#like. sorry if that makes me lose my feminist card or whatever but i hope he beats the shit out of her ackshually xx | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

calpalirwin · 4 years

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Every Part of You

Summary: Ashton Irwin had only planned on performing and enjoying his New Year’s Eve rocking out to 80s music. He never planned on the woman in the black dress shaking up his world. What a way to rock in the new decade.

A/N: So, as some of you know, I was at the same party as Ashton Irwin last night. And I was lucky enough to talk with him a few times. Star-struck jitters ensued along with this story for y’all courtesy of my wildest daydreams. (Photo credit to me!) And @1-irwin-94 asked for a Part 2, so here we are. Be sure to read Part 1. And stay tuned for an epilogue because I don’t think I’m ready to let go of this story yet.

Content: Smut. Fluff. Cussing. Mentions of abuse, abortion, and suicidal tendencies.

Word Count: Oh, just read it!

And away, and away we go!

~~~

“You don’t have anywhere to be, do you?” I asked her as we lay together in bed. It was creeping up on 2 in the afternoon and we hadn’t done much besides lay in each other's arms since I got her to stay.

She shook her head. “I don’t go back to work until Tuesday. But I should probably get some clothes at some point. A shower. Some food.”

“What do you do?”

“Oh, I’m working as a tutor while I finish school.”

“School. Like college?”

She nodded. “Yep. It’s my last semester.”

“And what happens after?”

“A 3 semester long teaching program and if all goes well a classroom of my own.”

“Oh, so you wanna teach? That’s cool.”

She chuckled. “It’s incredibly mundane actually. But yeah, it’s what I wanted to do since I was seven.”

“Mundane? No, that’s amazing. I shouldn’t be surprised that someone like you wants to teach, though. Makes perfect sense.”

“Someone like me?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow playfully.

I giggled. “Yes. Someone like you. Someone who is kind and patient. What do you want to teach? Or do teach right now? Tutoring’s not teaching, is it?”

Her cheeks flushed momentarily. “I’m hardly either of those things, trust me. But, you’re sweet to think so. And I want to teach history, ideally to high schoolers. Right now I work with middle schoolers and it’s a little bit of everything. I’m really just an extra set of hands three days a week.”

“Only 3 days a week?”

She nodded. “I told you it was mundane. But, the monetary aspect never bothered me. Money is eh. But, the way their eyes light up when something they’ve been struggling with suddenly clicks? And I get to be part of that? Can’t put a price tag on that type of joy.”

“But you make enough to survive?” I asked, surprised. I had no idea how much money she made. But I knew living LA was anything but cheap. Working 3 days a week certainly couldn’t sustain living in LA.

She laughed. “Barely. I mean, I live at home, so that helps. Not my favorite thing in the world. But, I just keep out of the house as much as I can.”

I frowned at her words and she laughed again, her hands coming up to caress my cheeks. She liked touching me. I liked her liking to touch me. “Don’t frown, handsome. I’m happy with my life. Do I get frustrated living at home? Yes. So much. But, this is part of my story. Part of my struggle. And I’ve struggled through far worse and survived.”

I tilted to kiss her palms. “How do you do it?” I marveled. “You’re so happy and upbeat. It’s damn near infectious.”

She shrugged. “Trust me, my head can be a dark place. But, the dark isn’t the whole book. Learning to dance in the rain and all that peppy shit.”

I smiled at her. I too, knew just how dark someone’s own head could be, and I had the scars to prove it. And instead of running, she had stayed. More than that, she had kissed the ugly parts of me. I wanted to do the same for her. “Take me there,” I murmured, continuing to kiss at her hands.

“Take you where?” she giggled.

“Take me to every part of you,” I said, lifting my eyes to look at hers.

She laughed a little louder this time. “Food first. I’m starving. And I could really go for some clothes that… well, that are a little less that,” she said with another laugh, pointing at her dress on the ground.

“But I like you in that dress.”

“You like me out of it, you mean.”

I winked. “Yeah, that too.”

~~~

“Well, this is me,” she said, as I pulled up in front of the small house. She had put her dress back on, along with the boots, having nothing else to wear, even though I offered her a shirt. But she told me that that wasn’t good for going home in.

“Nice place,” I commented, offhandedly.

“Thanks, it’s not ours,” she told me with a smile.

“Do you want me to wait while you get some stuff and change?” I offered.

“You don’t have to. I do drive. I can just meet you at your place later.”

I frowned and her hands were on my cheeks, pushing my lips up. “Stop that,” she scolded.

“Go pack. I’ll wait,” I told her, kissing at her hands. I liked kissing her.

“I’d offer for you to come inside, but my family’s home. So…” She made a face like she was hoping her words wouldn’t make me mad.

“I can be patient, too,” I told her simply.

“5 minutes,” she assured me. “10, tops!” and then she was dashing out of my car and into her home. I could hear her voice announcing her presence and then someone was standing in the doorway. The man looked blankly at me and she pulled him back inside, slamming the door shut.

10 minutes on the nose, the door was opening as she was walking out. This time she had on jeans and sneakers. A hoodie covered whatever shirt she had on and a hat was on backwards, covering her hair. She had a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, a grin on her face, and two water bottles in her hand. “I was thirsty,” she said, climbing back in the car, tossing her bag at her feet, and handing me one of the bottles. “You like water, right?”

I chuckled as I twisted the cap and took a swallow, the ice cold water soothing my throat. “Thanks.” Then, “Who was the man? Your dad?”

“My brother. My dad lives about a half hour away with his wife.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, reaching out to grab her hand reassuringly as I pulled out of her driveway.

“Why?”

“Because your parents are divorced. That must’ve been rough.”

She shrugged. “I was too young to know any different. And they’re happy. They’ve had their moments, sure. But they’ve always been Mom and Dad.”

“My band released a song all about the girl with divorced parents,” I told her.

“I know. And while that song absolutely breaks my heart, that wasn’t my experience. My parents have always remained civil with each other. Hell, we can all go out for dinner and my dad will sit smack dab between my mom and his wife. They get along. They’re happy. I’m happy. It is what it is.”

I didn’t even have time for my lips to turn downwards before her hand, ice cold from the water, was on my cheek. I shuddered and pulled back, swallowing the scream of shock. Her hand dropped and it was her turn to frown. “Your hand’s cold, gorgeous,” I explained. “As for your parents, I still think that sucks. But you have a mature outlook about it.”

She shrugged again. “Like I said, I was too young to know any different. They split up when I was like 4.”

I coughed, “Jesus, gorgeous…”

“What?” she asked confused. “It could be way worse. They could’ve been one of those stay for the kids types and ruined my life with their unhappiness. But they didn’t. They walked away from what made them unhappy and towards what did make them happy. And in doing so they taught me to do the same.”

I stole a glance at her as I waited for the light to change. Much like last night, she was staring out the window, with a soft smile on her lips. Like there was no place else in the world she’d rather be. I certainly didn’t want her to be anywhere else.

~~~

“Oh, hi!” she greeted, pulling open the door to reveal the guys and their girlfriends. “I’m Bridget,” she continued to say, shaking their hands. “Um, Ashton is… um…” her hand was covering up her mouth.

I grinned and came to her rescue. “Hey, guys, c’mon in.” When I shut the door after they all filed in, I turned to look at her. Her hands were still covering her mouth, her brown eyes wide behind her glasses. “You good?” I asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She jumped at my touch and I pulled back. “Oh, I’m gonna make such a dumbass of myself…” she whispered out loud, more to herself than to me. “Oh, I dunno if I can do this, Ashton…”

“You talked with me, right?”

“Yeah. After purposefully walking by you and being in front of you any chance I got. And even then, I wasn’t good at it.”

I chuckled. “You did fine. You’ll be fine. Worse case scenario just talk to Mike and Luke. They’ll talk about anything.”

She nodded her head as she hyped herself up. “Yeah, I can do this. I got this. I’m fine. This is fine. This is great. I’m just kinda seeing my favorite drummer and now hanging out with my favorite band. Yeah, this is great. I’m not freaking out AT ALL!”

My eyes went wide as I watched her spiral. “Whoa,” I said, putting my hands on her shoulders, trying not to take too much delight in her confession. “Just breathe.”

Her eyes glanced up at me and I saw how wide they were with her nerves. Slowly, she relaxed and the nerves melted. She let out a shaky breath. “Okay. I can do this.”

“Course you can.”

~~~

Her laugh echoed around us, loud and full of life as she leaned against me from her spot on my lap. “All I said was that my friends play, Mike. I never said I did.”

“Can I teach you though?” Mike asked, his green eyes wide in his excitement.

“Oh, my God!” she continued to laugh. “Do you actually have 2 decks on you?”

“Only always.”

“You know what? Fuck it. Let’s play Magic. I’ll probably lose, but eh.”

“Dude, please keep her,” Mike said, looking over at me as he dug through Crystal’s purse for his cards.

“Uh…” I chuckled, rubbing at my neck. I had every intention of keeping Bridget. But we had only known each other for 4 days.

“We’re still figuring it out,” she told him. “And while I’m not fond of the idea of being kept, I’m willing to make an exception.”

“Feminist?” Sierra asked.

Bridget shrugged. “I just believe in being in a relationship with someone because that’s what both partners want. I’m still going to be me, and if someone wants to love me while I keep being me, that’s more than fine because I have a lot of love to give somebody like that. But kept? Nah, I dated a guy once who was possessive that way and it didn’t work out. And then I dated a guy who loved me for me and allowed me to be unapologetically myself, and it still didn’t work out. But, eh, c’est la vie. And that last love is still the type of love I’m chasing after, just hopefully with a better ending.”

I leaned my head back and processed her words, betting everything I had that her demons lay somewhere in her confession.

“Did you just speak French part way through that?” Calum asked.

She scratched under her right ear. “Did I?” She shrugged, “That’s entirely possible.”

“She can speak French?” Mike asked, a dumb grin on his face.

“I think she’s fluent,” she teased back with an equally dumb grin. Then she shook her head. “No. I took French in high school, but I’m nowhere close to being fluent. Ready to play?” she asked, nodding at the cards in his hands.

“Wait, can you ask me to play Magic in French?” Mike asked, not willing to let it go, and I secretly thanked him. I wanted to hear her speak French. I just wanted to hear her in general.

Bridget’s cheeks flushed. “Uh…” Her glassed moved up as she pinched at her nose and closed her eyes in thought. The words tumbled out slowly, “Veux-tu jouer a la magie avec moi?”

“Wow… the lady doth speaketh French muy bien,” Mike applauded.

“That’s Spanish, Mike,” she said, her cheeks flushing, as her hand dropped from her face and her eyes opened. “I probably should’ve used the formal and said cards rather than magic but, eh.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked.

“Uh.. Voulez-vous jouer aux cartes avec moi.”

Calum grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at her. He loved hearing people speak other languages. We all did. “Oh, la, la. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” he said.

Bridget’s cheeks flushed damn near purple, hands covering her mouth in shock as she giggled. “Oh, my God! No! Don’t say that, Calum!”

“What?” we all asked. “What did he say?”

“Yeah, what did I say? I get that all the time when we go to France and I have no idea what they’re asking,” Calum said.

“You asked if I wanted to sleep with you tonight,” Bridget squeaked out. “Which is significantly less crude than that actual verb ‘to fuck’ as ‘coucher’ is ‘to sleep’, but the implication is there all the same. Please don’t ask me that,” she giggled through her explanation, her brown eyes wide as she looked at Calum’s equally brown eyes.

Yeah, I thought to myself, don’t ask her that. Then, to her, I whispered, “Can you ask me that?”

She turned her wide-eyed gaze at me and lightly smacked my chest, “You are terrible! Stop that!” she giggled at me, swatting my chest again.

I grabbed her hand and she gulped as my eyes darkened. “I strongly suggest not doing that,” I told her, my voice a low warning.

“Normally I’d say something sarcastic back like ‘Oh yeah? Or what?’ but I can’t tell if you’re being mad or sexy right now, so I’ll just nod my head and stop,” she whispered against me.

I held her tighter against me, wondering who had made her fear making people mad, wondering who in their right mind could ever be mad at her. Her demons, my thoughts answered for me.

~~~

“Whoa, someone’s hungry,” Bridget laughed as our stomachs all let out a collective rumble.

“Pizza?” Mike suggested.

“Nah,” Luke brushed off. “Chinese?”

“Nah,” Calum disagreed.

“Wait,” Bridget said. “Do you guys not cook?”

“No,” we all told her. “We’re on the road a lot, and when we’re home it’s still just easier to order in or something. Can you imagine if we actually went to the store?” I explained.

Bridget laughed. “Aw, no Walmart adventures then?”

Calum grinned, “Yeah, that’s why we go at like 2 am.”

“So no one can judge you for thinking a whole damn roll of fabric is five bucks? Honestly what were you thinking?” Bridget continued to tease and laugh.

“What the fuck is a yard?!” Calum asked.

“3 feet!” she told him.

“That makes no sense!”

“I never said it did!”

“Alright, settle down,” I giggled.

“But you guys seriously don’t cook? Wow.”

“You cook?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I’m more of a baker. But yeah, I can cook basic stuff.”

“Like what?”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had like a really good mac and cheese?” Luke spoke up.

Her brown eyes lit up, “You want mac and cheese? I make bomb mac and cheese.”

“I think I might have a box in the kitchen,” I said.

“But is it good?” she asked.

I shrugged. “What’s good by your standards?”

She rolled her eyes and got up off my lap. “Show me,” she said, holding out her hands for me.

I got up, leading her to the kitchen. “Do you have a large casserole dish?” she asked, leaning against the counter as I rummaged through my sparse cupboards.

“Yeah,” I told her, retrieving the blue box, “I have stuff to cook with. I just don’t really cook much. Here ya go.”

She frowned at the box in her hand. “Oh, no. This won’t do.”

“It’s mac and cheese!”

“It’s the wrong kind.”

“So, what? You want me to go to the store so you can cook for us? We can just order in, it’s fine.”

“Please?” she asked, looking up at me pleadingly. “I wanna cook for you guys.”

I sighed deeply. She, I decided, made it very hard to say “no.” “Alright, guess I’m going to the store.”

“I can go. You guys don’t have to… that’s not…” her voice faltered.

“It’s the store, not war,” I told her with a giggle.

“I know. But it’s fucked up that you can’t do something as simple as grocery shopping without ending up in the tabloids or some shit.”

“Maybe so,” I agreed. “But you want mac and cheese and I don’t have the right kind, so what else do you propose I do? Do tell.”

She rolled her eyes and smacked my chest lightly. “Alright. I’m not gonna deny myself the chance of seeing you doing something as mundane as shop for groceries.”

~~~

“Oh, this is good!” Luke groaned into his bite.

After a, thankfully uneventful, run to get groceries, Bridget had shooed us all out of the kitchen to cook.

“Are these breadcrumbs?” Mike marveled.

“Glad you like it, and yes,” she said, blowing on her forkful before taking a bit. “Mmm, I love comfort food.”

“And you made this out of a box?” Crystal asked.

Bridget nodded. Then, “Shit! None of you guys are vegans or anything are you?”

“I mean, I try to be,” Crystal said.

Bridget’s hand clapped to her mouth. “Oh, my God! I’m so sorry! It’s not vegan! It’s definitely not gluten free either! Oh, my God! I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think to… I’m such an idiot! Oh, my God!” she continued to freak out, setting her bowl down.

“Whoa, easy,” I said soothingly. “It’s fine.”

“Crystal, I am so fuckin sorry. If you don’t want to eat it, I understand. I just… I normally cook for myself or my family and none of us… I didn’t even think… I’m so sorry,” Bridget continued to apologize.

Crystal smiled softly at her. “It’s fine, babe. It’s good.”

“It really is,” Mike agreed. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. This is probably the nicest thing someone has done for us in a long while.”

“Really?”

We all nodded. “People don’t cook for us,” Calum told her. “This was kinda… homey? Like just one big family eating a home cooked meal together.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Cal,” I said, placing a kiss in Bridget’s hair.

“You are all way too fuckin sweet, I swear,” Bridget said, smiling at us. “How anyone is ever rude to you guys is beyond me.”

Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you, I thought.

~~~

“So, how does that phrase go again?” I asked, once everyone had left and we got ready for bed.

“What phrase?” she asked, looking at me confused.

“The French one.”

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” she asked, still confused.

“Yes,” I grinned.

“That’s how you say it,” she told me.

“And I’m answering your question.”

“I didn- Oh!” Her hand reached out to slap my arm. “You are trouble, that’s what you are.”

“So?” I asked suggestively.

“Ashton Irwin asking me for sex? Who am I to say no to that?” she laughed, coming into my arms, shedding her shirt as she did so.

“Technically, you asked me,” I grinned before dipping down to nip at her skin.

“Not the neck!” she breathed. “It won’t fade in time for work!”

I groaned, but moved my head lower anyway. “But I love kissing your neck.”

“You can kiss it all you want, just don’t mark me up where people can see.”

“Yes ma’am,” I winked at her.

“God, you’re so hot,” she marveled.

“Speak more French to me.”

“I can barely speak English when you look at me like that. You really think I c- oh, Dios mio!” she faltered as I ran a finger through her folds, my hands wasting no time.

“That’s Spanish,” I smirked.

“I know!” she laughed breathlessly. “Oh, fuckin fuck,” she moaned as her head rolled back as I pushed my finger into her.

“Aw, you can be louder than that for me, can’t ya gorgeous?” I asked, moving my head to breath in her ear, my finger already bringing forth the filthiest squelching sounds from her pussy.

“Keep doing that, and I’m about to get real loud, real fast,” she answered between panted breaths.

“Is that a promise?” I curled another finger inside of her and grinned wickedly as she fought to keep her eyes open.

“That’s a threat,” she managed to answer.

“God, you’re so good to me,” I praised, using my free hand to tug down her jeans.

“Not gonna be able to stand,” she told me, breathing hard.

I pulled my hand from her and gently knocked her onto the bed. “I didn’t say st- OH FUCK!” she screamed suddenly as I dropped to my knees and buried my face in her. Her hands gripped my hair. “Yes, yes, YES!”

~~~

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” she told me, after she finished her nightly ritual of kissing all my scars.

“I know. You don’t go back to work until Tuesday though right?”

She nodded. “But, you’re religious, yeah? Don’t you have church or something to go to?”

“I’m religious, yes, but I haven’t been to church in a good while. Why? Do you go to church? Cuz, I can take you if that’s the case.”

She shook her head at me. “No, I’m not religious, remember? I just- I wanted to be considerate of your beliefs.”

“What are your beliefs?”

She shrugged. “I think every religion has its truths. But, I don’t believe I need to devote myself to one religion to promote the message they all promote, which to me is to be kind and love unconditionally. But, I guess I’m technically Catholic. Irish Catholic if you want specifics.”

“Irish?”

She nodded. “Ashton, my name is an Irish trainwreck. I’m like half Irish or something. I forget the actual percentage, but it’s about half.”

“But, you don’t practice religion at all?”

“Nope,” she said, the ‘p’ popping. “Spent a lot of time being angry with God to ever feel justified calling myself a Catholic or a Christian. Never spent too much time with other religions to justify being any of those either. I’m just agnostic. I believe in something greater than myself, that the universe works in weird ways, that we are just as in charge of our destinies as anything else, but I’m not comfortable saying that force is God.”

“Why not?” I asked.

She shrugged. “There’s too much bad in the world for me to buy into the fact that it’s all God’s plan. Like really? God’s plan was giving my baby cousin cancer, making her better, and then making her sick again and taking her from us? God’s plan was to give my great uncle Alzheimer’s and leave my great aunt with a folded up flag to remember him by? And that’s just my life. But, then I went to church, ironically enough, for my baby cousin’s service. And the pastor said something that has stuck with me ever since and it was that his God is the good in the world. And while that didn’t stop me from being angry with God, it made me feel a little better about the whole concept. That being said, my relationship with God and what he is to me, it’s personal, I guess. Like, I don’t need to be part of this or that religion to prove my faith. I just keep on doing what I can to be a good person and try not to think too much about happens when I leave this place. I just hope my loved ones are there.”

“That,” I breathed, “is probably the most beautiful and poetic thing I have ever heard.”

“Then you,” she told me, “need to hear yourself more because I promise you that you’re wrong. You are, by far, way more beautiful and poetic than I can ever hope to be.”

“Agree to disagree,” I said, pressing my lips to hers.

~~~

“Hey, it’s that ring!” she said, pulling my hand closer to look at my pinky. “You don’t wear it all the time. You should.”

“Why? It’s just a ring.”

“No it’s not. It’s a Claddagh ring. You know what those rings symbolize, right?”

“I’m also half-Irish. You know that right?”

“You don’t know what it means, do you?”

“Care to tell me what it means Miss History Major?” I asked, my lips quirking upwards. Of course I knew what it meant. I just liked the way she explained things.

She rolled her eyes. “I much prefer when you call me ‘gorgeous,’ Ash,” she told me.

“And I much prefer when you dazzle me with your smarts. So please, dazzle me.”

“It’s a Claddagh ring,” she started. “Traditionally a mother gives it to her daughter when the daughter comes of age. There are two ways to wear it, and four meanings for it. Right hand with the tip of the heart outwards and the person is single. Right hand with the tip of the heart facing the wearing and the person is in a relationship. Left hand, heart tip outwards means the wearer is engaged. And left hand with the heart tip facing inwards means the wearer is married.”

I smiled more. “And what does mine tell you?” I asked.

She peered down at my pinky real quick. “It says you’re in a relationship,” she said simply. Then her eyes went wide, “Wait… Ashton…”

“What?” I asked, innocently. “I’m in a relationship, am I not?”

We hadn’t labeled what this was between us. She had been patient enough to not even ask what we were after our first night, content that we were figuring it out as we went along. But after 3 and a half months, I was teetering on the edge of being in love with the woman who greeted me by kissing first my lips and then my scars, who wouldn’t fall asleep before she kissed my scars again or watched as I did it myself if we were apart. She was the voice I listened to when my demons reared their ugly heads. But, I was too scared to tell her all that, so wearing my ring was the next best thing.

“Is that what you’re asking?” she breathed. “Much like how you tell me you won’t make me do anything I don’t want to, this goes both ways. I’m fine with where we’re at, Ash. I don’t need promises just because you think I need them.”

I frowned, dropping my head down, feeling like I had pushed too far. Damn it. My fists curled and I felt a wave of self-hatred wash over me. “Nevermind,” I said shortly, sliding the ring off and letting it clatter on the kitchen table between us.

“Don’t do that,” she said, reaching forward to grab the ring, spinning it between her fingers.

“Don’t do what?” I demanded, my voice snapping at her. “Don’t ask you for a relationship?”

“No,” she whispered. “Don’t get mad at me for trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?! You’re the one who wanted to know every part of me! Is this too much for you now!” my voice thundered and my hand came down to slam on the table

“Please,” her voice cracked, barely audible. “You’re scaring me...”

My eyes took in the quiver in her lip, the tears sliding down her cheeks, the way she was cowering in her seat. I had seen her eyes wide with nervous fear before, but that wasn’t the look she had now. This was legit terrified. And it was my fault. I slumped back, shame washing over to mix with the self-hatred. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice dropping low.

“Please don’t do that,” she blubbered before bursting into tears. Her hands covered her face, her shoulders heaved, and I felt like an absolute monster. I moved towards her, but her hands pushed out, “No, don’t,” she said, shaking her head at me. “Please.”

“Baby,” I begged, my heart breaking for what I had done to evoke such a strong negative response from her. All I wanted was to tell her what she meant to me and now she was literally pushing me away.

Her breathing came out rapid and shallow. Her hands fluttered in panic. “I’m having… oh, God…” she sputtered.

I didn’t care anymore. I grabbed her in my arms and moved us to sit on the kitchen floor, cradling her body against me as she struggled for breaths. “I’m sorry,” I whispered over and over in her hair. “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Water,” she spoke, after what felt like an eternity but was probably not even 2 minutes.

“I’ll get you water, baby,” I nodded, standing us up carefully.

“Oh, I can’t believe I just did that…” she mumbled into her hands as she took a seat at the table.

“Baby, I am so sorry,” I kept apologizing, my stomach twisting itself in knots as I pushed a glass of water in her hands and then took a seat next to her. “Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want me to give you some space?”

She held up a finger at me and gulped down the water. “I had a panic attack. Those happen sometimes. They used to happen to me a lot. But, I haven’t had one in a long while. And I’m really embarrassed right now.”

“I’m so sorry, baby…” It was taking all my strength not to burst into tears myself after seeing her so broken and broken because of me. I never wanted to experience this again, and I would spend the rest of my life making it up to her if she let me.

“Not your fault,” she said, smiling softly at me. “It’s a reaction. You did something kind and thoughtful. And I panicked. And that’s all there is to it.”

“No. That’s not all there is to it. I scared you.”

She gave a wry chuckle. “It’s them damn demons, I tell ya. Yes, your reaction scared me. I don’t-” she paused looking for the words. “I don’t do well with bad reactions. I panic. As you just saw. But, that doesn’t make your reaction any less valid than mine.”

“No. Scaring you is not a valid reaction. I lost me temper. And I lost it with myself and I lashed out at you. And that is never okay.”

“Ashton,” she said softly, reaching out to grab my hands in hers. “Losing your temper doesn’t make you a bad person. It’s my past that made me panic. Not you.”

“But I triggered it. You were fine until I slammed my hand.”

She nodded.

“What happened?” I asked, hoping she knew I meant what happened in the larger context, not her panic attack specifically.

“My ex. The first one. He was…”

“The possessive one?”

She nodded. “He was a piece of work. He had his own demons he was fighting. And we were too young to know any better. And when he said he loved me, I believed it. But, he had an odd way of showing it, that I passed off as high school romance.” She shook her head and looked up, like she was trying to reverse gravity on the tears that were starting to spill down.

“What did he do to you?”

“In simple terms, he abused me. Mostly emotionally and mentally. Sometimes sexually.”

“He raped you?” I asked, feeling my fists clench.

She shook her head. “No. We never actually had sex. Sexual stuff, sure. But never actual sex, thank God for that. But, he took advantage of the idea that I would always go running back to him. And when I pushed, he shoved. Not physically. He scared me plenty and implied a few physical threats, but he never hit me. And that was the golden fuckin phrase. He made me feel absolutely worthless, but hey, he never hit me.” She let out a disgusted chuckle. “Anyway, he got angry with just about any choice I tried to make if it wasn’t what he wanted. Especially if it wasn’t what he wanted. And I’d get scared. And that only fueled his anger. Like he got a sick thrill from scaring me. I eventually grew up and learned what real love was like and cut ties. And while I try really hard to have confidence in my choices, there’s still this part of me that wants to please people. I can’t stand people being disappointed in me. And you… well, I’m not as healed as I thought I was.”

“I was angry at myself. Not you. I could never be mad at you, or disappointed in you,” I told her. “And I will never hurt you or make you scared. I promise.”

“I know, Ashton. I’ve known bad, and I’ve known good. You are neither.”

I tilted my head to the side in confusion.

She grabbed my ring and slid it back on my right pinky, the tip of heart facing my wrist. “You are great. And I love that you want to be in a relationship with me because I love you, Ashton.”

My eyes went wide at her words. “You love me?”

She laughed. “If you want downright honesty, I was in love with you the day I became a fan of your band. But, yes. I do love you. Every part of you.”

“Even the part that just scared you into a panic attack?”

“Especially that part,” she nodded. “Because that part then showed a great remorse that I never got from my ex.”

“It’s not good what I did. You know that, right? That was toxic. I’m toxic.”

“You,” she said, getting up and coming to sit in my lap. Her hands reached up to cup my face. “You are beautiful. And I love you dearly.”

I nuzzled my face into her neck. “I love you too, baby. And I’m sorry. I promise I’ll never scare you again. I never want to see you look that way again and know that I’m the reason for it.”

She chuckled in my arms. “I’m not made of glass, Ash. Sometimes I fall, but I’m not gonna shatter if you raise your voice at me. Never hold back your emotions.”

“This is a complete 180 from the woman who was freaking out over me wearing a ring,” I continued to talk into her neck.

“I know,” she giggled. “I’m crazy that way. I pushed. It’s not that I’m afraid of love. I’m afraid of what comes when that love stops because I barely survived last time. I don’t ever want to feel that low.”

“I don’t ever want to make you feel that way.”

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you this. I’m not saying that I love you and want a relationship with you because it’s what I think you want to hear. I’m saying it because it’s the truth. It just took you holding me while I crumbled for me to realize it.”

“I’m never gonna let you go,” I promised. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, Ash.”

~~~

“Are you gonna be okay?” I asked as I packed.

She just laughed. “Ash you’re gonna be gone like a month. I think I’ll live.”

“Have you ever been to Europe?”

“No.”

“Wanna go?”

“Ashton!” she gasped at me. “I have school!”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “Don’t your finals start soon?”

“Yes. So I should really be writing essays rather than watching you pack.”

“So come out after your finals.”

“I still have work after finals, Ashton. And not to mention, I can’t afford to go to Europe. I live with my mother!”

I sat down on my bed with a huff, holding out my arms for her. “Two questions for you,” I said, once she was in my arms.

“Two answers,” she responded, which was her quirky way of telling to go ahead and ask.

“Move in with me when I get home. And come to Europe with me when you get done with work.”

“Those aren’t questions,” she said, rubbing her nose against mine.

“Fine,” I conceded. “Will you move in with me when I get home? And will you join me in Europe when you go on summer break?”

“Yes to the first one. I would love to, but I can’t for the second one.”

“You’ll move in with me, but you won’t go to Europe with me?”

“I can’t afford it, Ash.”

“What if I said money wasn’t a factor?”

“I would say you’re crazy.”

“Money isn’t a factor.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Please?”

She looked up at me and sighed. “How can I say no when you look at me like that? How you can come across as so intimidating while looking like a damn puppy dog, I will never know.”

“So, is that a yes? You’ll join me on tour?”

She sighed again. “I guess…”

“Yes!” I cheered. “My baby’s moving in with me and coming with me to Europe!”

“I’m moving in with my boyfriend and going with his band to Europe!” she cheered with me.

I put a finger in my ear as she cheered. “Wow, you wanna scream, huh?” I asked, a seductive grin crossing my face.

“Sorry,” she said, her hands rubbing at my ears tenderly. “I’m excited and forgot that you’re right here. Sorry.”

My seductive grin grew wider and I sucked into her neck. “Be as loud as you want for me, baby,” I told her, my voice a low growl.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned, her body slacking into mine, her eyes rolling before they shut.

“Gotta make you remember who’s baby you are before I leave,” I continued to growl and nip at her.

She giggled, then gasped, eyes snapping open. “No, not my neck, Ash! I have work still!”

I rolled my eyes as I pulled back. “That’s my favorite spot though,” I whined.

Her hands were in my hair. “I know, Ash, I know. But, please don’t. Make me remember that I’m yours from my collarbone down, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” I winked, tugging her shirt upwards. “And you don’t belong to anybody,” I told her, kissing her as the shirt got tossed and I undid her bra.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a feminist, you respect women, and I love you. Now give me something to get me through this next month without you,” she demanded, pushing me backwards onto the bed and straddling me.

“Whatever you say, baby.”

“Fuck, I love it when you call me that. Although I do miss you calling me gorgeous.”

“Mmm, my gorgeous baby,” I purred at her, as I took her glasses off and set them aside.

“I think I just came,” she laughed, putting her hands on my face. “You used to wear glasses. Why don’t you?”

“You’re really asking me this now?”

“I keep forgetting.”

“I wear contacts, baby. That way I don’t waste time taking them off every time I fuck you.”

“That’s a shame. The glasses were hot.”

“Do you want me to give you something to remember me by or not?” I growled, growing impatient.

“Talking too much again?” she asked.

“Never, baby, never. But right now? The only sounds I wanna hear from you better be the filthiest fuckin shit rolling off those gorgeous lips.”

“Okay, seriously, my panties could not get any fuckin wetter.”

“That’s more like it,” I grinned, undoing her pants and sticking my fingers between her. “Good God, woman. Are you sure you didn’t come already?”

“I already told you,” she said squirming to get me to touch her, “that I thought I did. Your voice alone is enough to make me weak in the knees. Then you call me shit like ‘gorgeous baby’ and I’m a mess, alright?”

“Oh, you’re gonna be a mess alright,” I told her, driving two fingers deep into her, grinning devilishly as she gasped at my touch.

“Yes, please,” she moaned.

“Get undressed, baby,” I told her, taking out my fingers. “Da-”

“Don’t,” she said, pressing a finger to my lips, her cheeks bright red. “That was a kink I never really got behind. There’s only one way I’ll ever call you that, and I really don’t want to get side-tracked by having the kids conversation right now. So, yes, I want them. Yes, I think about having them. Yes, I think about having them with you. Do with that information what you will. But do not call yourself ‘Daddy’ in the bedroom, please,” she told me, her eyes sparkling a million different ways she rolled off of me to kick off her jeans and panties.

“God, I love you,” I marveled before I was on top of her.

“I love you, too,” she breathed up at me. “Now ditch the pants, get your head between my legs, start fingering me. I don’t really care. Just fuckin make me cum until I see stars.”

“I’m gonna ruin you, baby,” I promised, shoving two fingers right back into her.

“Do it,” came the gaspy reply.

So I did. She got every part of me that night- fingers, mouth, and cock- driving orgasm after orgasm out of her.

~~~

“So, kids?” I asked as she started kissing my wrists. God, I was gonna miss so much about her, but especially the way she was so soft to me.

She giggled and her face flushed. “I’ve wanted kids for a long time. My ex, the good one, wasn’t ready. He always said we were too young and he wanted to be able to support us. I was fine with that, right up until I wasn’t anyway.” Her head tilted as she looked away from me, reliving the memories.

“What happened? You say he was the good one but you still look haunted,” I said, gently touching her face to guide it back to look at me.

She closed her eyes briefly while she leaned into my touch. Fuck, I was gonna miss that too. “We were in high school. He loved me while my ex was abusing me. He loved me in spite of the abuse actually. He didn’t think that I was broken or weak, he just loved me through it. And I was 18 when the condom broke. He was 17 still. High school graduation was 4 months out. We were scared kids and did what scared kids do. He promised me next time. That promise was what kept me going through some of my darkest days. And then the years kept rolling. And we both got stubborn. And in the end, we decided that we were only together to make good on that promise. Yes, we loved each other. But, our relationship had changed from the young love it was into almost a chore of making up for past mistakes. And we weren’t okay with that. So we walked away. And in doing so we rebuilt the friendship we had lost. He’s still one of my closest friends.” No tears slid down her cheeks at this confession, just a small smile on her lips that conveyed a million different emotions: a deep sadness for love lost, pain for past mistakes, and contentment that it had all worked out for the best.

“Baby, I-”

“Don’t,” she giggled. “Don’t apologize. I am here and I am happy.”

“How? I think all of that would’ve broke me. And yet, you don’t sport a single scar.”

“My scars aren’t on my skin. I struggled. I cried. I shattered to pieces. I fantasized about how easy it would be to end everything. To succumb to the numb nothingness I felt inside. Hell, I loved the numb nothingness because it hurt so much less than the searing pain of disappointment. The what ifs I played over and over in my head came very close to eating me alive. I have journals where it’s just draft after draft of suicide note or just mad scribbling because the thoughts were so loud I couldn’t see straight. There is a darkness to me that not many people know about because I fought to be happy instead.”

I tucked my hands away feeling a deep shame. She was so much stronger than I could ever hope to be. “You are strong. And beautiful. And I’m so glad you’re here.”

She smiled and pulled my arms back to her for more soft kisses. “You are also strong and beautiful. And I am so fuckin glad to have met you. And to get to love every part of you.”

“I can’t wait to make you a mom,” I admitted, admiring her and all she was.

“Really?” she asked, pausing her kisses to look at me with those soft eyes of hers.

“Really.”

“We’ve been together five months, Ashton. Isn’t this all a little soon?”

“We don’t have to do this now. Whenever you’re ready, baby. Just say when.”

“I fuckin love you.”

I chuckled. “I love you too, baby.”

~~~

“Hey, Ash?” she asked me the next morning.

“Yeah, baby?”

“The guitars you have in the spare room. Do you take them with you?”

I shook my head. “Nah, we have a whole set of stuff we take for touring. I leave those here. Why?”

“Can I use them while you’re gone?”

“You play guitar?”

She giggled. “Not well. But yeah. So can I?”

“Do you wanna go play now?”

“Can we?!”

I giggled at her excitement. “C’mon,” I said, getting out of bed and holding out my hand for her.

“This is so cool,” she admired, taking in the instruments scattered about the room I had turned into a home studio of sorts. “Can I?” she asked, gesturing at the acoustic guitar in front of her.

“Go for it,” I said, taking a seat behind the drum kit and pushing my hair back.

She gingerly picked it up, and strummed her way through a few chords. A huge grin came across her face as the music rang out around us. “Oh, God I forgot how cool this was.”

“Pretty sure that’s one of my songs,” I giggled, recognizing the chords.

“It is,” she said, blushing. “It was simple enough for me to pick up, but I still can’t move my fingers fast enough to play it right. But I still like hearing it.”

“C’mere,” I said, patting my thighs.

I scooted as far back in the stool as I could while she squeezed her way between me. “It sounds better on electric,” I told her, taking the guitar from her and reaching for the electric one. “Same finger placement. Same pattern. Try it,” I encouraged.

Again, she slowly strummed her way through the pattern, humming along as she did so.

“Hey-ey-e-ey,” I sang softly with her. “Keep going.”

She plucked her way slowly through the whole song, both of us humming the lyrics. “Well, that sucked,” she laughed, setting the guitar down.

“Nah, it was awesome,” I smiled at her. “Wanna drum it with me?”

“I don’t know how to drum,” she whispered.

“That’s okay, I’m gonna teach you. Here, take these,” I said, handing her a set of drumsticks. “Now, relax your hands and let me guide you through it. Don’t worry about the footwork, I’ll take care of it.”

Again, we worked our way through the song, this time at the right speed, as I carefully but swiftly moved her hands through the pattern.

“That was so cool!” she said, once we finished, her eyes shining. “Can you teach me more when you come home?”

“Baby, I’ll teach you anytime you want me to. Doing my favorite thing with my favorite girl? I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

“There is a huge part of me freaking out over you calling me your favorite girl, but I can think of something else we can do.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked.

“What was that thing people used to ask you? Bang me like you bang those drums?”

I closed my eyes and groaned, feeling the twitching in my sweatpants. “That’s a lil rough,” I breathed.

“Then be a lil rough. I can handle it.”

“You’re gonna be regretting those words by the time I’m through with you,” I growled, already stripping her of her shirt.

“I regret nothing,” she said before a wild side I didn’t know existed had her sinking her teeth into my neck.

~~~

“Ash!” she squealed, running full speed into my arms.

“Baby!” I breathed, picking her up. God, the month apart from her had dragged. Tour was great. But I missed her in my arms.

I hadn’t even fully placed her on her feet before she was kissing my wrists. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured.

“I’ve missed you too,” I smiled.

“I have to tell you something,” she said, suddenly, pulling back and getting shy.

“What baby?” I asked, keeping my face neutral despite my stomach twisting itself in knots and my heart doing flips in my chest.

A grin spread across her face as she leaned up on her tiptoes. “When,” she said, her voice low and seductive.

“When what?” I asked confused.

“Ash,” she said, looking at me seriously. “You told me that whenever I’m ready to tell you when. When, Ash. Fuckin when.”

“Wait, what?!” I asked excitedly. “You want a-?”

She nodded excitedly. “Make me a mom, Ashton Irwin.”

“I fuckin love you, baby.”

~~~

“Ready to go, baby?” I asked, peeking my head in the bathroom.

“Yeah, I just need to grab my shoes,” she told me, flashing me a smile.

“No black dress this year?” I pouted, taking her hand and spinning her in a circle. She was still stunning in a navy blue dress that showed of her shoulders and flowed down to her feet.

She shook her head. “I feel a little bloated,” she told me with a frown.

“Oh?” I asked, perking up. Trying for a baby hadn’t been easy with my being off on tour and I knew it was eating away at her. But since I got home two weeks ago, we hadn’t been able to keep our hands off each other.

She shook her head again. “No, Ash. I’ll tell you when there’s news to tell.”

I rested my chin on her head and looked at her through the mirror. “I’m sorry, baby. I know how much this means to you. It’ll be easier now that I’m home, okay?”

She smiled that soft smile and turned to face me. “I know, Ash. I wasn’t expecting this to happen right away. I knew it would take time.”

“But you’re disappointed all the same,” I pointed out. “I’ve seen the trash. And I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you.”

“Ash, I’m fine, I promise. Has it been hard? Yes. But, we kinda got to be able to see each other to have a baby.”

“Well, I’m here now,” I suggested, ducking my head down to kiss her deeply.

She pushed at my chest. “Later. We got a party to get to.”

I groaned at her words. “Alright, then. Let’s go,” I relented.

She smiled and moved passed me. I grinned, my hand moving to feel the weight of the small box in my pocket.

~~~

She sipped on her water, a small smile on her face as she watched me interact with the people around us. “Enjoy your night,” I told the person I was talking with, shaking their hand and reliving how a year ago I was telling her that. I touched my pocket, feeling the small box in there. Fuck, I didn’t know who was more nervous: her last year approaching me, or me, now, with her ring burning a hole in my pocket. “Wanna dance?” I asked her.

“I waited a whole year to hear you ask me that,” she grinned, taking my hand in hers.

“Me too, believe me,” I agreed, letting her lead me to the middle of the room.

“So you were checking me out!” she grinned. “I fuckin knew it!”

“You’re hot, baby. How could I not?” I winked.

“Because last year you were Ashton Irwin and I was a nobody?”

“You’ve never been a nobody, baby.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Agree to disagree.”

“So, tell me,” I said, spinning her in a circle. “You gonna get your time-stopping, earth-shattering New Year’s kiss this year?”

“I fuckin better.”

“You will,” I promised. “But first, favorite moment from this year. Go.”

“Ooo, that’s a tough one,” she said, bringing a finger to her lips in thought. “There were so many good ones this year. But, I guess I’ll go with our first kiss. All of my favorite spiraled from there. What’s yours?”

“This,” I winked, then dropped to my knees, digging my hand in my pocket to pull out the box.

“Ashton, what are you doing?!” she shrieked, clapping a hand over her mouth.

“Asking you to marry me,” I said, grinning and flipping the box open. “Marry me?”

“YES!” she screamed.

“Yeah?!”

“YES!” she continued to scream.

“YES!” I screamed with her, standing up, wrapping her in my arms, and spinning us in circles.

“Whoa, easy,” she scolded lightly. “My stomach hurts.”

“Shit, sorry,” I rushed, setting her on her feet and slipping the ring on her finger.

“Oh, Ash!” she breathed, tears falling down her face as she looked at the ring. “It’s a Claddagh ring. It’s beautiful!”

“I got myself a new one too,” I smiled, showing her my hand.

She grinned. “Mikey is gonna be so mad you got an engagement ring and he didn’t,” she laughed.

I laughed with her, “Yeah probably. Happy anniversary baby.”

“It’s not our anniversary yet.”

“Yes it is. I count it from the minute I met you.”

“In that case, I have your present.”

“Oh?” I asked, getting excited.

She moved around me to dig through her purse. “I mean, it’s no ring,” she said, pushing a small photo into my hand. “But I think you’ll like it all the same.”

“What is i- OH MY GOD!” I screamed, clapping a hand to my mouth as I drew the attention of the room. This time the tears fell down my face. “Is this what I think it is?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

A huge grin came across her face as she nodded. “We did it, Ash.”

“But you said!”

“I know! I lied!”

“You brat!” I laughed, swatting at her arm.

She grinned. “I lied twice. I said that our first kiss was my favorite moment from this year. I take it back. This one is.”

“Mine too,” I grinned back, kissing her deeply. “You are going to make an amazing mom and wife.”

“And you’re gonna be an amazing dad and husband. And I can’t fuckin wait.”

“How far along are you?”

“Baby Irwin arrives sometime in May.”

“I love you, gorgeous. So fucking much. And you too, baby!” I said, dropping to my knees again to kiss her stomach.

“We love you too, Daddy,” she winked at me. “Every part of you.”

#every part of you #ashton irwin #ashton fic #galcal irwin #oh how part of me wishes this was true #5sos

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iluvtv · 5 years

Text

Mom Guilt

Since today I will be tackling the taboo topics of both guilt and remorse I may as well start with my own caveat; I apologize.

I'm going to do some mom-splaining here...

Recently I watched the first ten episodes of both I'm Sorry and I Feel Bad. Both shows are Momedies and in case you hadn't noticed I am far more fluent in the more ego-centric brand of SWF Humor. No matter, intrigued by these curiously similar premises and my general obsession with female comedic powerhouses (including the women behind these titles) I assumed I had nothing to lose (ten hours on the sofa aside).

In full disclosure, while Andrea Savage's I'm Sorry wasn't exactly a show I fell for immediately, the stellar cast and the unapologetically hilarious style of Savage's parenting was enough to keep me watching. A clever choice indeed, by the final episode of Season One I felt pure sadness that I had no more episodes to watch and apologetic that I hadn't immediately understood the show's intentions. While my earliest notes state I am impressed by the cast they also indicate confusion towards the uneven tone. Or to be as authentic as Savage my actual notations read as such:

"So many snappy quips.

Cast is epic...

Hope show gets better.

RN all just parents talking shit"

As I struggled to grasp I'm Sorry I also started dabbling with I Feel Bad. A show I found so problematic that no matter which lens I looked through I just wound up feeling... well, bad.

My ability to embrace the intentions behind I'm Sorry was aided through Savage's interview on Dax Shepard's (wonderful) podcast Armchair Expert. Her voice allowed a clear point of reference, making it much easier to deduce the ambitions behind her creative portrayal of just how humorous motherhood is.

The feminist credo she passes to her daughter doesn't hurt the show's hilarity either. Savage's offbeat parenting hacks towards inciting female power seemingly misfire, all the while actually breeding a totally self-actualized kid who will proudly push back on the agenda. Amelia patiently explains to her mother "Ariel doesn't need a voice because she is the prettiest."

Savage makes this whole process just so darn relatable.

So, maybe I am just an ignorant audience and I still don't get I Feel Bad. Maybe a few interviews and episodes later I'll be espousing this show as the sleeper hit I knew about all along. But for now, as a woman who very much does not "have it all" I couldn't help but feel insulted by I Feel Bad's beautiful, successful protagonist, Emet. This is a mom who spends each episode lamenting her inability to "do it all" while somehow managing to round off each half hour by achieving whatever seemed implausible earlier in the day. Along the way, her funny, nuclear (though, to be fair racially diverse) family, comedically (and again, to be fair, often judgmentally) applauds her missteps.

Somehow each episode lands like a small punch in the gut. By episode six I was pretty sure I was being Sheryl Sanberg'ed all over again.

Emet's successful gaming illustration job, sweet and loving husband, goofy dad, terribly hands-on mom and mostly self-sufficient children (we hardly ever even see the baby) is all just a little much. This is a working mom that makes leaning in look suspiciously like lying down.

So, is I Feel Bad actually the minority mother's manifesto it was built as or is it just another major female guilt trip?

Admittedly here, Savage's television alter-ego which is practically exclusively based in reality is a wildly talented and beautiful comedienne, married to a successful lawyer with a cute (if sometimes obnoxiously inconvenient) daughter. In spite of this the show somehow just doesn't feel overdone. Instead, her down to earth approach to life and incessant and often deprecating commentary induce both cringing and appreciative nodding. Even I understand her plight and I am a single woman living in a one bedroom apartment writing a blog for free.

Perhaps this can be attributed to the humor. Savage's commitment to every joke intrinsically carries this series.

Once I finished listening to her and Dax chat I was entirely smitten with this woman. She sees the world through satire tinged goggles, she is attracted to banter and surrounds both her work and home life with this ethic.

Realizing the comedians on her show were mostly improvising I embraced the occasional awkwardness in tone for all it was intended to be.

It is this constantly improving unrehearsed dialogue in which, I'm Sorry thrives. The show has a fabulously charming Curb your Enthusiasm feel but I suppose I need to quantify this statement.

I understand charming to mean Judith Light telling Andrea Savage to go fuck herself during a geriatric Zumba class when Savage (the youngest person in the room by some 20-odd years) requests to turn up the A/C. Or charming like when your newly not racist four-year-old daughter runs into the "grown-up" dinner party in blackface (the very same exclusively invited guests who just discovered you probably peed on your hands to alleviate the "jalapeno burn" you acquired whilst preparing their guacamole) only to announce that she is "Fat Albert!" Charming like when your best friend gleefully squeals, "I'm just so excited to see what you have planned next! First piss guac, then blackface. Its probably going to be something antisemitic!" Charming like 7a at the fertility clinic watching men leave the waiting room one by one to go masturbate in a cup and appreciating the experience as nothing more than amazing content."It's kind of like the reverse walk of shame," Savage announces gaining hearty laughs from the other patients and causing her husband to shrink into his chair, muttering; "please don't engage the room."

This is the kind of parenting I can comprehend.

I'm Sorry features a team already skilled at doing improvisation with one another and while it does take a bit for both viewer and actor to fully grasp the unpredictable tone of a real-life mom, it's bumps and misses are a welcome side effect of both the show and actual motherhood.

This story focus' on the perils a funny mom who writes crass humor for a living might actually have to face. Her writing partner, Kyle (Jason Mantzoukas) wonders how she can go from "blow jobs to kindergarten" and her husband teases: "Moms aren't supposed to be funny. Don't you watch TV? Get more hairy and tired."

All teasing from loved ones aside, this show works because Andrea is not actually perfect. She explains in the first episode that she is "disgusting" and later acknowledges she is on an equal playing field with a woman she once accused of being a "garbage person". These fallacies lead to a character who is both likable and entirely relatable; I too am struggling through a semi-charmed life with plenty to apologize for.

Most notable perhaps, is the final two scenes of season one when Savage accidentally changes her email signature to her favorite (just for laughs) porn picture of a girl biting a man's dick (this is a pic she utilizes as an ongoing gag in many different facets and even unwittingly exposes her four-year-old daughter to at one point in the season). Without realizing her mistake, she shoots off an email to the elite kindergarten her daughter was just accepted to, informing them how thrilled her family is to join the school next fall. Spoiler alert, the season ends with her begging for redemption.

But that's the thing, we don't know if she'll get it and if the Dean's face is any indication Amelia's future here looks highly doubtful.

And while this is an error perhaps enhanced for the comedic effect her apology does sound genuine. She hadn't quite meant for her humor to hurt her daughter's future, an intent likely all decent mom's can relate to

Far less avant-garde, I Feel Bad follows the mainstream sitcom throughline in which conflict is presented, dealt with and solved all in the matter of one episode. Personally, I have no problem with this tactic, designed of course to give us a fresh start each week. The problem here lies with the premise of the show. How badly can you really feel about an error which only takes 28 minutes with commercials to rectify? But what really grates at me here is that our protagonist hasn't so much as fixed her problem as she's found a grovely way to make it redeeming. If anything, it's more insulting that Emet’s cute creativeness has all but rendered her infallible.

For all the enjoyment of Andrea's apology-prompting endeavors (Amelia sharing the gossip of her mother's stretched out vagina to her pre-school chums. Andrea and her mother commiserating about being stuck in successful marriages all the while knowing they'd be at their very best as sexy widows), Emet’s missteps just prompt angst. She left me wondering if I was somehow failing at life. Why wasn't own annoying TV family rallying around my picturesque existence, rooting for me as I lamented my imperfections?

Case in point: during I Feel Bad's holiday episode Emet allegedly feels bad because her kids don't know about their own culture.

I say allegedly here because in actuality she displays zero remorse for her kids' minimal grasp on both Judaism and Hinduism. What Emet actually seems concerned with (as is true in almost every episode) is not her children's well-being but rather how she comes across to the world. In this particular episode, the person she is most concerned with impressing is her Mother in Law. She does this by hiding her own mother inside a Casino.

In some sort of off-beat coup Emet pays the Indian side of her family to silence through Paula Abdul tickets and a $300 credit card charge at CVS ("just imagine how long that receipt is?!" her husband laments) and while admittedly this is a good hush approach if you ever are interested in buying my silence it's also kind of a not-so-cute, dare I say asshole move to try to embrace one culture by buying off another (sounds like some kind of ass-backward deal #45 might brag about).

All this is of little concern to Emet and her husband though. Instead, the mezuzah on the door, the brisket on the table and expensive Hannukah decorations in the yard are effective enough, causing one Grandma to swoon while the other returns with a carefully calculated revenge approach aimed at convincing her grandchildren (those kids we allegedly are all so worried about being culturally out of touch) that Diwali is the cooler holiday.

Shenanigans ensue.

The pageantry culminates in a backyard, multi-generational family paint war. Of course, everyone winds up laughing and bonding about Emet’s lies and oddly accept equal blame for her dishonesty, each adult copping to their own inability to raise a future generation to be more woke.

Now everyone is happy, they have created new (and obviously better) traditions and all the while the stereotypical old Jewish couple visiting Emet’s inlaws remain indoors blissfully unaware o the commotion, chatting amongst themselves about what a good brisket "the Indian woman has prepared."

And scene.

Did Emet really ever feel bad that her kids are cultural ignoramus'?

Absolutely not.

Can everyone get behind her scheming, lying and flagrant consumeristic overspending because she said she did? Absolutely.

And her family is colorful and happy. Problem solved, yay!

How bizarre.

I may live 1,000 lives and I will never get away with holiday mischief like this.

I'm Sorry but I can't help but Feel Bad.

And so I suppose now is the time to reflect on the actual difference between the two phrases from which each show hails its title.

Similar, sure but fundamentally, "I feel bad" and "I'm sorry" (not the television shows per se, though it does pertain here) the actual implications behind these phrases are very, very different. If someone feels bad they crashed your car that somehow has an entirely different ring to it than they're sorry they crashed your car.

Karen R. Koenig a licensed psychotherapist I found online (the best place for psychobabble) explains the phenomenon as such:

“I’m sorry,” usually indicates that people feel regret or remorse for having caused pain: they wish they hadn’t done what they did...This mindset is different from someone feeling guilty. That is, people can feel momentarily badly that they did something wrong, but not regret it. The guilt comes from recognizing that what they did was wrong, but not from actually feeling sorry that it happened. Guilt often arises only because someone gets caught. My take is that most of the time, abusers experience momentary guilt, but little more."

If this doesn't prove I Feel Bad is just the gentle sit-com equivalent of gaslighting I'm not sure what does? I get enough of that noise when I read the news, thank you very much.

#armchair expert #dax shepard #andrea savage #i feel bad #nbc #im sorry #trutv #jason mantzoukas #hulu #netflix #curb your enthusiasm

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