Salt

I forgot to call before I began pounding on his front door. There was a startled voice from inside and a clatter of plates, then it opened, revealing the soft features of Bryce Ford.

If he was annoyed, he hid it well, smile growing when he noticed it was me.

“Ashley, sweetheart, how lovely to see you."

I felt my face twinging, not just because of how nicely he was speaking, but from the volume of his voice. He was projecting too much.

A fraction of a moment before I responded, I heard more clattering, and dashing feet that got further away.

“Y-yeah, you too, Mr Ford, is... is Ambrose home?"

He cleared his throat. "Up in his room, as usual. Does he know–"

"No. I, uh, have something important to tell him."

Mr Ford was either utterly clueless or an intelligent man, as he finally stepped aside, keeping his eyes trained on me until I was at the top of the staircase. When I was turning the corner, he rushed back towards the kitchen.

That was peculiar. And not just because he didn't spend five minutes trying to flirt with me. No matter what his deal was, I didn't trust it, so I guess Ambrose was correct to suspect he was involved in something strange.

But I digress, I knocked on his bedroom door rapidly, not giving him enough time before I catapulted myself inside.

Closing over his journal as soon as our gazes connected, he almost vaulted upright when I instantly didn't start talking. He knew.

"Ash, what's going on?"

I got closer, until there was nothing but heat between us.

“I found her phone."

"What?"

Exposing the blue-jeweled device, I watched a young man with a massive future ahead of him crack. The stained glass of his skin breaking and falling, mirroring me only just a handful of minutes ago.

Delicately extracting it from my hands, I expected words, of sadness, of fond memories. Instead, I got him powering past me out the room.

For a moment, I wondered if I should see myself out, but he re-emerged just as I gathered the courage to leave. In his hands was a long white wire.

Plugging it in, we both sat on the edge of the bed, neither knowing what to say or do. We must've looked like a right pair of idiots.

Lowering my attention to our legs, I became aware of his tan fingers splaying out to interlace with mine. His grip was severe, but ready. Warm to the touch but melting under a thin coat of ice.

Pinkie finger tracing the lines of my palm, I held his gaze another time. I jumped in, full throttle, with no plans to escape, so maybe that's why I allowed myself to be drawn in, like a moth to the forbidden flame.

Part of me was alight, burning bright and persisting for more than a taste. I wanted everything; damn the consequences, or anyone else. I wanted it all.

We jumped out of our skin when the phone beeped. He lunged for it.

Re-joining me on the edge, the screen flashed up with a princess filter of Ciara and her posse, dressed up to the nines. The girl in question was wearing a baby pink crushed velvet maxi, with a slit up one leg, showcasing the long and toned legs boys all over town drooled over. The smile on her face was optimistic; oblivious.

“Did she–"

"I've known all her passwords since she was thirteen, if she had a problem she'd have made it clear."

True. Ciara was problematic in all sense of the word, but that meant everyone tended to underestimate her and how brave she could be.

He unlocked on the first attempt, and her home screen was just there, covered in apps. Dating apps, social media sites and more than fifty unread messages.

I heard the intake of breath before he opened her texts. Reading words meant for a dead girl, it was rather morbid, wasn't it?

Most of them were sent after, so Ambrose just thumbed through them all, especially since they contained the expected eulogy or speech about how much they'll miss her and never take their time with her for granted. To see so many people do nothing but praise this girl who'd dripped venom from her two front teeth for fifteen years, it was... confusing, as well as it cemented the fact I likely never knew the real her.

"Stop!"

Head tilting lightly sideways, he still did as asked. There was an unopened message from an unknown number. Opening the appropriate one, we both took the time to read the conversation.

Ciara: I have proof, every1 will know who u really r.

Unknown: you do anything, I'll kill you.

Ciara: try me

Then, the reply from the mysterious stranger came just a few days later.

Unknown: was it good for you too?

Breathing catching in my throat, I didn't know if there was more, because Ambrose locked the phone again after taking several screenshots and texting them to himself, before rising to his feet. I watched him go, the adrenaline still surging through my bones. Every time I went to stand, my brain stopped me and told me this wasn't my moment, to let him have this.

But I couldn’t help but still imagine those words in my mind. ‘Was it good for you too?’... wasn’t that the threat mailed to me too?

The whole world was silent, except for our breathing. He was infected with the poison and only I could save him with the antidote.

He turned to me, jaw tight and locked, ready to unleash devastation on this already-broken land.

"Who is this? Who's number is this?"

I shook my head, unable to form a verbal reply.

Not waiting for a response, he reached into the corner of the room with the newspapers, and using brute strength with a mixture of perilous rage, propelled them all over the room. The pages fluttered like a butterfly without its wings, origami without the magic of faith. We were showered in them, raining on our stained bodies.

The armor of our flesh and bones weren't enough, as the words had already immortalized themselves in them, carving in through the DNA and marrow.

But saying I didn't know would never be enough. I could never take away the pain he and his family had gone through. They'd gone from raising two promising children, to having her ripped from their unprepared hands. What they wouldn't do to trade places. And I could pretend I understood, but the truth is, I never would.

"Why is everything so fucked up? When did it get like this? Is it all because I ignored her for work that day? Was it because of some psycho? Was it you–"

I looked up, catching him, as he never finished. He didn't have to, I wasn't stupid.

Standing up, I turned away, hugging my arms close as I faced the window. He was stressed out, none of it was true, I told myself. Yet, no matter how much I did, the bruise on my heart rejected the Band-Aid.

“Shit, Ash, I'm sorry," He approached me from behind, his body hot and radiating stronger than I ever thought possible. "You know I don't blame you."

Maybe not, but someone had to take it. Besides, I’d received the exact same threat.

When I didn't respond, his fingers slid down the length of my arm, which only caused me to shiver. But despite it being February, I definitely wasn't cold.

His calloused grazed skin, creating lines that were sometimes off-course and I bet were visible from the newspaper ink. Black marks on me that rode like a racing car tire, bumpy yet the wildest ride of my life, as I let my hair down and it billowed in the breeze.

It was a new experience, one I didn't think I'd have in my lifetime. Or, at least, not during a point when I couldn't find the simplest answers in myself.

I turned my head gently, attention drawn to his jaw that seemed to be making the shapes of words I never heard. His five o'clock shadow was new, since Ambrose was always quite regularly clean-shaven and squeaky. I bet it was coarse, not as itchy as Jesse's trademark stubble, but that was the wrong track to go down.

I knew how fleeting life was and if this turned out to be a mistake, at least then I'd know what could have been.

That was my thought process as Ambrose lowered his head, hand caressing my cheek. Falling back into his chest, I closed my eyes.

His lips were soft; gentle and tasted faintly of butter. He'd pressed them to mine all for a moment before he was drawing back. He was taking what we'd been building up to away, and I wasn't ready for that just yet.

So, I pulled him in, faced him directly and kissed back harder. If he required permission, then I gladly handed it over. I wanted my kiss to be the one he thought of again and again as he lay in bed at night, wondering where I was, what I was doing. I needed it to be the best, because I was.

His hands slowly making their way into my hair, he struck me like a match and suddenly I was igniting not just the fire but the darkest blaze.

Finally parting, we breathed heavy. It had taken a lot out of me, that's for sure... although I wouldn't argue with going in for more.

Then, he sighed.

“I'm sorry, I–" Cutting himself off, he stepped back but refused to let go. There was more to say, yet not enough to talk about.

Willing my face to stay straight, it was hard when his nails were still scratching my scalp. I was shivering.

"No, don't be. You're vulnerable right now, I shouldn't have–"

His eyes became hard.

"I don't regret it. I just, this isn't how it was supposed to happen." One arm falling to stroke my skin again, I wholly believed I didn't know what breathing was until he stole it from me. "Give it time, Ashley, I'll make sure our second first kiss is incredible."

I wasn't foolish enough to make promises, nor to keep them, but I nodded. A part of me wanted the grand gesture he'd surely make, but the other half just ached to push him down on the bed and rock his world.

Which totally wasn't like me, I guess I'd just had enough of playing cat and mouse all the time.

And fifty-percent being I hadn't been kissed for nearly a year. Some awakenings were out of my hands and, as of now, he was the reason we were getting re-acquainted.

Laying my head on his chest, I tried regaining my breath, but it proved difficult when his heartbeat thrummed through my skull. Like a constant hum, but it was to your favourite song. It was serenading me until I was swaying, inviting me to dance forever.

"What are we going to do?" My voice was low, a quiver on top of a melancholic whisper.

"I don't know. Obviously, I'd like to take you on a real date someday. We'll figure it out when we get there."

I giggled, causing him to look down and frown at me.

"I wasn't laughing at you, I meant..." I gestured towards Ciara's mobile, still sitting idly in the corner. "The kiss was great, you're great, but I'm on the fence with this. Do we... I mean – do I bring it in? Her case is closed, but maybe this will re-open it. And maybe it might..."

Silence was a funny thing. It could be wonderful, in terms of performing in front of a massive crowd completely in awe, or awkward situations you best back out of. It could be sweet, fearful, spiteful like my parents, or sometimes it could be the one thing you found comfort in.

And, just sometimes, it was so powerful it never needed any words.

He swallowed, eyes reflecting beautifully like the surface of a diamond.

The tip of his thumb breezed along the dip of my Cupid's bow, massaging the skin and my teeth beneath. A buzz arose in me once again, pleading for more than the simple taste I'd had. It was wild, I was crazy, and he made me. With access granted, he deliberately let it drop to my bottom lip, as I kissed it. Unlike last time, I wished he'd notice. Even better, reciprocate.

Grinning, he watched his thumb as it trailed all the way down my throat, tracing my veins and all the lines he was looking to cross. To be on the other side, to be a part of me. To be as one.

"Anything you want, babe."