by S. Morayla
“Sorry, love, you can’t escape me that easily.” Bastard, he knows damn well what he’s doing. I roll my eyes, looking over toward Harrison, who isn’t enjoying the night quite as much as the others. His hands are folded in front of him on the table. His green eyes are gazing out toward the crowd with a blank expression, much different from the Harrison on stage a while ago. His eyes swing toward me and narrow as he clenches his jaw, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking past me. I look over my shoulder to see who has him so upset.
Chris.
His eyes move from Harrison to me. A smile touches Chris’ lips and he mouths that his brother’s band is up. I give him a thumbs up, indicating I understand.
“Bloody wanker,” Zayne mumbles beside me.
“I need to stand up. I’m feeling hot and claustrophobic,” I say, leaning close to Zayne’s ear. With a nod, he has Leif and Adriana slide out so I can get up. I gather my hair with one hand and fan the back of my neck with the other. I hadn’t noticed how hot it is in here. Then again, it could just be a certain Englishman who’s broken my thermometer.
“You alright, Shorty? We could go out back.”
“No, I’m okay. I think it’s because we’re all stuffed in the booth like sardines.” Out the corner of my eye, I see Chris’ brother’s band ready to sing. I turn my attention to the stage.
Stinging pain hits my soul.
Like a shotgun blast to my heart.
What the actual fuck is happening? My entire body locks up, hearing the familiar guitar chords and slides.
It’s not possible.
I stare at the stage in disbelief, gripping the booth, afraid I’ll pass out if I’m not holding onto something tangible. My chest aches as the guy playing the guitar shreds my heart to pieces with each note.
It’s not his fault. He could never know, but the longer my legs stay locked, I can’t run from the plucking and decimating of my soul.
With the first word sung, I begin drowning—the onslaught of my past passing through my mind.
One, Rhys’ face appears.
Two, my breaths come in small, shallow puffs.
Three, Rhys, smiling with his guitar in hand, singing this song to me. Emily by From First to Last. Rhys changed the song lyrics from Emily to Natalee. He would play this song for me whenever I was sad.
Four, I close my eyes.
Five, the agony in my chest begins spreading.
Six, my throat constricts. I can’t seem to get enough oxygen into my body.
Seven, Rhys’ laughter echoes loudly in my mind.
Eight, he whispers how much he loves me.
Nine, I shake my head. No, this can’t be happening—not now.
Ten, panic continues to build.
Through the haze, Zayne’s voice pierces, asking me if I’m okay, but I can’t respond. It’s too late, the tears are building.
Breathe in, breathe out. Natalee, focus. You can do this. Count to ten. Breathe through the pain.
One.
I shake my head.
Two.
My hands shake.
Three.
My lungs expand.
Four.
Arms wrap around me.
Five.
I can’t see through the tears.
Six.
Dank, muggy air hits my face.
Seven.
I take in a hot, sodden breath.
Eight.
Breathing seems less burdensome.
Nine.
Arms cradle me as the vicious memories begin to die down.
Ten.
Will I ever be able to be saved?
When I was fourteen, I had a best friend. She was my other half. We would sit for hours, talking about everything and nothing.
I miss her and our friendship on nights like this. Being here tonight reminded me of that, made me yearn for that connection once again.
I pushed her away after Rhys left. I pushed everyone away. I couldn’t handle the looks of pity and sorrow. Nobody knew how approach or talk to me. Marina tried many times, but eventually she gave up.
A year later, when I thought my world couldn’t crumple further, it did. I lost my mom. Not in the way most would think, but I lost her nonetheless. Hearing that song reminded me not only of Rhys, but Marina as well. How Mar and I would dance in the fields and spin while Rhys and Jake would play their guitars and sing to us.
Now, it's all gone.
How can I explain this to people?
My most intimate memories? I sit on the curb with my knees to my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe out, now that my episode has passed. Black Doc Martens fill my line of sight before he hunches down on his legs, becoming eye level with me.
Gently, he lifts my chin with his finger. Zayne’s eyes roam over my face, as if trying to find answers to the questions he’s not asking. Slowly, he traces the outline, and my body reacts, heating and unfurling a rage of hormones.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
I’m absorbed by his every move.
Night Changes
I study the curve of her neck, her fiery eyes, her cute, straight, thin nose. I’m not judging her, all I have is compassion. I want to know what ails her. Why is she crying? Who hurt her? What I can do to help her? If she just needs a friend to lean on, I want to be that guy for her.
I run my finger ever so slightly along her skin, starting from her temple down to her chin. What startles me is the fact that never in my life have I felt this pull to help someone who is broken. But there is something in Shorty, something deep in her eyes.
Determination.
Her spirit is pleading, wanting freedom from the chains holding her back. I know she’s a fighter, but she needs someone to help her see all the things that make her strong. She needs a lift so she can overcome hurdles—not someone who is going to tell her what to do or how to be, but someone willing to guide her. I want to be that star in her sky, there to brighten the darkness. The person she looks to for guidance. I don’t understand it, but I’m not going to back down from my destiny. If I am just a soul passing by and the universe is propelling her toward me for those reasons, then I’m ready.
“I’m so sorry.” Shorty’s soft voice hiccups once again.
“Please don’t say that. You did nothing wrong.” My voice is thick with emotion. Her eyes are puffy and red from crying. I run my thumb under her eye, catching a falling tear. The pulse in her neck is erratic and her eyes dilate. I want to kiss her and muster all my strength, willing myself to refrain. She’s like a wounded animal, feral and ready to take shelter at the slightest move.
I have to be gentle and coax her out—gain her trust, let her know she has a friend in me. I want to protect her, but at the same time, I want to show her the fire inside her is real. Instead, I stand and offer her my hand. When she takes it, I pull her into me once again. “I just want you safe. I will never push you to talk, but just know I’m here. You don’t have to fight those demons alone.”
She breathes in deeply “It was two years ago. I lost him and I’ve never been the same since. He used to sing that song to me, except he changed the lyrics from Emily to Natalee.”
“What happened to him?”
She freezes in my hold. “He left me.” Her voice is just above a whisper. My mind whirls with more questions. Who would ever leave someone as exquisite as her? What did he do to make her so fractured and afflicted? What an idiot this guy must be, but his loss will be my gain.
Terrible things begin to pop into my mind and my hands tightened into fists behind her back.
“I don’t like to talk about it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” She tries to pull out of my grasp, but I hold her tighter.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Natalee. I’m your friend. This is how friends support one another. I know you’re going through something, but I’m here and I want to get to know you better. Is that okay?” Her head nods against my chest. I kiss the top
of her head and she lets out a small sigh as her body begins relaxing.
Why’d you only call me when your high?
Incessant singing is ruining my sleep.
Alex Turner.
No matter how much I try to shut him up, he just keeps singing about calling and being high. Unplugging anything with a speaker, he continues to sing to me. It’s driving me crazy. Doesn’t he know I like my sleep? That damn British bastard.
The haze begins to fade.
Realization dawns that it’s my phone. Grumbling, I turn to search for the stupid thing. I want to chuck it at the wall, but alas, I love it far too much. I rub my eyes, trying to make out the caller.
“It’s so damn early, Uncle Vic. You can text me, ya know—wait, you do know how to text, right? I mean, you're not that ancient,” I yawn into the phone.
“Hardy har-har, little woman. Your Uncle Victor is still young and getting all the hotties.”
“Ew, gross. You're like thirty-five or something.”
“Twenty-eight, my dear Natalee. Divorced single and ready to mingle. Besides, Christian Grey is thirty and he’s a sexpert, but he ain’t got shit on me!”
“Oh dear God, please stop, Vic. You are literally killing me here. How do you even know how old Christian Grey is? Never mind, don’t answer that.”
Having an uncle ten years older than you can be fun, unless you have my uncle, who swears you two are like BFFs. He tells me things about his love life no child should ever have to endure.
Most of the time, he has me laughing, but sometimes, I want to gouge my ears out. My ex-aunt, Angie, really put him through the ringer. Even though he can be a bit gross at times, he has always been here for me through thick and thin, better or worse. He is one of the most influential people in my life.
My uncle is no slouch, he works hard and while in college, started working for a record company. Moving quickly through the ranks, he is now the CEO. He is constantly on the move, traveling all over the world, checking on his talents or just to get away from L.A. for a while. I never know what city he’s in. He is very devoted to our family. He flew out to stay with me for a week after Rhys. A year later, he was back by my side when things fell apart with my mom.
Like my Dad, Uncle Victor is my rock. He grounds me and since he’s still kinda young, he gets things more than Dad does, or maybe it’s because Dad doesn’t do well with girl stuff…who knows?
“Angie used to tell me all the damn time about Christian Grey and how great he was, until I shut her up once and for all with my skills.”
“Oh. My. God. GROSS! Seriously, Vic, stop,” I yell through my laughter. “You probably broke a hip or something. That is not skill, that’s called old age.”
“Ha-ha-ha, so funny. I’m not that old, Nat. Believe me, I get no complaints.” I laugh even harder because I can tell he’s getting upset. “Anyway, I’m calling you because I’m gonna be in L.A. in a few weeks and was wondering if you wanted to get together.”
“Of course. You can take me to eat, since I am a starving college student.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Your bank account sure doesn’t say that! I have some business to attend to, but I’m stopping by Nona and Pops’ before heading out there.”
Why does he have to bring up my bank account? I close my eyes, pushing that statement away.
“Can you bring them in your pocket?”
“Sure, kid, let me get on that. I think Willie Wonka can lend me that machine that shrinks people.”
“I just miss them. I’m thinking of going to see them, but not having a car here sucks.” I sigh and sit up, deciding to get up and walk around to get me out of my sleepy daze. “I will probably take the bus or something,” I say through another yawn.
“Funny girl. Your Dad would have a coronary if you did that. Not to mention, Nona would flip her shit. Maybe we can get you a rental or something. Trust me, little one, we will get you there. I’ll be stopping by Colorado before California, anything you need from home?”
Stopping before the desk, I pick up a stack of papers. “Nah, but thanks. I have everything I need, but if I think of something, I will text you. You know, that thing on the phone that types out messages kinda like emails but shorter?”
“Oh, Nat, you and your mouth. I love ya, kid. I will see you next week.”
“Oh, am I being dismissed?” I ask sarcastically, putting my hand on my chest. “Wow, shortest convo on record. Was it ‘cause I keep saying you're an old fart who breaks hips when he tries to thrust?”
Laughing, I can almost see him shaking his head and flipping me off. “No, I have a meeting. I do work.”
“Seriously, this early on a Saturday? Oh hell no, I like to sleep.”
“I’m in New York, Nat. It’s one p.m. here, drunky.”
“Not drunk, and ugh, don’t call me until after eleven a.m. west coast time, okay? Alright, I love ya, Vic. Be good, and don’t break anything.”
“Funny. See you soon, Natty. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I turn toward the door when the lock clicks. I’m too stunned to remove the phone from my ear when Leslie walks through it. I knew she would eventually be back but it’s been a week. I guess, maybe, I thought it would have been sooner than now. Cocking my head to the side, I squint my eyes. Are those fresh bruises and cuts on her neck and lip?
“Hey.” Leslie looks at me with uncertainty in her eyes.
“Hi. I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure when you would be back. Are you okay?” I ask. I know she was knocked down, but the redness is fresh, more recent.
“Yeah, I had to go home for a bit. My parents are kind of assholes. I’m lucky they even let me come back to the dorms.”
I know there is more to the story, but I nod, letting the questions die on my tongue. I hate when people try to push me to talk, so I shut up and give her space.
My pillow and blanket call to me. I know I should get dressed for the day and study, but a few more hours of sleep won’t hurt. Leslie’s voice halts my current action of fluffing the pillow.
“Natalee, I’m sorry about that night. I never meant for all of that to happen. I heard what you did for Har—um, the guys. Thank you for that. You will never know how much I appreciate that.”
“Ah...sure, it wasn’t a problem. I never blamed you, Leslie, so there isn’t anything to be sorry about. Are you sure you’re okay?” My eyes immediately zero in on the way she fidgets and plays with the charm on her necklace.
“Yeah, thanks. I’m just exhausted.” She gives me a weak smile before turning away.
Tension,
Nervousness,
Suspension,
Swirl in the air, making the room stifling. I shake my head, trying to get rid of the feeling that something bad is about to happen. That’s weird, right? I mean, I was fine just a few minutes ago, why do I feel this now? The only reasonable explanation is I need more sleep.
“I’m tired, too. I’m going back to sleep for a bit.” I get comfy, pulling the blanket up to my chin. I watch as Leslie grabs everything she needs for her shower.
“Let me know if you need anything, Les,” I say through a yawn. She nods and puts her hand on the knob, opening the door. A whelp escapes her lips and her hand moves to her chest. “Shit, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” the voice offers. “What the hell happened to your lip?” an accented voice asks her. She takes a step back from the door, as if avoiding being touched.
“Nothing. Did you need something? How did you even get in here, Harrison?” her voice is curt.
“A girl let me in. I came to talk to Nat, actually.” What? Why? I mean, I don’t even know Harrison that well, why would he want to come talk to me?
“Oh!” is all she says, moving to the side to let Harrison in. Leslie raises a brow at me behind Harrison’s back and I give her a tight smile. Leslie shakes her head and walks out the door. Before it can close, Harrison says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” If she responds I can’t hear it.
Slow
ly, he turns back to me. “Sorry.” He shrugs.
“It’s fine,” I say, sitting up. “I’m just a tad confused as to what you’re doing here.” He frowns, looking at his feet.
Sadness.
Anguish.
His face displays a heartache that runs deep.
“I, uh…well, I wanted to come ask you about Les. See if you knew how she was. I would have texted you, but I don’t have your number. I get it if you think this is odd, it’s just…I worry about her. Seeing her just now, knowing she is hurt...” He swallows, never finishing his statement.
I clear my throat before speaking. “Why didn’t you just call or text Adriana?”
He looks so forlorn. I want to just hug him, tell him things will get better, but who the hell am I?
I don’t know him or his history with anyone.
For all I know, he can be sad because his dog died.
“I was going to, but I know she’s with Leif. I was up writing lyrics and…I don’t know, I just kind of ended up here. Maybe hoping to see her or just to ask if she was okay.”
My heart breaks for him. Sighing, he runs his hand through his hair. “I sound like such a tosser. Sorry, I shouldn’t have come.” Harrison turns toward the door to leave, his head down, shoulders hunched. Oh, universe you’re an evil bitch. Why would you do this to me? Send a guy, who is as broken as I am? All I wanted was a few more hours of sleep.
Fucking shit. I can’t let him leave like this.
“Hey, look, Harrison. I don’t know what happened between you and Les, but I get it. I know how it feels, wanting to make sure the person you care about is okay even if they don’t feel the same way. But, to be totally honest, I don’t know how she is. She just came back literally three minutes before you got here. Sorry.” His green eyes meet mine and a deep aching pain hits my heart.
“Nothing for you to be sorry about.”
“You write? Like melodies or lyrics?” I ask, trying to change the subject and atmosphere, which has become quite depressing.