Madison

I'm a terrible person. I can sense it inside like a rotten thing. It has nothing to do with the crap Kelsey said. She has to mean something to me to make her words stick, but they did burn a little before I made myself remember that.

No, I'm the worst because of the way Asher looks right now. I don't want him to think I'm running from him, but I can't lie. A part of me is.

It's too much being here. Being with him, seeing him this close, close enough to see what I've been missing in my life. Affection, a mother who cares about me, things that money can buy--not happiness, but security, is giving me a void that I won't know how to fix when I leave him or when he gets tired of me.

I shift my bag higher on my shoulders and wait for him to take the lead. Asher packs up the rest of the stuff at the table, his food half eaten because he was too busy listening to me, and my plate clean because he was right, it was delicious, and getting a good meal like this, one this nice even if it was just a burger, isn't a regularly occurring thing.

"You ready?" he asks, his eyes searching over my face.

"Yes, please. Thank you." I'm the robot version of myself now. All manners, no substance. I slip into the role so easily it frightens me. But it protects me as well.

Asher lets me walk in front of him, his hand guiding my back once more. I relish in his touch, even though I know after this abrupt ending, I might not see him again in the same way and for the same amount of time.

We get to the front of the restaurant when I feel Asher tense beside me. I'm not touching him enough to truly feel it, but it's in the sudden halt in his walking, the way his hand stills on my back.

I stop myself, just barely, trying to see what threw him off, other than me.

There's a man ahead of us. He's older. He's handsome and carrying a power others around him recognize in the way they cast their glances toward him.

It takes me a minute to catch on. The jawline. The eyes, though this man's are colder than Asher's have ever been.

This must be his father.

Asher's face shows he's upset. I can see it in the way he holds his jaw, painfully tight, and the look in his eyes right now. I may have not seen the hard set on his father before now, but it's showing on his face as he takes his dad in.

"Asher." He stops walking and looks at me. A swift shake of his head seems to break the spell.

"Sorry. It's--"

"Asher. A word," his father has made it to us already. They walk a few feet away from me. At first, I can't fully hear them, but it's a short lived bliss.

Before I could hear him well, I could lie to myself like his father didn't hate me, but with his words carrying low and rumbled to anyone who was in the room who bothered to listen, and there are far too many people who want to listen, I can't play as dumb as he thinks that I am.

"Stop," Asher says quietly. He turns towards me and then blocks his father from my view, his back facing me. There's a flush on his cheeks. My own cheeks burn, and I want to walk away, but I don't. If I looked down, there would be a weight around me feet. One that calls me trash. One that's heavy enough to break my ankles and my spirit if I let it.

His father doesn't stop.

"Girls like this--"

"You don't know her."

"I know her. I've known a lot of girls like her. You're not anyone to her. You're a paycheck."

"Stop." Asher still isn't yelling, but he looks even bigger than he is. He is a statue version of himself, rippling with anger unspent. There's too much there.

The trash part of me, the part my mother stamped all over my insides, wants to show him how bad I can be. It's an angry part that I don't let myself be. I'm better than that, but not by much right now.

The smaller part of me wants to think he's right. Mr. Brent. He's rich. People think he's important. If he says I don't belong, I probably don't. But I haven't ever let myself stay small. Not long. There's too many people trying to keep me there.

"I tell you to get a tutor. To get your shit together, and you let you dick choose." His dad says it all quickly, all matter of fact, like my entire purpose can be summed up simply.

"You don't know her or me."

"I know you, son. You were me when I was too young and stupid to know when some girl was going to try to jeopardize my future. I'm giving you something, and instead of thanking me, you're trying to throw it all away. I'd like to think you're smarter than this. I'm trying to make you be--"

"You, and I'd rather fucking die first."

His father stops talking. He stares back at Asher. He's almost even with him, but Asher still has him beat by a few inches.

With that, Asher turns back to me and walks in close. His eyebrows are pinched, his breath comes quickly.