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    Salvation

    Story written on February 10, 2006 by sugarmomma.
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    Genre(s): N/A
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    Number of Comments: 18
    Words: 865
    Story Shortlink: https://lesfan.com/?p=11244
    Author Notes:

    Inspired by “Say it Ain’t so Spencer” – Ashley’s take on things.

    Peace is fleeting. Peace is what I learned to settle for; contentment seemed to be furtively out of reach. Peace, when my parents fought. Peace, when mom’s boyfriend tried the lock on my bedroom door. Peace, when I feel the derisive appraisal of the entire school on my back.

    Peace, above all, when the thought of her lips on his leaves this gaping, aching emptiness in my chest. Contentment I gave up on. Peace I could still obtain. I feel Paige’s hand on my thigh and look up at her. She lifts her eyebrow in question. I nod.

    Peace comes at a price.

    Paige has always been a good kisser, I had forgotten that. She can sense that tonight she can get away with more than usual, and when she pushes me against the wall in the club’s bathroom and fists her hand in my hair, pulling my head back, I don’t push back, I don’t reassert control. I just close my eyes. Her lips are on my throat then, a payment for her victory, and I try to remember the time when I actually found her exciting. The emptiness yawns again within me. Of course. Before Spencer. Before believing I was good enough to warrant her affection, her… love? Her lips on his.

    I push off, needing to draw myself away from that precipice. Paige is here. Paige will have to be enough. Paige knows how the game is played. She won’t be fooled by lingering touches and surreptitious glances. When I push her onto the settee and straddle her I can see that, probably despite herself, she likes that the old Ashley is back. I can oblige. I use teeth when I kiss her and am tempted to draw blood. She likes it, of course and when I skirt the column of her neck with my lips and bite down at the base of it, I can anticipate the tell-tale signs of her excitement. I used to relish wielding my power over her. Every hitched breath, arch of the back, a hand fisted around the bedsheets – I would tally them all up and write out the score. Paige knows how the game is played. The anticipated taste of victory, however, is ashen in my mouth now. And yet, old habits die hard. For what I need from her we will have to go to my place, so I pull her up.

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