10-25-2019, 10:39 PM
The worst part of her was desperate to find somewhere to get drunk. Even reflection of her own self-destructive tendencies did little to curb them, and perhaps the only reason she did not heed the call now was asleep in the hotel room. Instead she sought sanctuary in the run-down diner opposite; close enough that it did not feel like a betrayal to leave him there unawares so soon after he had spoken of safety. It seemed a luxury she did not deserve after the horrors of today, but it was a better choice than a seedy bar, and she could not stay in the prison of the room.
It wasn’t busy, but it did echo a stab of memory from days previous, when Cayli had trailed behind. Natalie sat at the counter this time, not a booth. A flicker in her jaw contained the emotion until it stilled. Guilt would not break her, but neither would she relinquish the burden; maybe she welcomed those demons as much as she fled their influence. Either way, they held less power in the harsh yellow light, and she was less likely to crumble in such a spotlight. Peripherally she was aware of a few suspicious glances for an interloper, but most just as quickly looked away.
“Decaff,” she asked the waitress, half grimacing at the request, but there seemed no point aiding her troubles. She did need to sleep eventually.
The murmur of conversation was low. Somewhere distant she could hear barking dogs, and maybe the pop of gunfire. Natalie brushed the pale hair from her face and laid her wallet flat, contemplating its dark screen for a long moment before she began swiping through its most recent images. Cayli had often had her wallet the last few days, while they practised the power and recorded it in Marcus’s app. She had a creative flare for the weaving, but the attention span of a gnat. Like many kids her age she was happy with the camera, and the evidence littered every swipe. The breath was tight in Natalie’s chest, but she made herself look through them. And remember. Pain was only pain until it became numb, and she had never shied away from the responsibility of it.
The coffee cooled before she even realised it was there.
The room was still dark when she returned. She slept a bit, and if her dreams were dark, they were only the dark of old friends. Consciousness seeped in slow, which was about as good as it got these days. Surprisingly her eyes burned more than they had last night, like maybe she’d only reached the cusp of the deep sleep she needed, but she hauled herself up anyway. There was no one to see the grimace; Jay still sounded asleep.
The scald of the shower tethered together enough to make her feel human, even if the water pressure left something to be desired. Her fingers stung where her nails had dug, but she made sure to erase the last traces of blood. Which only left the problem of clothes she had no intention of donning as soiled as they were. Those she looped over an arm. The cover of a towel was perfectly modest so far as she was concerned, if it wasn’t quite the wholesome Jay might prefer. A cloud of steam followed her out on the heel of his words. He was awake, then.
His mother’s gun lay on the bedside table, and beside that was the pin he’d told her to return to Brandon. She gestured his attention to the latter, remembering the promise she had failed to keep, knowing he would too. She watched his expression a moment, tracing the faint remains of new scars, tallying them with the corpse she thought he’d been when she first saw him at the school, but blinked before the anger sparked. Too late to change anything now, and she refused to pause and look back at could have beens, not now.
“I imagine Jensen will keep the rest safe waiting for you,” she said, sitting on the opposite bed. The clothes she began to lay out, the power blooming within. She doubted he’d stick around for conversation, and presumably he’d appreciate that she had vacated the bathroom for his turn, but she smirked anyway. Her pale gaze absorbed the mussed blankets and his dishevelled clothes; the shadow against his jaw and his tousled hair, like he was the one half naked. “If I were making a move on you, it wouldn’t be here,” she assured, somewhat deadpan.
It wasn’t busy, but it did echo a stab of memory from days previous, when Cayli had trailed behind. Natalie sat at the counter this time, not a booth. A flicker in her jaw contained the emotion until it stilled. Guilt would not break her, but neither would she relinquish the burden; maybe she welcomed those demons as much as she fled their influence. Either way, they held less power in the harsh yellow light, and she was less likely to crumble in such a spotlight. Peripherally she was aware of a few suspicious glances for an interloper, but most just as quickly looked away.
“Decaff,” she asked the waitress, half grimacing at the request, but there seemed no point aiding her troubles. She did need to sleep eventually.
The murmur of conversation was low. Somewhere distant she could hear barking dogs, and maybe the pop of gunfire. Natalie brushed the pale hair from her face and laid her wallet flat, contemplating its dark screen for a long moment before she began swiping through its most recent images. Cayli had often had her wallet the last few days, while they practised the power and recorded it in Marcus’s app. She had a creative flare for the weaving, but the attention span of a gnat. Like many kids her age she was happy with the camera, and the evidence littered every swipe. The breath was tight in Natalie’s chest, but she made herself look through them. And remember. Pain was only pain until it became numb, and she had never shied away from the responsibility of it.
The coffee cooled before she even realised it was there.
The room was still dark when she returned. She slept a bit, and if her dreams were dark, they were only the dark of old friends. Consciousness seeped in slow, which was about as good as it got these days. Surprisingly her eyes burned more than they had last night, like maybe she’d only reached the cusp of the deep sleep she needed, but she hauled herself up anyway. There was no one to see the grimace; Jay still sounded asleep.
The scald of the shower tethered together enough to make her feel human, even if the water pressure left something to be desired. Her fingers stung where her nails had dug, but she made sure to erase the last traces of blood. Which only left the problem of clothes she had no intention of donning as soiled as they were. Those she looped over an arm. The cover of a towel was perfectly modest so far as she was concerned, if it wasn’t quite the wholesome Jay might prefer. A cloud of steam followed her out on the heel of his words. He was awake, then.
His mother’s gun lay on the bedside table, and beside that was the pin he’d told her to return to Brandon. She gestured his attention to the latter, remembering the promise she had failed to keep, knowing he would too. She watched his expression a moment, tracing the faint remains of new scars, tallying them with the corpse she thought he’d been when she first saw him at the school, but blinked before the anger sparked. Too late to change anything now, and she refused to pause and look back at could have beens, not now.
“I imagine Jensen will keep the rest safe waiting for you,” she said, sitting on the opposite bed. The clothes she began to lay out, the power blooming within. She doubted he’d stick around for conversation, and presumably he’d appreciate that she had vacated the bathroom for his turn, but she smirked anyway. Her pale gaze absorbed the mussed blankets and his dishevelled clothes; the shadow against his jaw and his tousled hair, like he was the one half naked. “If I were making a move on you, it wouldn’t be here,” she assured, somewhat deadpan.