Eight :: South of Nowhere, Ashley/Spencer, lessons
Ah, one more for the porn battle! Not terribly sexy, though [lol]. Heh. I guess I am defeating the whole purpose.
One - Don’t care for anyone.
Her father taught her that one, with his crazy grin and his alcoholic disappearing act - she was left behind like old guitar strings, never to be strummed again.
But she didn’t listen well enough.
Because she needed a home in someone’s eyes like other young girls needed Barbie dolls and so Aiden came into her world and she gave him kisses and he gave her hugs.
And it should have been forever, but no one could predict her continual loss of innocence.
They made a child and they lost forever - two birds, one stone.
Two - Don’t let them see you cry.
Bathroom stalls that cradled her, there when a mother’s arms were filled up with shopping bags and martinis, and she’d sob against dirty porcelain.
At school, with those girls that used to be her friends.
At clubs, with those boys that used to be dates.
At dawn, leaving another unknown apartment and driving still drunk back home again.
But she kept it quiet, a stupid secret all her own… she kept own her tears like loose change in her jeans pocket, tossed aside or saved for a rainy day.
Three - Don’t stop fighting.
And it is always the same, isn’t it?
She gets up, struggles with the buttons and applies the make-up and knocks down barriers the only way she knows how - with her body, with her mouth, with her dark sunglasses and her sharp nails.
They throw insults and she lobs them back, teenage grenades - they blow up one another.
Doesn’t matter if she’d rather not, on some days. Doesn’t matter that she gets tired of it all.
Because to give up ground is to admit you are weak.
And she can’t be that.
Not ever.
Four - Don’t look for sympathy.
Her tale is written all over her skin, tattoos of things stolen and scars of things left behind, and she tries to cover it up quick… to not let anyone read her… to keep those pages too tattered to grasp.
And she isn’t looking for a savior. She isn’t looking for a friend. She isn’t looking for anyone.
But her lies just trip her up, like they always do.
And where she leaves the window cracked… someone is bound to crawl on through.
Five - Don’t believe the sweet words they say.
Oh, but she wants to.
She really fucking wants to.
And they tease her as she lies down at night, running over and over her ears like wine on her tongue, all those decadent phrases slipping past kissable lips… streaming out of a head of blonde hair… rolling over her body, Spencer-shaped waves…
And she replays them like a cassette tape.
And the cracks just keep on coming, as if she had been waiting for someone to break her free.
Six - Don’t hand over your heart.
This is the one she tried hard to follow, locking down and clamming up and stifling every single urge - but they almost made a move - and it is one neither of them can take back.
Hand on a cheek and a silent room, only thoughts of touching… mouth to mouth… and she had dreamed of this moment way too many times and woke up wet…
And her chest fucking aches with the wanting, watching Spencer walk away and watching Spencer get angry and watching Spencer chase an old lover around.
Her chest aches from an organ finally beating.
Seven - Don’t believe in forever.
Because it does not happen, not to girls like you.
And you can’t be responsible for some girl fresh off the farm, with mixed up emotions and complicated sexuality. You can’t please those stable parents. You can’t battle those protective brothers.
It would be simple to just slide back into old habits, a stranger’s hand up your shirt and cocaine in your blood. It would be so easy to forget and push away and kill the need.
Because girls like you don’t get forever.
That’s a damn fairy tale.
Eight - Don’t fall in love.
Ashley pulls Spencer close and there is no one around to interrupt them this time - no ex-boyfriend or meddling mother, no mistake too big to forgive and no walls to climb…
Just the two of them, as it has been from the get-go, outside with those lockers and books and spilled coffee. Just the two of them, blue on brown.
And Ashley has never been more rooted to the ground, afraid to soar, fearful of something she knows all too well… seduction on her bed, sheets in a tangle.
But Spencer leans in and they are actually kissing now and they fall back and every point of contact causes Ashley’s breathing to catch - hip to hip and thigh to center and fingers to hair… and she has never longed for anyone more.
Not even Aiden. Not even a family. Not even old friends. Not even a chance to shatter.
And clothes are removed, dips and curves revealed, so Ashley grazes where she pleases - lapping at skin and tasting junctures, inhaling moans like they are the first day of spring… and the whispers that grow into shouts against her own flesh, probing and pushing and gripping and holding, Spencer finding every spot that Ashley has and turning it on its head…
Building her up, embracing her, taking her over - and suddenly those words said on the Carlin couch mean so much more, with Spencer’s finger buried inside of her and gliding in and out… suddenly the world doesn’t matter much anymore, all the games and all the attacks, just this moment matters… and Ashley rocks in time to a new song, a new sound.
Spencer’s teeth latch onto her neck and they are both moving so fast and Ashley presses a feverish kiss to the girl’s temple and clings to her back and her damn heart is bursting and her eyes squeeze shut.
And, in one final thrust, Ashley has broken every lesson she has ever learned.
::END::
One - Don’t care for anyone.
Her father taught her that one, with his crazy grin and his alcoholic disappearing act - she was left behind like old guitar strings, never to be strummed again.
But she didn’t listen well enough.
Because she needed a home in someone’s eyes like other young girls needed Barbie dolls and so Aiden came into her world and she gave him kisses and he gave her hugs.
And it should have been forever, but no one could predict her continual loss of innocence.
They made a child and they lost forever - two birds, one stone.
Two - Don’t let them see you cry.
Bathroom stalls that cradled her, there when a mother’s arms were filled up with shopping bags and martinis, and she’d sob against dirty porcelain.
At school, with those girls that used to be her friends.
At clubs, with those boys that used to be dates.
At dawn, leaving another unknown apartment and driving still drunk back home again.
But she kept it quiet, a stupid secret all her own… she kept own her tears like loose change in her jeans pocket, tossed aside or saved for a rainy day.
Three - Don’t stop fighting.
And it is always the same, isn’t it?
She gets up, struggles with the buttons and applies the make-up and knocks down barriers the only way she knows how - with her body, with her mouth, with her dark sunglasses and her sharp nails.
They throw insults and she lobs them back, teenage grenades - they blow up one another.
Doesn’t matter if she’d rather not, on some days. Doesn’t matter that she gets tired of it all.
Because to give up ground is to admit you are weak.
And she can’t be that.
Not ever.
Four - Don’t look for sympathy.
Her tale is written all over her skin, tattoos of things stolen and scars of things left behind, and she tries to cover it up quick… to not let anyone read her… to keep those pages too tattered to grasp.
And she isn’t looking for a savior. She isn’t looking for a friend. She isn’t looking for anyone.
But her lies just trip her up, like they always do.
And where she leaves the window cracked… someone is bound to crawl on through.
Five - Don’t believe the sweet words they say.
Oh, but she wants to.
She really fucking wants to.
And they tease her as she lies down at night, running over and over her ears like wine on her tongue, all those decadent phrases slipping past kissable lips… streaming out of a head of blonde hair… rolling over her body, Spencer-shaped waves…
And she replays them like a cassette tape.
And the cracks just keep on coming, as if she had been waiting for someone to break her free.
Six - Don’t hand over your heart.
This is the one she tried hard to follow, locking down and clamming up and stifling every single urge - but they almost made a move - and it is one neither of them can take back.
Hand on a cheek and a silent room, only thoughts of touching… mouth to mouth… and she had dreamed of this moment way too many times and woke up wet…
And her chest fucking aches with the wanting, watching Spencer walk away and watching Spencer get angry and watching Spencer chase an old lover around.
Her chest aches from an organ finally beating.
Seven - Don’t believe in forever.
Because it does not happen, not to girls like you.
And you can’t be responsible for some girl fresh off the farm, with mixed up emotions and complicated sexuality. You can’t please those stable parents. You can’t battle those protective brothers.
It would be simple to just slide back into old habits, a stranger’s hand up your shirt and cocaine in your blood. It would be so easy to forget and push away and kill the need.
Because girls like you don’t get forever.
That’s a damn fairy tale.
Eight - Don’t fall in love.
Ashley pulls Spencer close and there is no one around to interrupt them this time - no ex-boyfriend or meddling mother, no mistake too big to forgive and no walls to climb…
Just the two of them, as it has been from the get-go, outside with those lockers and books and spilled coffee. Just the two of them, blue on brown.
And Ashley has never been more rooted to the ground, afraid to soar, fearful of something she knows all too well… seduction on her bed, sheets in a tangle.
But Spencer leans in and they are actually kissing now and they fall back and every point of contact causes Ashley’s breathing to catch - hip to hip and thigh to center and fingers to hair… and she has never longed for anyone more.
Not even Aiden. Not even a family. Not even old friends. Not even a chance to shatter.
And clothes are removed, dips and curves revealed, so Ashley grazes where she pleases - lapping at skin and tasting junctures, inhaling moans like they are the first day of spring… and the whispers that grow into shouts against her own flesh, probing and pushing and gripping and holding, Spencer finding every spot that Ashley has and turning it on its head…
Building her up, embracing her, taking her over - and suddenly those words said on the Carlin couch mean so much more, with Spencer’s finger buried inside of her and gliding in and out… suddenly the world doesn’t matter much anymore, all the games and all the attacks, just this moment matters… and Ashley rocks in time to a new song, a new sound.
Spencer’s teeth latch onto her neck and they are both moving so fast and Ashley presses a feverish kiss to the girl’s temple and clings to her back and her damn heart is bursting and her eyes squeeze shut.
And, in one final thrust, Ashley has broken every lesson she has ever learned.
::END::