I sigh, remembering our ordeal from Thursday. I reply back:

                        Mads, I no she doesn’t give a fk. I’ll call her bak

latr when I feel like it, but im busy now.

The next text, the one I just received, is from my mother.

                        Where the hell r u? I swear I’ll call LAPD and report

 u a runaway. I try to support this family n this is the thx I get?

It’s official. My mother is a delusional psychopath. My thoughts flash back to when she slapped me and my eyes start to water.

“Spencer?”

Ashley is standing at the bottom of the stairs looking over at me. She has a concerned look on her face?

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Sitting down next to me, she wraps her arm around me giving me internal warmth. I don’t want her to leave.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she asks, wiping a lone tear off of my cheek.

I look at her somewhat ashamed for crying. I can’t believe I’m okay with being vulnerable around her.

“It’s my mom,” I sigh, resting my head on her shoulder, “but it’s nothing really.” I reach up and silently ask her to rest her head on mine by pulling her head down closer to mine, and she does.

“We don’t have to go out tonight if you aren’t up to it,” she suggest while gently stroking my bangs.

“No, just… can we stay like this for a while?”

And so we did. Snuggling up in her warmth made me feel one thousand times better. She was so soft and her hair smelled like vanilla. I could have stayed like that for hours, but we had clubbing to do.

We left for Grey’s around 8:30 and got there at nine.

“Do you remember it now?” I ask her. When  I first asked Ashley if she had ever gone to Grey’s, but she was uncertain.

“I think so but I’ll have to see the inside first before I know for sure.”

We get out of my car and walk up to the line to get in, but it stretches all the way around the building.