A/N: the pic above is ME 100% I do all my writing late at night & I have to edit it so much in the morning lol anyway happy reading
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When Ashton was a kid, he used to think the world was made of magic and fairytales. This was mainly because he read much more than a kid his age would usually read. His bookshelves were always jammed with books with broken spines and torn pages. He'd read until his eyes hurt and stung at night. By doing this, his young mind made up a false persona of the world he lived in. He thought friends were easy to make. He thought families were kind. He thought love lasted forever.
He learned he was wrong.
His father started drinking early in his life. Ashton doesn't remember what triggered it. He doesn't remember any dramatic event-- no one dying, no job incident, no financial troubles. Ashton simply started growing aware of the fact that no other fathers are like that. And no other mothers usually sit around and let their father crack his knuckles against his son's cheek.
Slowly, Ashton was driven into a kid who was taught to keep his mouth shut in order to avoid trouble. He learned talking would just get you punched or yelled at, so he rarely used his voice, both in and out of school. He hid his bruises. He became a master at cleaning cuts alone in his room to avoid infection. Most of all, he learned that he couldn't exactly trust anyone who he stumbled upon.
Ashton hadn't changed his philosophy. He wasn't quite positive who he could trust, and he wasn't sure that people were all that good and kind in their hearts. He remembered reading Lord of the Flies in his first year of high school, and remembered looking at the board from underneath his hoodie and reading the words: IS MAN INNATELY EVIL? The teacher said no. Most of the class agreed.
Ashton disagreed wholeheartedly. He full-heartedly believed that man was innately evil without a doubt. How could you explain the fact that without proper education and a good upbringing, most children turn out to go down a bad road later in life? How could you explain the way kids have to be disciplined when they're young, like they have to be trained into kindness?
Even the kindest people have a side of evil and selfishness in them. Sometimes they break and their facade cracks and their true colors shine through before packing themselves up again with glue.
Ashton was the last one to join the group of boys. Luke and Michael were first. They met in class. Then came Calum, who they met in a record shop downtown, all smiles and rainbows and everything Ashton was not. An open book, unguarded, skin clean and unscarred like an infant's. Ashton thought Luke might have been slightly intrigued by him and his pure goodness, somewhat infatuated. His eyes were chocolate brown and warm and looking into them felt like standing in the rays of a summer sun.
Ashton was colder and meaner and kept his guard up the entire time during their first meeting. The three of them were sitting around the courtyard at school, their backs pressed up against one of the wide oak trees by the math building. Michael had his headphones on, but his shoulder was pressed against Luke's, his hand tapping out a beat against Luke's knee. Luke didn't have anything with him-- no phone, no books, nothing. Simply enjoying the company and weather and whatever else was going on that day. Calum was beside him with a calculus textbook in his lap, but he wasn't paying attention to it. He and Luke seemed to be in a deep discussion, complete with locked eyes and gesturing hands. Ashton remembered being a little startled-- Luke, the class clown in a way, loud but mysterious, having a genuine discussion with Calum-- soft and exuberant and adored by everyone.
Ashton had settled with his lonesome self at the base of another oak tree a little bit away, and he pulled his hood over his face and drew his knees to his chest and re-read a torn copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
Ten minutes later, he felt a tap on his knee. Ashton had started, his head snapping up, book slamming closed, knee jerking violently away from the touch. Looking up, he saw Calum standing there, the sunlight streaming behind him in yellow rays that made it look like he had wings.
"Hey," Calum had said. "Ashton, right?"
Ashton had stared at him and said nothing. Calum took this as an affirmative, and he opened his calculus textbook to a glossy page. "You're in my math class. Do you think you could help me with this problem?"
Ashton looked at the problem. It was a fairly simply problem, for calculus anyway. He sat there, not saying anything for a moment, and then he rummaged in his backpack until he retrieved his binder.
He handed Calum his paper with all the problems written out on it. He pointed to the right one and Calum blinked, and then took it. "Thanks. I won't copy it. I just want to look at it," Calum assured him, although Ashton couldn't care less. Ashton stared at Calum underneath his eyelashes as the boy squinted at the problem. After a few minutes, Calum handed back the paper.
"Thanks, man. You're a lifesaver," he said. "Feel free to come join me and my friends over there. We all could use some help with calculus." He laughed and turned away, but then looked back and added, "And dude, take off the hoodie. It's fucking hot as hell out here. How are you not sweating?"
Ashton didn't join them. Not right then, anyway. But he did a couple of days later. He felt awkward, hoodie and all, but Calum just smiled and smoothly included him in the conversation without making it a big deal.
And that was that. One day Ashton had no friends, and the next, he had three.
At the state jail, the vibe of the building was much, much more different. For one, it was filled with actual criminals, not just teenage boys who got caught drinking and smoking weed in an alley somewhere and is waiting for their parents to come pick them up. The state jail was very, very different.
Ashton was sitting in the cafeteria, alone at one of the tables, his complementary food sitting disgustingly in the tray. He picked at it halfheartedly, keeping his head down and eyes lowered. A few men down the table snickered at him but didn't do anything more. Ashton felt as though he was dodging a bullet every turn he took.
One of the officers approached him and tossed an envelope next to Ashton's tray. "Mail," he said gruffly. Ashton picked it up and saw Luke's familiar scrawled handwriting. He didn't open it yet, instead folding it and shoving it into the waistband of his pants.
A few moments later, he heard a shout, and snapped his head up to see two men-- one probably around twenty-five, the other in his forties. They were yelling at each other, and one of them swung, and a sickening crack filled the air. They fell to the ground and Ashton saw a few of the guards running over to where they fought.
As Ashton watched the two men be dragged away from each other, someone dropped into the seat in front of him. Startled, Ashton looked up, and then his heart skipped a beat.
Wesley Davis sat in front of him, leaning back with his usual charming smile on his face. He had a cup of water in his hand. "I have to say, Ashton, me and you haven't talked all that much. Michael and I are close, but you've always sort of been... in the background. Is that fair to say? I think it is."
Ashton found his voice. "What are you doing here?"
Wesley was dressed in the same orange jumpsuit as Ashton. Wesley's smile faltered a little. "The same as you. I got caught."
"Drugs?"
"Drugs," Wesley confirmed. "Someone ratted me out. I shouldn't be surprise, I guess." He lifted his water to his lips. Ashton watched him drink, still as a deer in headlights. His entire body felt ice cold, like he was submerged in water. Ashton wanted to hide. Being here was bearable when he was surrounded by strangers. But whenever he wished he had someone he knew with him, that person would never have been Wesley. It's like asking for a puppy and receiving a snake.
"You still don't talk much, do you?" Wesley said. He reached over and plucked a slice of bread of Ashton's tray and bit into it. "Kind of exhausting, isn't it? Staying quiet all time?"
"Not really," said Ashton dryly. Wesley raised his eyebrows.
"He speaks again," Wesley said with a grin. "Anyway, why did you do it?"
Ashton asked, "Do what?"
"Kill Calum, Ashton," Wesley said with mock annoyance. "Your best friend? The whole reason why you're in jail?"
"Why do you need an explanation?" Ashton asked bitterly. Wesley swallowed and tossed the rest of the bread back on Ashton's tray.
"Because you don't have one," Wesley said. "I know you didn't do it. You know you didn't do it. So, my question for you, is how the hell are you going to get out of here?"
Ashton picked up his tray and tossed it in a trashcan nearby. Settling back down across from the blonde boy, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the worn table underneath his elbows. "Haven't figured that out yet."
Wesley stood up. "Well, you better find out fast. The longer you stay, the more likely you'll be in here for the rest of your life." He looked over at some of the other tables. "Anyway, Calum probably got what he deserved, you know. Always rummaging around in other people's business. Never following up on promises. It was really only a matter of time, wasn't it?"
Ashton pushed himself to his feet. "What are you saying?"
"Relax," Wesley said, eyebrows raised, a small smile at the edge of his lips. "All I'm saying is that Calum was bound to get killed. Hell, I thought about it a few times before someone beat me to it. He took drugs and didn't pay, kept promising he would, and then off he goes on a little hiking expedition and he gets shot."
Ashton rounded the table and stood in front of Wesley, several inches shorter, but broader around the shoulders and waist. Wesley vaguely resembled a ghost, with his pale skin and white-blonde hair. His slight frame towered over Ashton. "Shut up about him."
"Sure. He's dead, anyway," Wesley said with a chuckle.
"Do you know who killed him?"
"I wish," said Wesley. He smiled teasingly in Ashton's face. "Maybe I would go and thank them."
Ashton didn't remember punching Wesley, but suddenly Wesley was staggering back and all eyes were on him and there was blood on Ashton's knuckles. And then Wesley was lunging forward and Ashton's back hit the ground, and Wesley's fist was slamming Ashton's jaw and Ashton saw black spots in his vision.
Ashton rolled over and shoved Wesley's shoulders against the ground, punching his nose until he heard it crack. Ashton felt blood trickling down the side of his face, he heard Wesley mumbling swear words through muffled speech. His hands were slipping as he folded them into fists, wet and warm and sticky. Wesley punched Ashton's stomach and Ashton was sent reeling back, hitting the floor as Wesley struck his ribcage. Ashton curled his knees over to try and protect it, arms held over his face.
The cafeteria of criminals turned their full attention to the two boys, stomping their feet and slamming their hands down on the tables, hollering and whistling. Ashton heard the footsteps of the guards coming.
Ashton swung at Wesley, and he felt his knuckles make contact with Wesley's cheekbone. Wesley staggered back, hand covering his bleeding nose. Ashton had to fight to catch his breath as he pushed himself back onto his feet. He stumbled a bit once he was up, head light and fuzzy. The ground underneath him spun. He saw Wesley get back up through dazed eyes.
"Never could control that anger of yours, huh?" Wesley snarled. His speech was still muffled. He spat, and blood hit the ground. The red was violent and vibrant in Ashton's vision. "Not as gentle as you seem, tough guy."
Ashton struck at Wesley but the blonde boy blocked it with his forearm. Wesley continued, "Or maybe you are just used to getting a beating? Is that it? Well, get over it, freak. You and your daddy issues aren't shit here."
Ashton felt anger boil in his stomach, and he slammed his fist into the side of Wesley's neck. Wesley fell backwards, his head smacking against the edge of a table, and his body went limp.
He felt the cafeteria go silent, completely still. Wesley remained unconscious, and Ashton staggered to the nearest trashcan and emptied his stomach into it. He vomited until he felt strong hands grip his shoulders, twisted his arms behind his back.
The guards pushed him to the doors of the cafeteria. He saw another crouched beside Wesley, who was groaning audibly now. His hands slipped, sickly wet, against those of the guard's.
He wasn't allowed to go and interact with any of the other inmates for another two days. They kept him in his cell, and Ashton counted the numbers of spiders that crawled across his ceiling to pass time. His hands seemed to be stained red.
When they allowed him outside with the others by the basketball courts, complete with electrically wired fences, he had a small section to himself. Ashton gripped the basketball and dribbled it half-heartedly. He was listening to the fence rattle each time the basketball bounced off it when someone caught the basketball out of his hands.
It was a man, probably in his late twenties. He shot a layup and the basketball soared through the net-less goal. It bounced against the ground. The man had dark, black hair and skin the color of honey. He didn't give Ashton any kind of indication of kindness or distaste, his face simply blank. It reminded him vaguely of Luke.
"Saw you a few days ago," said the man, "fighting that blonde guy."
Ashton took the basketball back and said nothing. The man continued.
"I don't mean to cause any trouble, I swear," said the man. He raised his eyebrows. "Name's Danny. Yours?"
"Ashton."
"Well, Ashton, you'd better control that anger before it gets the best of you. Fights around here are often, yes, but that doesn't mean you should go around starting them. You threw the first punch," said Danny. He leaned against the fence and crossed his arms. "We have enough guys around here trying to prove their masculinity is the strongest. We don't need another. Do you hear me?"
Ashton wasn't sure that he completely understood, but he nodded anyway. Danny had a complicated look on his face. "You killed a boy, right? That's what you're in here for?"
Ashton didn't do anything but stare at him.
"We all made mistakes. But you need to keep to yourself. You're young. And right now, everyone here is looking at you like you're something to eat. Drawing attention isn't the best way to go about things here."
Ashton dribbled the basketball and waiting until Danny started speaking again. "Anyway. Just warning ya, kid. Make this fight a one time thing. Otherwise you might find yourself in a situation that is a little harder to walk away from."
Danny left. Ashton dribbled the basketball for a few more minutes and then let it leave his fingertips, soaring through the air and swishing through the goal.
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A/N: I'm so excited for the simon vs the homosapiens agenda movie
I have a major best friend crush on the guy who is playing Bram. like I just wanna be best friends with him is that weird
anyway hope you enjoyed this chapter. poor Ashton is in jail :(:(:(:( and so is Wesley Davis aka asshole/limpdick/motherfucker/etc
Are you currently learning any languages??
I'm learning norwegian and I think it's so fun and cool but everyone makes fun of me for it so thats that
thanks for reading!! Please vote and comment:) love you to the moon bye