09-07-2018, 11:58 AM
Natalie was an expert in this kind of self-medicated entrance into oblivion.
The music was not a comfortable distraction; it reminded her of the drilling beat the night Alvis tracked her down for the second time. Repetitive, like caged walls, pressing too close. Also the same night she'd walked out on Aaron. And nearly killed those boys. But she listened anyway, unpicking the notes, eyes half lidded. Let herself become swept away into a piercing, deafening nothing.
Until company claimed the seat next to her, and any sense of peace vanished.
She laughed, though it was a mirthless sound. He owed her no explanations, whatever the twist in her chest. Jay made no vows, at least not to her. The tangle of their lives precluded anything close to definition. Why was he even here? "Cayli will be pleased. She likes Anna Marie, I think. But you probably ought to tell her upfront you're not staying; it'd be pretty bad form to break the same girl's heart twice."
Perhaps she said it a little coolly. But she understood. There was comfort in being known, and sometimes the past was a blanket with which to soften the sharp uncertainty of the future. She got that even if she wasn't the type to look back, perhaps because there was little in the way of comfort to be found there for her. Dead children, abandoned lovers, damaged family ties. She grimaced, inwardly scornful of such maudlin thoughts. Thankfully too numb to feel their sting.
Truth was, Jay ought to find joy where he could, while he could. Africa would not be forgiving. The chains of the Nine were unlikely to allow him the breath for quiet moments, the comfort of familiar relationships, the distraction of something softer. Duty bordered Natalie's life, but she hardly lived within the lines. Where he saw dereliction, she saw only survival. His homecoming had hardly been the sort with balloons and banners; she did not blame his chase of a sweeter welcome. But she couldn't watch it either. Her chest constricted; she downed another shot.
It didn't seem to lessen the pain, though; one small feather atop a mountain of it, really, but it was breaking her all the same.
"If she's what you want, Jay, then fuck the complications. Fuck the consequences. Life's too short. Africa taught us that."
Hark the sage advice of the inebriated. The words tore even though she spoke the blunt truth, and she thought seriously about walking away. She didn't want to hear an answer, or count the moments while he considered the possibility. But she was pretty sure the moment she stood she was going to feel the effects a lot more than the pleasant numbness of now. Partly that was her empty stomach hastening the shots' charm. Partly it was the rate at which she'd consumed them. She signalled for another.
The glow of a screen swam her vision, and she peered down to look despite herself. It took longer than it should to unravel the blur around the words. "She was looking for you earlier. I'm supposed to give you the same message when I see you." Her eyes slid up from the phone to his shadowed face then, knowing it was a mistake. Making it willfully. The hat blanked most of it from view, darkness cast low; just the hard angle of his jaw and the hint of his frowning lips.
It made her want to lean in foolishly; to brush those lips as she had before, until the harshness melted away.
A beautiful distraction, and she was past the point of caring about sense.
But he felt a million miles away.
And soon, she realised, he would be. Their time here was fleeting, and soon duty's claws would yank the chains towards war. He'd be gone, and she had no reason to think she would see him again. One drunken message surmised the entire bridge of their communication over the intervening months. Had she not fought to find him, it was unlikely their paths would have crossed. She knew with certainty that she would not have attended the fundraiser.
"I knew." Her chin sank onto a fist, head swimming with the motion. One finger circled the rim of her empty glass, gaze diffusing upon nothing. Her thoughts were becoming slipperier, but she was in the mood for raw truths. Darkness stirred darkness. "Since I was seventeen. Though I didn't have Brandon's secret dungeon to teach me how to use it. There was no one to teach me at all." A sharp smirk reared for the sting. She'd even called it that to his face; he hadn't denied it. Her glass exchanged for a fresh one, the tip of the barman's brows suggesting she had probably had enough. "For a long time it came in fits and starts. Mostly when I needed it. Not always though."
The bleakness of her words left a void she did not have to explain, and there was a sense of stillness in that. The coil of grief was surprisingly manageable; the alcohol or the company, she could not tell. It was the first time she'd shared the burden with anyone who understood exactly how heavy it was to carry. Natalie's eyes pressed closed, her chest swelling. Not a vulnerability she would normally choose to share, but she was only human, and she'd reached her limits the moment she downed the first shot. Her head dipped, just feeling the dig in her chest a moment before she rallied. When her head rose everything spun.
Enough that she pressed a hand to the bar, like she was in danger of slipping off the stool.
"I'm glad it worked. For Cayli. I wasn't sure it would; there isn't exactly a manual. But I can feel it in other women, like a resonance, even if they're not using it. Jay, it's beautiful, like the purest music. The kind of joy that's almost painful. But dangerously sweet." She contemplated the glass, then the hand pressed for balance. The smooth skin of her wrist where wounds had sliced. "I think I killed people in Netlands getting Ekene out. I've hurt people with it accidentally. At least until I learned how to control it."
She didn't say it with regret, just fact. Jay spoke so quietly, though, the words a chokehold like blood filled his throat. The memory of the voicemail drifted. The fear in his tone still burst like glass in her chest when she recalled it, enough that she shifted despite her own best interests. She turned to face him properly, one elbow on the bar. Her knees brushed against his in the close proximity, though it wasn't a purposeful touch then.
She peered like she couldn't quite decide what she'd found. He could be a million miles away and still pull at her like there were trailing hooks in her heart. Fortunately she was drunk enough that the realisation was only met with acceptance; there was no recoil from it this time. In fact she wasn't really thinking at all. Her head tilted like she might snare him from under that hat. Hair fell like silk against her arm. "I won't let her go through any of the things we did."
She finally fell silent. Not the sort to make promises lightly. Feelings and complications over Jay aside, she meant it. Not as some grand overture. Just with the simple certainty that had protected Ekene, whatever grim mistakes he had made, because at the time he had needed it.
She twisted back. Emptied her glass and felt her senses mist. That might be one too many. Even the music seemed languorous now, like her ears muffled. It keened a recollection of the last time, pushed a pounding heart into her throat. She traced where the wounds had been, wondered if she could convince herself a lie, but the memories were still there. She was supposed to be forgetting. Instead it was all just meshing. The only thing not blurring was her awareness of Jay in her peripheral.
Her hands laced over her head. To stop the spinning as much as anything, both elbows planted. She spoke without thinking. "At first I thought I imagined your voice in the tunnels. I thought perhaps Pavlo had put something in my system; he delighted in the fear, and there was lab equipment everywhere when I woke up. It seemed more logical than the truth at the time. Because sometimes I want you so fiercely it scares me."
He'd be gone soon, and she'd become a memory. This would become a memory. Her swimming brain found it a reasonable confession at the time, even as something curled protectively inwards afterwards. Once spoken it sounded stupid. He'd find it stupid. But her lips curled with all the ruefulness of a reckless heart anyway. She'd dashed herself against the rocks for less.
"I am very drunk," she whispered. "And I don't think I'm going to be able to stand."
The music was not a comfortable distraction; it reminded her of the drilling beat the night Alvis tracked her down for the second time. Repetitive, like caged walls, pressing too close. Also the same night she'd walked out on Aaron. And nearly killed those boys. But she listened anyway, unpicking the notes, eyes half lidded. Let herself become swept away into a piercing, deafening nothing.
Until company claimed the seat next to her, and any sense of peace vanished.
She laughed, though it was a mirthless sound. He owed her no explanations, whatever the twist in her chest. Jay made no vows, at least not to her. The tangle of their lives precluded anything close to definition. Why was he even here? "Cayli will be pleased. She likes Anna Marie, I think. But you probably ought to tell her upfront you're not staying; it'd be pretty bad form to break the same girl's heart twice."
Perhaps she said it a little coolly. But she understood. There was comfort in being known, and sometimes the past was a blanket with which to soften the sharp uncertainty of the future. She got that even if she wasn't the type to look back, perhaps because there was little in the way of comfort to be found there for her. Dead children, abandoned lovers, damaged family ties. She grimaced, inwardly scornful of such maudlin thoughts. Thankfully too numb to feel their sting.
Truth was, Jay ought to find joy where he could, while he could. Africa would not be forgiving. The chains of the Nine were unlikely to allow him the breath for quiet moments, the comfort of familiar relationships, the distraction of something softer. Duty bordered Natalie's life, but she hardly lived within the lines. Where he saw dereliction, she saw only survival. His homecoming had hardly been the sort with balloons and banners; she did not blame his chase of a sweeter welcome. But she couldn't watch it either. Her chest constricted; she downed another shot.
It didn't seem to lessen the pain, though; one small feather atop a mountain of it, really, but it was breaking her all the same.
"If she's what you want, Jay, then fuck the complications. Fuck the consequences. Life's too short. Africa taught us that."
Hark the sage advice of the inebriated. The words tore even though she spoke the blunt truth, and she thought seriously about walking away. She didn't want to hear an answer, or count the moments while he considered the possibility. But she was pretty sure the moment she stood she was going to feel the effects a lot more than the pleasant numbness of now. Partly that was her empty stomach hastening the shots' charm. Partly it was the rate at which she'd consumed them. She signalled for another.
The glow of a screen swam her vision, and she peered down to look despite herself. It took longer than it should to unravel the blur around the words. "She was looking for you earlier. I'm supposed to give you the same message when I see you." Her eyes slid up from the phone to his shadowed face then, knowing it was a mistake. Making it willfully. The hat blanked most of it from view, darkness cast low; just the hard angle of his jaw and the hint of his frowning lips.
It made her want to lean in foolishly; to brush those lips as she had before, until the harshness melted away.
A beautiful distraction, and she was past the point of caring about sense.
But he felt a million miles away.
And soon, she realised, he would be. Their time here was fleeting, and soon duty's claws would yank the chains towards war. He'd be gone, and she had no reason to think she would see him again. One drunken message surmised the entire bridge of their communication over the intervening months. Had she not fought to find him, it was unlikely their paths would have crossed. She knew with certainty that she would not have attended the fundraiser.
"I knew." Her chin sank onto a fist, head swimming with the motion. One finger circled the rim of her empty glass, gaze diffusing upon nothing. Her thoughts were becoming slipperier, but she was in the mood for raw truths. Darkness stirred darkness. "Since I was seventeen. Though I didn't have Brandon's secret dungeon to teach me how to use it. There was no one to teach me at all." A sharp smirk reared for the sting. She'd even called it that to his face; he hadn't denied it. Her glass exchanged for a fresh one, the tip of the barman's brows suggesting she had probably had enough. "For a long time it came in fits and starts. Mostly when I needed it. Not always though."
The bleakness of her words left a void she did not have to explain, and there was a sense of stillness in that. The coil of grief was surprisingly manageable; the alcohol or the company, she could not tell. It was the first time she'd shared the burden with anyone who understood exactly how heavy it was to carry. Natalie's eyes pressed closed, her chest swelling. Not a vulnerability she would normally choose to share, but she was only human, and she'd reached her limits the moment she downed the first shot. Her head dipped, just feeling the dig in her chest a moment before she rallied. When her head rose everything spun.
Enough that she pressed a hand to the bar, like she was in danger of slipping off the stool.
"I'm glad it worked. For Cayli. I wasn't sure it would; there isn't exactly a manual. But I can feel it in other women, like a resonance, even if they're not using it. Jay, it's beautiful, like the purest music. The kind of joy that's almost painful. But dangerously sweet." She contemplated the glass, then the hand pressed for balance. The smooth skin of her wrist where wounds had sliced. "I think I killed people in Netlands getting Ekene out. I've hurt people with it accidentally. At least until I learned how to control it."
She didn't say it with regret, just fact. Jay spoke so quietly, though, the words a chokehold like blood filled his throat. The memory of the voicemail drifted. The fear in his tone still burst like glass in her chest when she recalled it, enough that she shifted despite her own best interests. She turned to face him properly, one elbow on the bar. Her knees brushed against his in the close proximity, though it wasn't a purposeful touch then.
She peered like she couldn't quite decide what she'd found. He could be a million miles away and still pull at her like there were trailing hooks in her heart. Fortunately she was drunk enough that the realisation was only met with acceptance; there was no recoil from it this time. In fact she wasn't really thinking at all. Her head tilted like she might snare him from under that hat. Hair fell like silk against her arm. "I won't let her go through any of the things we did."
She finally fell silent. Not the sort to make promises lightly. Feelings and complications over Jay aside, she meant it. Not as some grand overture. Just with the simple certainty that had protected Ekene, whatever grim mistakes he had made, because at the time he had needed it.
She twisted back. Emptied her glass and felt her senses mist. That might be one too many. Even the music seemed languorous now, like her ears muffled. It keened a recollection of the last time, pushed a pounding heart into her throat. She traced where the wounds had been, wondered if she could convince herself a lie, but the memories were still there. She was supposed to be forgetting. Instead it was all just meshing. The only thing not blurring was her awareness of Jay in her peripheral.
Her hands laced over her head. To stop the spinning as much as anything, both elbows planted. She spoke without thinking. "At first I thought I imagined your voice in the tunnels. I thought perhaps Pavlo had put something in my system; he delighted in the fear, and there was lab equipment everywhere when I woke up. It seemed more logical than the truth at the time. Because sometimes I want you so fiercely it scares me."
He'd be gone soon, and she'd become a memory. This would become a memory. Her swimming brain found it a reasonable confession at the time, even as something curled protectively inwards afterwards. Once spoken it sounded stupid. He'd find it stupid. But her lips curled with all the ruefulness of a reckless heart anyway. She'd dashed herself against the rocks for less.
"I am very drunk," she whispered. "And I don't think I'm going to be able to stand."