A/N: 'Kay, so, this is just a little something I decided to try to get myself motivated to start writing again. I'm really starting to miss it. I'm not even sure if I'll be going anywhere spectacular with this story, but I guess we'll find out.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. God help us all if I did.

My life used to be interesting.

I take time out of every day just to remind myself of that.

I had everything I could have ever possibly wanted, and then some. The best part was that it was all practically handed to me on a silver fucking platter, and for a long time, I thought I was happy with it that way. I thought I was happy with my fancy-ass car, my million dollar mansion and endless supply of riches. I thought I was happy with the fact that I could walk into a room and within 2 minutes (less than that, most of the time), I would have men and women alike throwing themselves at my feet and begging to take me home.

God, was I ever wrong.

She came out of nowhere.

It hurts me way too much to even say her name anymore, so I hope you don't mind that I'm going to do my best not to. I don't really want to get into details at the moment, either. I'm just going to say that she changed me in more ways than I thought were possible. I don't think she even meant to, but she did. I was never even technically with her, yet before I knew what was happening I found myself belonging to her. We never had sex or even kissed for that matter, but I was still hopelessly attached to her, and that's a hell of a lot more than I could say about the girls I actually did sleep with.

I tried many, many times to tell her how I felt about her – or at the very least, show her – but I never could. There was always something in the way. That something was always in the back of my mind screaming at me about how fucking horrible I would be for her and how much I didn't deserve her. There were plenty of times that we would be at my house, in my bed, her head in my lap and my hand running absentmindedly through her hair, that I would open my mouth and let everything start to pour out right before I would bitch out and stop myself. I tried more times than I can count that year, but I never did manage to get it out. I don't think she ever had a clue.

Now that I think about it, it's been almost 4 years since then. So, where am I now? It's 10pm, and I'm clocking out of my shift. Yeah, that's right, I fucking work now. Oh, and it might also be important to mention that I moved from L.A. and now live on the opposite side of the country in Baltimore.

I'm just going to try to make a long story short, okay? After coming to the brutally painful realization that I was no damn good for Her and I was never going to have the joy of calling Her mine, I hit the bottle. Hard. I don't think there was a day after I realized it that I wasn't under the influence of hard liquor or some sort of illegal drug. I thought maybe I could somehow get fucked up enough to completely erase her from my mind and start over, but of course, it never worked. I guess I had it coming when my raging bitch of a mother decided that she wasn't dealing with it anymore, and literally threw me out of the house. She threw a couple of my personal belongings out the door with me before slamming it shut and locking it, and no matter how loud I screamed or how hard I banged on the door, she wouldn't let me back in. For the first time in my life, I had nothing – not even a place to fucking live. I guess I could have gone to Her house and crashed there, but that stupid voice in the back of my head wouldn't stop telling me it was a bad idea and that she wouldn't want me there. Her parents hated my existence anyway. I could have gone to Aiden's too, but I didn't want to burden him. I'd already done it enough as it was.

That night I ended up passing out on a park bench, not even remembering how I got there. I checked my pockets. All I had was my half-charged phone, four crumpled $1 bills along with some change, and my driver's license. Great, I didn't even have my keys. Oh, and it seemed I had an extra shirt too, because I was using it as a blanket. The next thing I remember, I was breaking down in tears, feeling totally and utterly lost and alone. Once I regained my composure, I pulled out my phone and called my sister, Kyla. I had almost forgotten about her. Was she even at home when my mom kicked me out?

She told me she was. She had heard the whole thing go down, and afterwards, while I was stumbling around outside looking for a place to pass out, she ended up packing her things, telling my mother a thing or two and then leaving. She found my keys and took my car, and at that moment she was driving around looking for me. Oh, good.

She picked me up at the park and we went back to the house, silently thanking the heavens that my mother wasn't home when we got there. I think we both understood that there was no way we could stay there anymore. No words were spoken as we went into our rooms and packed up before getting back in the car and taking off.

She asked me where I wanted to go, and I told her anywhere but here. I just couldn't fucking deal with it anymore. This damn city and the people in it were going to be the death of me if I stayed. More specifically, She was going to be the death of me. I was so tired of the waiting, the false hope, and the self-loathing that came with it.

"Did you wanna say goodbye to Spencer first?"

God fucking damnit all to hell. She said her name, and I remember physically wincing. I squeezed my eyes shut as I growled out a hateful "no". She apologized, saying it slipped out, and then the next thing I know she's suggesting that we move in with her mother in Baltimore. Under different circumstances I would have told her no and thought she was crazy, but at the moment, I didn't give a shit where we went as long as it wasn't anywhere near here.

And that was that. Using the only money we had, we booked a flight to Baltimore the next day. We moved in with her mom. Within a couple months we both had jobs, and within a few more months, we decided we had enough money to move into our own two bedroom apartment. And now, here we are today, both working 40+ hours a week to pay our somehow ridiculously expensive rent. It's hard, but we manage to get by, even if it is just barely.

The adjustment from my life in L.A. to "normal" life was actually a hell of a lot easier than I thought it would be. I sure wasn't used to working for my money, but I knew I needed to if I hoped to not spend the rest of my life sleeping on random benches in random parks.

I wish I could say that I was over Her by now, but I'm not even going to attempt to lie. I'm not. Not in the least. I spend almost every night lying awake in bed, staring at her highlighted name on my phone with my finger resting on the send button. Four fucking years later, and I've still never pressed it.

I don't know how Kyla puts up with me, honestly. I haven't been the "old" me ever since the day I met Her, and I highly doubt I'll ever be again. Kyla goes out every weekend; I don't. Kyla actually has friends; I don't. Kyla is actually looking for love, and I'm, well…not. I know that She is the reason why, but what I don't understand is why I can't seem to get the fuck over her.

Okay, whatever, at this point I'm just beating a dead horse. It's in the past now anyway, right? Maybe one day I'll finally have myself convinced of that. Back to reality. Where did I even space out anyway? Oh, okay, I'm in my car. Thank God no one could see how hard I was just staring into nothingness.

Now that I'm back to the real world, I reach into the right pocket of my khakis, pull out my pack of cigarettes and light one, taking a long drag. I started smoking after I moved here for some reason. I guess the burn in my throat and the horrible taste give me something else to concentrate on besides Her, and hey; I'm all for that.

I take another drag as I pull out my phone to check the time. Fuck. It's 10:28. Kyla got off work the same time I did, and I should have already picked her up by now. Great, now I'll probably have to listen to her complain the whole ride home. That's just what I need right now.

I speed as fast as I can to the ice cream shop where Kyla works and quickly spot her, standing right outside the door with her arms crossed. I pull up right in front of her, and she makes eye contact with me before rolling her eyes (to make sure I know she's angry, of course) and finally walking over and getting in the car.

"Sorry?" I tell her sheepishly as I shift into drive and pull off.

"I know, Ash. It's fine." she tells me, but her arms are still crossed, so I know she's just saying that. Whether she realizes it or not, Kyla crossing her arms is pretty much a dead giveaway that she's pretty damn annoyed.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Because, Ash, this isn't the first time you've done this. I know exactly what you were doing." she answers quickly without even thinking, and it catches me a little off guard. "Plus you smell like an ashtray, which gives it away anyway." At that, I clench my jaw and glare at her.

Ugh. She knows me a little too well.

The rest of the ride home is silent. It's pretty much silent after we get home, too. Kyla goes straight into the bathroom to take a shower, and I flop straight onto the couch to watch TV until I fall asleep, which probably won't be any time soon. Not after today.

"Are you ever gonna be okay, Ashley?" I jump at the sound of a voice, and my eyes snap up from the TV and see Kyla standing there in a towel. Duh. Who else would it be?

It takes me a couple seconds to finally answer her. "I don't fucking know, Ky. I just…I really don't."

She sighs, sitting down next to me on the couch. "You can't be like this forever…"

And for some reason, that makes me laugh.

A/N: Before you ask, no, this isn't going to be a oneshot. It's going to be a multi-chapter story, but right now, I'm not exactly sure how many.

Welp, reviews are greatly appreciated. The more reviews, the more motivated I am to give the next chapter ;)