I wanted a fucking label. At this point the label was probably ‘over’ as far as I was concerned.
What was his damn problem, anyway? So I was fucking worried about him and his safety on this motorcycle. Sue me. Especially after I rode on the back of it and saw how crazy he maneuvered through cars. Reckless as hell, just like he was with every other area in his life. I was justified in worrying.
Shutting down my emotions and not giving a shit about anyone, playing a role, was something I mastered in the past. I try my best to do that now, taking the worry for his safety that I was feeling and locking it up in a nice little box, compartmentalizing everything.
Maybe he should be with someone like the girl in the bike shop. She clearly was impressed and wetting her panties over the damn bike and his dreamy hazel eyes. Shallow bitch. She couldn’t care less what happened to him and didn’t care that he was very clearly not available. That’s what he always looked for in a woman in the past. A fun, one and done girl that didn’t ask much of him, didn’t speak up to call him out on his idiotic behavior when needed.
If that’s what he was still looking for I was the wrong damn girl for him.
On the drive home I fight to bury my feelings for Chris and step into our old role, just friends and nothing more. Friends that don’t get in each other’s business. Friends that don’t help each other make safe decisions or worry about each other or think twice when the other puts their life at risk. Don’t think twice about hurting each other with insensitive attitudes. Just like when we were back at his dad’s house and both slept with other people constantly.
It doesn’t come easy this time. I can’t do it. It’s like once I opened my heart just a sliver he managed to pry it completely open without my realizing it.
Chris has done far more dangerous things than riding a motorcycle for Christ sake. Why was I making such a big deal out of it?
Because you love him. An annoying little voice in my head chimed in.
I turned the radio up louder to shut the bitch up. This was why I hated caring about other people. You can’t control what they do or if they hurt you. If they got themselves hurt it would inadvertently hurt you. Or if they just suddenly stopped caring and decided to pay attention to some other girl after she stroked his mountainous ego.
Once you opened your heart it’s all in the other person’s hands. Up to them how to handle it and whether or not they’ll keep it safe.
That was some scary shit.
☠ Chapter Twenty-One ☠
Chris
Where the hell did she get off telling me not to buy this damn bike? Did she think she could just dictate my decisions the second she became my girlfriend? Become the stereotypical nag?
I knew girls like that and Natalie had never seemed like one of them. She was always a steady force in my life, letting me make decisions even if they were shitty. Even during the darkest days of my addiction she hadn’t talked to me like a fucking child the way she did today.
Earlier today when we looked at cars she didn’t push anything on me. She pointed out cars and trucks she liked and rode with me on a test drive for one that she didn’t seem too impressed by. But she never once tried to strongly sway my decision until we got to the bike shop.
Then everything shifted so fast I could’ve gotten whiplash from it.
I take the long way home partly to avoid her for longer and partly to enjoy the sun on my face as I fly down the road on my brand new street bike. I hadn’t gotten many thrills recently and this was just what I needed to feel alive.
Between the speed, the sun and the wind I felt free. Electrified. Dangerous. And I liked that little taste of danger after walking the straight and narrow for so long.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved my new life. Not living for my father and his sadistic business gave me freedom I never had before. At first I wasn’t exactly sure what to do with it. Nat had felt the same as I had back then. That’s what made us the perfect pair, moving in to our little apartment and facing the world with new possibilities we had never known before.
We didn’t know what to do with ourselves at first. It took time to learn who we were without threats or demands looming at every turn.
Deep down I was still that same guy from before. The guy that liked to drink, drug and fight. I wasn’t naturally domestic and Natalie never seemed to have a problem with that until today.
I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on between us but it felt tense and restrictive. Did she want me to buy a fucking minivan?
It was almost like being back at my dad’s, locked away until he needed me to run an errand so he didn’t have to risk getting any first degree felonies himself. That was the only time I was allowed some leeway to go out on my own. Now I wasn’t allowed the freedom to choose my own vehicle? The metaphorical noose was tightening and Natalie was the executioner.
I had asked her to come along and help me because I valued her opinion. I really, truly did. But the second her tone changed and she dug her heels in a switch inside me flipped.
No one was going to control me again. Not even her.
Maybe she was expecting something from me I wasn’t capable of giving. Maybe she expected me to change myself entirely, from my personality right down to my DNA. What was she going to say next, she doesn’t like the leather jackets and black shirts filling my closet? That I need to brighten my wardrobe and my personality? That she didn’t like me running the treatment center because it was a reminder of my less than prideful past?
Maybe buy some polo shirts and take up golfing as a hobby and go into a more respectable profession such as finance or architecture?
I wasn’t my little brother. Not happening.
I never tried to change her or tell her what to do no matter what she decided. At times I wondered if that had been a fault. I could have tried to intervene when she made mistakes but I had no desire to control her actions. She would just have to learn from her mistakes and I had been there to catch her if it all fell through.
With nowhere left in town to ride I head back home and find Natalie in the kitchen slamming around a pot and a bowl. She’s finishing boiling the noodles for a box of Mac & Cheese. Clearly I’m not invited to eat judging by the single bowl.
She doesn’t even glance up at me when I start digging through the pantry. She simply scoops the noodles into her bowl and slams it down on the kitchen table, rattling the fork next to it.
“What is your problem?” I demand. One of us needs to bring up the elephant in the room before things get even worse. Or maybe I just want to pick a fight. Who the hell knows at this point.
“My problem?” She asks on a humorless laugh. “I don’t have a fucking problem.”
“Wow.”
I grab a box of cereal from the pantry, unable to find anything else appealing, and turn back around to our standoff. I know I can’t cook and there’s no fucking way I’ll ask her to make me anything right now. I still had a shred of pride I refused to let go of.
We both eat our dinner at the table across from one another, not talking. Every now and then she shoots me a dirty look, letting me know she hasn’t forgotten my presence. The argument is over but the tension in the room speaks volumes of the words not being said.
When her bowl is empty she rinses it in the sink, grabs her keys and phone from the coffee table and heads out the door, slamming it harder than she slammed the bowl.
Wow. Just fucking wow.
She had to be going to Max and Lacey’s because she didn’t take her purse with her. It was still weird as fuck for her to not tell me where she was going. That wasn’t like her at all and it bothered the hell out of me.
The irony that I want to know where she’s going when I basically demanded she mind her own business today isn’t lost on me. An inkling of regret begins to niggle in the back of my consciousness but I refuse to let it sink in.
I turn the TV on and flip channels until I find something I can stand watching. UFC fighters beat the shit o
ut of each other in the ring and the bloody violence soothes me for a while, much the same as a child clutching their security blanket.
Natalie and her exit from our apartment keeps playing on repeat in my head. She must be planning to come back or she would’ve taken a bag of clothes to spend the night with Lace.
She wouldn’t spend the night though. Never had. Especially not with my brother being home, which I knew he was.
Wondering where she went and what she’s doing starts driving me crazy. The sun is going down and she still isn’t back.
I think about texting her but remain too stubborn to do so. I didn’t start this argument. I’m not going to be the one to cave first. Instead I watch more UFC, wishing I could have a beer but quickly push that craving away. That was one dark place in my soul I wasn’t going to be exploring tonight.
☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠
Hours have passed and the sky is completely black. Nat still isn’t back and my irritation begins to give way to worry. Was she pissed enough to not come home tonight? Was she with Lacey? Did she get a hotel room? Was she sleeping in her car?
I grab my phone and head upstairs, banging on my brother’s door. He opens it in his boxers, hair disheveled, and gives me a curious look.
“Hey, what’s up man?” He looks as if I woke him up. It was late and I usually texted either him or Lacey before coming over, so it was a safe guess that I probably had.
“Is Natalie here?”
“No.” His confusion grows and so does my worry.
Where did she go? Something might be wrong. Was she too stubborn to reach out to me if she needed help or a ride home? Surely she would at least contact Lacey if she needed a ride or planned to stay somewhere else tonight and didn’t want to speak to me.
But if she wasn’t here where the fuck else could she be? She didn’t spend time with anyone but me and Lacey. She wasn’t a social butterfly. She had her close friends and mostly liked to keep to herself. After years of being forced to put on a façade with everyone around her, she liked her solitude.
Caving in, I pull my phone out as I step inside the apartment, fingers flying over the letters as I send her a text asking where she went. I stare down at the screen, hoping to see the three little dots indicating she’s typing something back but it never comes.
I wait longer. Still no sign that she’s read the message.
“What the fuck?”
I sit down and rest my head against the decorative pillows Lacey picked out for their couch. I nervously pluck at the beads on a pillow knowing if she saw me she would slap my hand away. I just have to keep my hands busy and the only other options are to pull my hair out or punch a hole in the wall.
I doubt my brother or Lacey would appreciate the latter.
Max quietly sits beside me, waiting for me to explain why I’m here in the middle of the night and what the hell is going on. The lights are off throughout the apartment except for the living room which he must have flipped on when he came to answer the door.
“Is Lacey asleep?”
“Yeah, bro. It’s late. What’s going on?”
“I can’t find Natalie.”
“What do you mean you can’t find her?” He sounds confused and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a bit worried too.
“We got in a fight and she stormed out. I don’t know where she went. She never came back and that was hours ago.” I hold my phone up to check if she responded. “And she won’t text me back.”
“When did she leave?”
“A few hours ago. I thought she would be back by now.”
“She’s probably just out blowing off some steam.” He tries to sound reassuring but it doesn’t work. He knows as well as I do all the dangers there are out in the world.
“Blowing off steam doing what?”
I try calling her at that point and it goes straight to voicemail. Max calls and gets the same result as I clench the pillow in my hands, trying not to lose my shit. Was her phone dead? Was she ignoring our calls on purpose? Or did she need help, need me, she just wasn’t able to answer?
“Maybe she’s at Blue’s getting a drink. Have you tried going there?”
“No.”
“That’s probably where she’s at, man. That’s her and Lacey’s go-to spot when they need to cool off. Let me get dressed and we’ll go down there.”
☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠
When I walk into Blue’s and spot Natalie sitting on a barstool chatting with the bartender without a care in the world my irritation returns full force.
“See? She’s fine.” Max pats my shoulder reassuringly as if all was well in the world. I turn around to leave the bar but he stops me abruptly by jutting his arm out as a barrier. “Where the hell are you going?”
“She’s fine. I don’t need to fucking talk to her to see that. Look at her. Fucking laughing it up over there, ignoring my calls and texts, while I was at home worried sick. I was starting to think something happened to her. She could have at least had the courtesy to let me know she was fine.”
Max stares hard at me before he sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He mumbles under his breath and pulls the door to Blue’s open, going inside and leaving me wondering what he was planning to do.
He walks right over to the bar and sits next to Natalie. She looks surprised to see him and glances around the bar, no doubt looking for me.
With the darkened windows she can’t see me standing on the sidewalk watching the two of them and I’m glad for that semblance of anonymity. I don’t want to talk to her right now.
I pace back and forth, waiting for Max so we can go back home and forget this night even happened. I regret dragging him out in the middle of the night for this shit. It was a waste of time and worry.
She was fine. Perfectly fucking fine. Happy even, by the looks of it. Happy as fuck while I sat at home worrying about where she went, sulking and watching UFC fights.
I force my gaze away from the bar and think about just walking home. Max drove us here since all I have now is the damn bike. I didn’t think of the practicality of it until tonight when I was trying to go somewhere with my brother. He sure as hell wasn’t riding on the back so our options were limited to walking or taking his car.
I refuse to admit that she might have had a solid point when we were arguing at the garage about me buying the bike. She hadn’t voiced why she was so against it but I hadn’t asked or given her a chance to talk, fed up with being outright told what not to do.
I just listened to the airhead sales girl and my own inner desire for adrenaline rushes and dangerous thrills.
Now I was looking at a four mile walk back home or waiting for my do-good brother to finish talking and drive me back. I was reduced to asking for rides home like some lowly teenager.
I had walked further than that for exercise but working out wasn’t on my agenda tonight so I sit my ass down on the metal bench across the street and get on my phone as a distraction to stop me from staring right through the windows ahead of me, hooked on her every expression.
Some girl named Amanda that I have no friends in common with sent me a friend request on Facebook. Confused, I open her profile and recognize her as the sales girl where I bought my bike.
Why the fuck was she adding me? I guess she got my name from my debit card when I paid my bill earlier today and searched for me when she got off work.
Creepy.
Not wanting to be rude I accept the request. Immediately my phone vibrates in my hand as a new message pops up from none other than Amanda.
Amanda: You sure are up late.
Unsure how to respond, I don’t. She had already come onto me when Natalie stormed out of the garage and I didn’t want her getting the wrong idea. The girl has crossed some invisible lines when she flirted with me right in front of Nat knowing damn well we must be together based on our interactions.
I played dumb earlier but I noticed all her little ploys for attention. I
didn’t take the bait but I also didn’t outright snub her and now I was paying for that avoidance. My anger at Nat had taken the forefront of my focus and I hadn’t even tried to acknowledge how ballsy and inappropriate she had been.
Just like that skanky nurse.
My silence doesn’t deter her and I get a new message within a few minutes as I scroll through my newsfeed. This time I have to respond.
Amanda: Up thinking about me?
Me: Sorry. Who is this?
Amanda: Ouch. Just the girl that sold you that sexy bike today.
Me: Ok.
Amanda: …You still want to take me for a ride?
Me: Don’t remember offering one.
Amanda: Why don’t you take me for a ride and then I’ll take you for a different kind of ride.
Me: I have a girlfriend.
Didn’t I? We haven’t really talked about what we were. But either way we were something and this girl needed to back off. I wasn’t interested and never gave her any notion that I was.
As forward as she was being she probably fucked everyone she made a sale to. An obvious street bike groupie that managed to get a job at the shop for no reason other than having a cute face and a nice rack. But not as cute a face or as nice a rack at Natalie’s.
I wasn’t interested in the slightest.
Amanda: Looked like there was some trouble in paradise today. My rides come with no strings or drama.
Me: Thanks for the offer. Not interested. She’s the only one giving or getting any rides from me.
I swiftly delete and block her from my profile and log out just as Max walks of Blue’s. Alone.
“Look, I can’t believe I’m saying this shit right now but you need to go inside and listen to her.”
“What?” I’m too shocked at him taking her side to know how to react.
“You’re in the wrong on this one.”
Flying High (Davis Brothers Book 2) Page 13