01-21-2018, 05:24 PM
Adapting was difficult. The betrayal cut so deep she found herself ignoring the wound, like it would somehow make the pain more bearable. If her father's imprisonment had crushed her, this made her listless.
She missed falling asleep in his flat. The pinch of his frown while he poured over textbooks. Rolling his eyes when his father hollered from the living room. She missed the taste of him, and the way his lips smiled around their kiss. How his freckled arm strung over her stomach while he slept, his breath tickling her ear. Staring at the stains on his ceiling and talking about nothing while rain pattered the windows. Tracing the lines of his tattoos. Teasing his past but never sharing hers.
Over the months that followed she was brutal with those memories. Tore them up to bleed their lies. With Aaron she had had intimacy without real trust. So much had been unspoken. And perhaps that had been the problem.
It didn't help her heal.
Now she was restless with nowhere to run, the confines of her family unbearably tight. Sometimes she lingered over her Wallet, fingers hovering, so close to calling him. Yearning to know why. But she never did. Doubtful she could forgive him. Too spiteful to try, else too afraid to confront the consequences of what she'd done. He's gone. In the end she deleted his number altogether. Kept the cut clean. Just couldn't find a way to close it.
*
The chandeliers glittered like stars. Glasses clinked amidst the soft murmur of conversation. The tablecloth immaculate. Silver cutlery. It all blurred for Natalie, softened by the sweet bubbles of champagne. Too many glasses. Not enough. She didn't relish these charity functions. Usually refused. But her mother was a guest of honour and she'd let herself be swept up in that tide, too tired to argue. All my girls together! Eleanor had sounded fit to burst with pride, and all Natalie could think of was the barbs of their broken family. Incomplete.
Beside her her sisters chattered excitedly. Alice was only thirteen, and the champagne made her giggle as it tickled her nose. Her cheeks flushed, blonde hair swept up from her face, eyes twinkling as Isobel confiscated the fluted glass from her hand. Was Aaron right to fear her? She could feel the light like a heartbeat, just beyond reach; but as beautiful as it had felt it had decimated those boys. The destruction appalled her, that lack of control. But the seduction ghosted in the back of her mind still.
Her mother leaned beside her, gently tucked a pale curl behind her ear. Her perfume was sweet. "At least attempt a smile, dearest."
But she couldn't.
The evening hazed on through to speeches. The audience clapped politely as Samantha Brown, Red Cross veteran, ascended to the podium. A tall woman; one who marched like a general to war despite the finery swishing about her ankles. Natalie couldn't bring herself to smile, but she could at least attempt a modicum of interest. Something to focus on. She drained another glass, the fog whooshing thicker now, while on the stage above Samantha spoke about her time in Nigeria. A women's college. And a mercenary group who had come to their aid. The telling was a little brash; a few jokes at tardiness twittered laughter from those around her. But the passion was stark as a spike in the head. Despite herself, something in the words resonated. It was the only time all evening she paid attention.
Some time afterwards Natalie stood, steadying herself on the white-clothed table, silk whispering at her feet. Excused herself.
The bathroom was quiet, echoing the click of her heels against the marble. Her limbs were swimming warm and fuzzy, the alcohol burning up in her veins, softening her with dizziness. Her mother's looks had drawn from content to concerned at the table. Natalie was digging herself a hole, and adding her mother's disapproval to her list of problems was stupidity, but she couldn't quite stop the downward spiral. She bent to splash cold water on her face, watched the droplets fall down her nose. Even in the mirror her pale stare looked worn. Make-up painted a mask. What's the point? She was drifting, she could feel it; not sure she could even find the shoreline any longer. Her hands braced on the sink. Squeezed. Wishing it would break.
Beside her another woman switched the faucet and briskly soaped her hands. Natalie's eyes flicked up, but only because she recognised the face. Samantha Brown's lips pursed as she examined her own face in the mirror. Then their eyes met in the reflection. The other woman's expression twitched, one brow rising.
"God, you look like I feel. It's a necessary evil, of course -- all this --- and play the game we must. But I can't bloody wait to get back to the real work. All the pomp is a little ridiculous, don't you think?"
She blinked. Samantha was gone. How long had she been standing here? The words repeated. The idea circling in her mind. A release. An escape.
She missed falling asleep in his flat. The pinch of his frown while he poured over textbooks. Rolling his eyes when his father hollered from the living room. She missed the taste of him, and the way his lips smiled around their kiss. How his freckled arm strung over her stomach while he slept, his breath tickling her ear. Staring at the stains on his ceiling and talking about nothing while rain pattered the windows. Tracing the lines of his tattoos. Teasing his past but never sharing hers.
Over the months that followed she was brutal with those memories. Tore them up to bleed their lies. With Aaron she had had intimacy without real trust. So much had been unspoken. And perhaps that had been the problem.
It didn't help her heal.
Now she was restless with nowhere to run, the confines of her family unbearably tight. Sometimes she lingered over her Wallet, fingers hovering, so close to calling him. Yearning to know why. But she never did. Doubtful she could forgive him. Too spiteful to try, else too afraid to confront the consequences of what she'd done. He's gone. In the end she deleted his number altogether. Kept the cut clean. Just couldn't find a way to close it.
*
The chandeliers glittered like stars. Glasses clinked amidst the soft murmur of conversation. The tablecloth immaculate. Silver cutlery. It all blurred for Natalie, softened by the sweet bubbles of champagne. Too many glasses. Not enough. She didn't relish these charity functions. Usually refused. But her mother was a guest of honour and she'd let herself be swept up in that tide, too tired to argue. All my girls together! Eleanor had sounded fit to burst with pride, and all Natalie could think of was the barbs of their broken family. Incomplete.
Beside her her sisters chattered excitedly. Alice was only thirteen, and the champagne made her giggle as it tickled her nose. Her cheeks flushed, blonde hair swept up from her face, eyes twinkling as Isobel confiscated the fluted glass from her hand. Was Aaron right to fear her? She could feel the light like a heartbeat, just beyond reach; but as beautiful as it had felt it had decimated those boys. The destruction appalled her, that lack of control. But the seduction ghosted in the back of her mind still.
Her mother leaned beside her, gently tucked a pale curl behind her ear. Her perfume was sweet. "At least attempt a smile, dearest."
But she couldn't.
The evening hazed on through to speeches. The audience clapped politely as Samantha Brown, Red Cross veteran, ascended to the podium. A tall woman; one who marched like a general to war despite the finery swishing about her ankles. Natalie couldn't bring herself to smile, but she could at least attempt a modicum of interest. Something to focus on. She drained another glass, the fog whooshing thicker now, while on the stage above Samantha spoke about her time in Nigeria. A women's college. And a mercenary group who had come to their aid. The telling was a little brash; a few jokes at tardiness twittered laughter from those around her. But the passion was stark as a spike in the head. Despite herself, something in the words resonated. It was the only time all evening she paid attention.
Some time afterwards Natalie stood, steadying herself on the white-clothed table, silk whispering at her feet. Excused herself.
The bathroom was quiet, echoing the click of her heels against the marble. Her limbs were swimming warm and fuzzy, the alcohol burning up in her veins, softening her with dizziness. Her mother's looks had drawn from content to concerned at the table. Natalie was digging herself a hole, and adding her mother's disapproval to her list of problems was stupidity, but she couldn't quite stop the downward spiral. She bent to splash cold water on her face, watched the droplets fall down her nose. Even in the mirror her pale stare looked worn. Make-up painted a mask. What's the point? She was drifting, she could feel it; not sure she could even find the shoreline any longer. Her hands braced on the sink. Squeezed. Wishing it would break.
Beside her another woman switched the faucet and briskly soaped her hands. Natalie's eyes flicked up, but only because she recognised the face. Samantha Brown's lips pursed as she examined her own face in the mirror. Then their eyes met in the reflection. The other woman's expression twitched, one brow rising.
"God, you look like I feel. It's a necessary evil, of course -- all this --- and play the game we must. But I can't bloody wait to get back to the real work. All the pomp is a little ridiculous, don't you think?"
She blinked. Samantha was gone. How long had she been standing here? The words repeated. The idea circling in her mind. A release. An escape.