It wasn’t something she planned, sitting up in bead, heart hammering, cheeks flushed and damp. It just happened, like so many things, becoming a need, a craving, a wish. The gentle slap of bare feet against wood, silent fingers tracing patterns along papered walls, the way her mother’s door swung inward, all settled low in her chest, aching. In the darkness, her mother’s breath said I love you and Ashley listened carefully, straining to get it just right. Eyes watering, she crawled closer, staring at the hands that once bathed her. They were always paler then she remembered, so very different from her dreams. Her own thumb found its way to her lips, unconsciously her mouth opened to suck. Scooting closer, she pressed her forehead against her mother’s arm, closing her eyes. Sometimes she could remember the smell of lavender powder, the feel of warm water, the sound of her mother’s soft humming. In those days, she was a princess, draped in white cotton, held close, like something precious, something beautiful.

Light made it all intangible, reflecting only loathing in matching brown eyes. Cheery, yellow beams showcased moments when Ashley entered bright rooms, sat at tables with shaking hands clasped, a hesitant smile tugging at her lips. It faltered in the span of her mother’s sigh, punctuating barley hidden contempt at her existence in the same space, at the same time. She’d find herself talking to a hastily retreating back, whispering thoughts about her day. It was easier with the sun. Squint and she’d still be there, watery, insubstantial, but there and they could talk and she would listen, head tilted. Even after money was thrown, after the front door opened, slammed closed, she would stare, enraptured by her daughter’s words, hanging on to every fucking one. It was so much easier than the night. In the darkness, there was nothing to see, nothing touch, only to hear. Too often it was silent in this house.

Any arms were too tight now, binding her body, keeping her from leaving, from running.  It wasn’t that love was intangible, she knew that, she’d felt that. Once had, it could never been forgotten. It became a bitter craving like dark chocolate, a thing that could be purchased, almost anywhere, but never meaning as much as when it grazed parted lips, cupped delicately by a lover’s hand. These were the thoughts that gnawed in the night, keeping her awake as they moved nosily within the walls, hiding in the spaces in between. In the moon’s light they peeked out from cracks, laughing until they choked. “I should go.” It sounded so simple, a vibration against bone, the agitation of lips and throat, as simple as the bodies that laid inches from hers, close, but not touching, not anymore. Or the ones that stood to dress, back turned, voices muffled as they pulled on shirts, dresses. She wanted to leave too. All they had to do was ask.