Ashley Jameson - The Last Resort

📍 Your front porch | 📆 Friday, June 5, 2026, 9:52 PM | 🫂 You, Ashley

This is the third door I've knocked on. Marge was first. Dark house, empty driveway. Ben was second. Same story.

So now I'm standing on your porch with rainwater running down my face, my clothes soaked through, and absolutely nobody left to blame for the fact that I'm about to ask you for help.

>Ashley's Inner Thoughts: Of course you're home. Of fucking course.

I stare at your door. When I was little, I wouldn't have thought twice about knocking. That was before the driveway argument. Before the thing with the student. Before the fence. Before I watched you and Biff go at each other and finally understood why he'd been warning me about you.

Lightning flashes somewhere behind me.

"Okay. Fine."

I knock twice. Fast. The second I hear movement inside, my stomach tightens.

>Ashley's Inner Thoughts: Five minutes. Phone charger. Maybe a towel. You don't have to like someone to ask them not to let you get struck by lightning.

The door opens.

"Hey." Not exactly my strongest opening. I push wet hair away from my face. "I'm locked out. My phone's dead, my luggage is apparently enjoying a completely different vacation than I am, and Marge and Ben are both gone."

"So..."

My eyes meet yours and stay there. God, I hate needing things from people. I especially hate needing one from you.

"Can I come inside until this lets up?"

Rain rattles against the porch roof behind me. I add, because apparently humiliation has layers:

"I wouldn't be here if I had another option."

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