01-16-2023, 12:22 AM
There was a fire inside of her, and it had been there since the day she burned the office; waiting for the spark of something she could never quite quantify: an ignition of kinship, or a quenching to allay the soul. In the absence Natalie discovered time and again, it burned uncontrollably instead; scorching so many of the things she touched to ash. Inertia was like being trapped in those flames all over again. Running from or running to. Was there even a difference?
Her parents had never gotten the divorce they announced to the world. Behind a plethora of news articles and interviews and gossip columns and official statements there was no actual evidence. She’d never looked, had never felt a need, until Kristof DeGarmo’s story about her mother’s help and the debt he owed her father. But she realised now how Eleanor had known too much of what had transpired in America. She’d asked far too few questions about it; like she’d already heard the facts from someone else.
Your mother thinks, Alistair had said at their meeting. Not thought.
She’d never noticed at the time, but now it was the entire roaring rush of her thoughts. All these years it had not been his entire family Alistair Grey cut ruthlessly from his life, and Eleanor had been complicit in the deception. Natalie’s bitter grief was built on a foundation of lies; the biggest wound to her soul, and the one that was still fucking bleeding. Both her parents watched her falling; watched her destroy herself, certain it was the kinder path than the trust of her loyalty. Their betrayal was intentional, and the revelation gutted her. It was not protection.
She wove an angry path through the idling cars, aware it was dangerous and stupid to plunge through inching traffic. Car horns blared. Engines revved and brakes jammed. She didn’t listen to the yelling. Her arms folded tight around her stomach, head down.
You thought I stopped loving you. Stopped loving your mother. He'd sounded affronted. Had she been foolish to believe it? Eleanor banished his name from their house. Her sisters moved on. But Natalie had burned up every relationship she’d ever had demanding too much from it. Waiting for the cracks to split and spread and shatter. Searching for them. Creating them.
A car nearly rammed into her legs. She felt the surprised bruise against her shins as the brakes squealed. Toma yanked her sharply out from further harm, then turned and banged angrily on the bonnet, shouting obscenities at the driver in Russian. Meanwhile Natalie pulled free, or tried to; the woman’s grip was like steel despite her small stature, her fingers digging like razor wire into the curve of Natalie’s arm. She dragged Natalie easily onwards instead.
“I’m not getting back in the fucking car,” she snapped, wrenching back. But Toma only shrugged and released her grip. Surprised and still fighting, Natalie fell back into someone’s wing mirror.
“I would prefer you don’t get squished like roadkill.”
Natalie blinked hard. In the absence of resistance, the fight utterly fled her. The pain left in its wake was somehow worse.
On the other side she ran sobering hands over her face. She pulled her hair from its knot, massaged at her scalp like she could so easily evict the thoughts inside. The pale waves shielded her face when she let them fall. Her arms folded. The stupidity left a tremble in her hands, but it calmed quickly enough now. Her breathing steadied. She searched the glittering traffic but couldn’t even tell from where they’d come.
“What about the car?” she asked.
“Red devils’ll pick it up. Or not. Not my problem anymore. Wasn’t my car anyway.” Toma’s amusement was palpable, and there was a faint flush to her cheeks like she had only found the whole sorry escapade invigorating. Dark eyes watched under the short fringe of her hair, entirely too shrewd.“Who’s lying to you Natalie?”
But the betrayal of Natalie’s emotions tidied neatly away. Punctures left from shock were patched in the work of a moment. It didn’t escape her who exactly asked that question, which accounted for the jaded smirk that plucked her lips in answer. She made a vague gesture with her hand. “Might be easier to list the people being honest.”
“Honestly, honesty is overrated.”
Natalie made a noncommittal sound and started walking. She wasn’t even sure where they were. Somewhere beyond the outer circle. In the shadows it all looked the same.
The anger had run itself though. She tested its cold embers, but only felt undeniably weary. She thought about Jay then. The hand held out in a moment of crisis, the one that pulled her into the eye of the storm because he trusted she could handle it. Natalie never trusted words; not even ones that felt heartfelt in a moment. Time and uncertainty checked them time and again for flaws; waited for the cords that bound them to fray and snap. But Jay had both damned and saved her in that one action. It was a poor facsimile she saw in Adrian; she knew that. But it didn’t matter. The damage was already done years ago. She expected the loss. She didn’t know how not to.
“Fuck,” was all she said. Toma laughed, and though it sounded nothing like Cayli’s giggle, for a moment all Natalie could hear was her ‘you sound funny when you swear’ admonishment. It squeezed the bridges of her heart, but it reminded her why she was here too. DeGarmo had said it would take time to gather the intel she asked for, but he’d been pleased with the promise of information she’d provided in turn. When he’d asked her to put in a good word with Alistair, she made it perfectly clear that if he dealt with her it was her alone. Her father owed what she asked for already, and reneged in order to push her onto the gameboard. Well, she was playing now, and she’d pay the price herself.
If there was nothing left but ashes, there was no real choice but to start building.
Her parents had never gotten the divorce they announced to the world. Behind a plethora of news articles and interviews and gossip columns and official statements there was no actual evidence. She’d never looked, had never felt a need, until Kristof DeGarmo’s story about her mother’s help and the debt he owed her father. But she realised now how Eleanor had known too much of what had transpired in America. She’d asked far too few questions about it; like she’d already heard the facts from someone else.
Your mother thinks, Alistair had said at their meeting. Not thought.
She’d never noticed at the time, but now it was the entire roaring rush of her thoughts. All these years it had not been his entire family Alistair Grey cut ruthlessly from his life, and Eleanor had been complicit in the deception. Natalie’s bitter grief was built on a foundation of lies; the biggest wound to her soul, and the one that was still fucking bleeding. Both her parents watched her falling; watched her destroy herself, certain it was the kinder path than the trust of her loyalty. Their betrayal was intentional, and the revelation gutted her. It was not protection.
She wove an angry path through the idling cars, aware it was dangerous and stupid to plunge through inching traffic. Car horns blared. Engines revved and brakes jammed. She didn’t listen to the yelling. Her arms folded tight around her stomach, head down.
You thought I stopped loving you. Stopped loving your mother. He'd sounded affronted. Had she been foolish to believe it? Eleanor banished his name from their house. Her sisters moved on. But Natalie had burned up every relationship she’d ever had demanding too much from it. Waiting for the cracks to split and spread and shatter. Searching for them. Creating them.
A car nearly rammed into her legs. She felt the surprised bruise against her shins as the brakes squealed. Toma yanked her sharply out from further harm, then turned and banged angrily on the bonnet, shouting obscenities at the driver in Russian. Meanwhile Natalie pulled free, or tried to; the woman’s grip was like steel despite her small stature, her fingers digging like razor wire into the curve of Natalie’s arm. She dragged Natalie easily onwards instead.
“I’m not getting back in the fucking car,” she snapped, wrenching back. But Toma only shrugged and released her grip. Surprised and still fighting, Natalie fell back into someone’s wing mirror.
“I would prefer you don’t get squished like roadkill.”
Natalie blinked hard. In the absence of resistance, the fight utterly fled her. The pain left in its wake was somehow worse.
On the other side she ran sobering hands over her face. She pulled her hair from its knot, massaged at her scalp like she could so easily evict the thoughts inside. The pale waves shielded her face when she let them fall. Her arms folded. The stupidity left a tremble in her hands, but it calmed quickly enough now. Her breathing steadied. She searched the glittering traffic but couldn’t even tell from where they’d come.
“What about the car?” she asked.
“Red devils’ll pick it up. Or not. Not my problem anymore. Wasn’t my car anyway.” Toma’s amusement was palpable, and there was a faint flush to her cheeks like she had only found the whole sorry escapade invigorating. Dark eyes watched under the short fringe of her hair, entirely too shrewd.“Who’s lying to you Natalie?”
But the betrayal of Natalie’s emotions tidied neatly away. Punctures left from shock were patched in the work of a moment. It didn’t escape her who exactly asked that question, which accounted for the jaded smirk that plucked her lips in answer. She made a vague gesture with her hand. “Might be easier to list the people being honest.”
“Honestly, honesty is overrated.”
Natalie made a noncommittal sound and started walking. She wasn’t even sure where they were. Somewhere beyond the outer circle. In the shadows it all looked the same.
The anger had run itself though. She tested its cold embers, but only felt undeniably weary. She thought about Jay then. The hand held out in a moment of crisis, the one that pulled her into the eye of the storm because he trusted she could handle it. Natalie never trusted words; not even ones that felt heartfelt in a moment. Time and uncertainty checked them time and again for flaws; waited for the cords that bound them to fray and snap. But Jay had both damned and saved her in that one action. It was a poor facsimile she saw in Adrian; she knew that. But it didn’t matter. The damage was already done years ago. She expected the loss. She didn’t know how not to.
“Fuck,” was all she said. Toma laughed, and though it sounded nothing like Cayli’s giggle, for a moment all Natalie could hear was her ‘you sound funny when you swear’ admonishment. It squeezed the bridges of her heart, but it reminded her why she was here too. DeGarmo had said it would take time to gather the intel she asked for, but he’d been pleased with the promise of information she’d provided in turn. When he’d asked her to put in a good word with Alistair, she made it perfectly clear that if he dealt with her it was her alone. Her father owed what she asked for already, and reneged in order to push her onto the gameboard. Well, she was playing now, and she’d pay the price herself.
If there was nothing left but ashes, there was no real choice but to start building.