to calm my racing heart.
“Shit yeah, this car is awesome!” he gushed, rubbing the dashboard lovingly.
“Well, I’ll tell you what, if you can last the full eight months, you can have it,” I bargained, shrugging. He laughed and shook his head, obviously thinking I was kidding around.
Chapter Eight
The shopping was a pleasant change. It was good to get out of the house for a little while. The only trouble was that I felt like I was on my own for most of the time. Ashton was constantly distracted and checking everything out discreetly, so it was almost as if I was talking to myself half the time.
“Maybe you should have told Dean where we were going and then you could have actually relaxed and paid attention to what we’re talking about,” I snapped as we sat in the café, refuelling before we planned to shop some more. I glared at him as he watched a group of teenagers walk past near me, rather than answering the question I’d just directed at him.
