Chapter Text
friday, august 2nd, 1996
Natalie wakes up with a groan on her lips and a threat on her tongue: the next time she sees Frank DeLaney she’s shoving his shitty, second-rate acid down his throat and letting him choke to death on it. Subpar tripping is the only explanation for what she’s seeing right now as she twists her aching neck from side to side. She’s in her own personal hell of green linoleum and beach-themed decor, which can only mean one thing: she’s in Jackie Taylor’s ensuite bathroom.
Even worse: she’s lying in the bathtub.
She takes stock of her body, which hurts somewhat short of being hit by a car but more than a reasonably-sized bicycle, she imagines. Her arms are stiff, her elbows locked into odd positions at her side and poking into the ceramic walls of the tub. Her legs are crunched against her chest, the sour pangs of nausea blooming beneath the pressure of her kneecaps. She wipes at her eyes and pulls her hand back to find the fingertips stained black by whatever eyeliner Lottie had lent her from her purse, which Nat is almost certain that she stole—the bag or the makeup, Nat doesn’t know. In all likelihood, it was probably both; for a member of the Jersey elite, Lottie wore a lot of shoes from TJ Maxx that never seemed to be the right size.
Natalie’s got a pair of them on right now: black, chunky work boots that leave scuff marks on the tub when she tries to stretch out her legs. Lottie had given them to her last November because they were the wrong size, how silly of her, and the thirty-day return window had already closed. Nat had repaid her by breaking the security tag off a pair of cleats, which Lottie then gave to Melissa. Nat twisted the pliers until they snapped; Lottie smiled like a shark and said they must have missed it at the register.
She’ll never understand the need for theft when your Dad drives a Benz. She chalks it up to the same instinct as buying shitty acid from Frank; rich or poor, Nat thinks, people love to fuck up.
Her mind flashes back to the party last night: dozens of people from their graduating class, spilling out of Jackie’s house and onto the deck, feet trampling the backyard. Frank had been there, obviously, and Nat has vague memories of Van doing a keg stand. She can’t remember if Tai was holding her legs or if she was yelling at her to stop. Maybe both. Lottie had been there in a pink dress that cut off halfway down her thighs; Nat can remember, quite clearly, the shape of her legs dangling off the back porch.
She winces and tries to think less as a headache starts to pound behind her eyebrows. Natalie takes a steady breath, counting the seconds on the exhale. She feels almost content despite the ache of her body; curled up in the bathtub with light streaming through the slats of the window blinds, catching the shiny metal and glass of the various knickknacks spread along the counter. She’s rarely in a bathroom that’s bigger than a mid-century closet; it’s kind of peaceful.
She jumps a foot in the air when the door bangs open like a gunshot, Jackie stumbling through it and clutching her hand to her mouth. She falls to her knees, scrambling for the toilet lid and missing. In a split second, she leans over and throws up into a garbage basket. Nat is speechless, watching a line of spit drip hideously from Jackie’s mouth as she groans. The other woman turns to sit against the toilet and Nat realizes, suddenly, that she only has a moment to warn her—it slips away and Jackie screams, her eyes blown wide.
Nat shushes her and waves her hands in a useless gesture, her shoulders cracking at the movement. Jackie stares at her in abject terror, not at all reassured by what Nat can only assume is the raccoon-black of her eyes. She awkwardly scrambles forward to rest her hands on the edge of the tub, her face dangerously close to Nat’s for someone who just vomited into a garbage can.
“Natalie?! Why the fuck are you in my bathtub?”
Her voice is too loud; Nat makes a shushing gesture, her other hand rubbing her tired eyes.
“Man, I don’t know! I was hoping you could tell me.”
Jackie’s mouth gapes, her response cut off by a knock at her bedroom door. Both girls whirl their heads around at the sound.
“You okay, honey?” Jackie’s Dad muffled voice seeps into the room, searching; Jackie freezes, like if she doesn’t move, he’ll somehow forget and go away.
“Say something!” Nat hisses, scrunching down further into the bathtub. Jackie stammers, eyes fixed on Nat’s.
“Honey?”
“Uh, I, uh—”
“Words, dumbass, say words.” Nat reaches a hand out and slaps Jackie’s arm, viper quick, before pulling it back into the tub.
“Jackie? Is there someone else in there?” His voice turns the slightest bit stern and Jackie flounders, mouth opening and closing. “I’m coming in.”
“Say something, anything—”
The creak of the door finally kicks Jackie into action. “No, don’t come in! I’m, uh, I’m getting dressed! Sorry I screamed, I, um—”
Nat bats insistently at her. “Tripped, say you tripped—”
“I saw—would you shut the fuck up—I saw a spider.” Nat gives her a withering look; Jackie smacks her hands away and glares right back, her voice carrying through the room. “It, uh, surprised me, sorry!”
A beat. The door clicks shut, albeit reluctantly. “Okay, sweetheart. Why don’t you come downstairs? It’s almost noon.”
Fuck. Nat feels like she’s slept five hours, tops.
“That late already?” Jackie laughs, high-pitched and awkward. “Wow, yeah, I’ll be down in a minute, I just got lost in a—in a really good book.” She ignores the incredulous stare from Nat.
“Okay.” His footsteps wander off and down the hall; Jackie slumps against the bathtub, head in her hands. Nat relaxes, stretching out again and resting her feet on the ceramic curve at the tub’s end.
“Ugh, you’re dirtying my bathtub,” Jackie groans, eyeing a black mark left by the heel of Nat’s boot.
“Good thing it’s literally designed for cleaning, then. Also, reading a good book, really?”
“I read!”
“Yeah, the notes you pass in class,” Nat scoffs.
Jackie makes an offended noise. “Can you not be such an asshole right now? I feel like shit. And you’re in my bathtub.”
“Trust me, I feel worse.” Natalie grimaces, resting her back to take pressure off her neck.
Jackie sighs heavily, her fingertips pressing into her temple. “I promise you that you don’t.”
Of course, she makes it into a fucking competition—Nat coils, an insult ready, but stills at the sight of Jackie’s slumped shoulders. Nat’s not completely heartless; she leans over, searching Jackie’s face and finding her eyes wet with unshed tears. Nat frowns as Jackie’s lip wobbles like a fault line, shaking the foundation of her face.
“Hey,” Nat says, softer this time. “You okay? I didn’t mean what I said, I’m hungover as fuck.” Jackie tilts her head away and twists her hands together in her lap. “Jackie?”
She rests a hand on Jackie’s shoulder in her best attempt at comfort; it feels unnatural, her arms more accustomed to touching her teammates in celebration or sport. A tear tracks down Jackie’s face but Nat doesn’t brush it away; her limit is somewhere before fucking tender caresses.
“I kissed Shauna.” It blankets the room despite being nothing more than a whisper. Nat leans closer to Jackie like there’s suddenly not enough space for their bodies.
“Oh.” She blinks. “Shit.”
Jackie’s expression passes from misery to shock to offense and then back again; Nat feels dizzy just looking at it.
“Seriously? That’s all you have to say? You’re not—you don’t care that—” Jackie chokes on her words.
“What? Care that you’re gay?”
“I’m not gay!” Jackie protests.
Nat holds her hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry, not gay.”
Jackie bites her lip. “Well, maybe I’m gay.”
“I’m getting fucking whiplash here, Taylor.” Nat has no clue what to say, but that clearly wasn’t right; Jackie breaks into a fresh batch of tears. “So, this is a bad thing?” Nat tries instead.
“Yes,” Jackie sobs, “obviously, it’s a bad thing! Shauna’s my best friend, and I’m dating Jeff—”
“—who sucks,” Nat reminds her.
“He doesn’t—whatever, it doesn’t matter if he sucks, I just—I don’t know what to do,” she confesses, her voice low and breaking.
Nat doesn’t have even a shadow of a clue either, but she figures that’s beside the point. “Was it a good kiss, at least?”
“Of course, you would ask that.” The implication is obvious.
Nat tenses. “Fuck off. I’m the one trying to fucking help you right now.”
She moves to rise from the tub but Jackie pushes her back down, flighty hands at her shoulders.
“Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just freaking out. Truce, okay?”
Her lib wobbles again, breaking Nat’s resolve. She settles back into the tub.
“Fine. Truce. Also, I thought you and Shauna have been fucking since, like, tenth grade.”
Jackie turns beet red. “We have not, oh my God.”
“But you guys fight all the time.”
“So? That doesn’t mean we’re—hooking up,” she finishes, throat bobbing with an uncomfortable swallow.
Nat shrugs. “Usually it does.”
“Maybe for you,” Jackie says, tone on the edge of scathing.
“Oh, fuck you, Jackie.” Nat rolls her eyes and pushes herself up, clambering over the side to stand in front of Jackie with her hands on her hips.
Jackie sighs, burying her face in her hands.
“Just apologize to her when you see her on the playground later. I’m sure you’ll be braiding each other’s hair again in no time,” Nat mocks. It’s not as satisfying as she thought it would be; Jackie winces away, face burning. “I don’t get what the big fucking deal is,” Nat grumbles, a little less harshly.
“Nat, it’s Shauna,” Jackie whispers like her words hold the weight of the world. For her, they just might, Nat realizes.
“So?”
Jackie shakes her head miserably.
“It’s definitely mutual, at least,” Nat tries again.
“Maybe. But she, um—when we kissed—” Jackie swallows, eyes roaming to the ceiling like she wants to be anywhere else. “She smelled like Jeff.” Jackie meets Nat’s eyes, expression splintering into a million pieces.
Nat’s breath catches on the inhale. “She what?”
“I could smell his cologne, Nat. I’m the one that fucking bought it for him.”
Nat feels the room grow heavy. “That doesn’t necessarily mean—I mean, that could be for a lot of different reasons.”
Jackie makes a watery scoffing sound, her head shaking back and forth. “No, I know what it means. I think I’ve known for a while. It’s not even about Jeff, I just—friends don’t do that to each other. When did she decide to stop being my friend?”
Nat crosses her arms, staring down at the pathetic pile that is Jackie Taylor.
This is truly one of the worst mornings in Nat’s recent memory.
“Look, Jackie—”
Jackie cuts her off with a wave of her hand. She roughly scrubs the tears from her eyes and pulls her spine straight. “You know what, we don’t have to talk about it,” she croaks. “Let’s just go to lunch, practice with JV, and show up to the party at Lottie’s and it will be fine, it will all be fine.”
Nat stuffs her hands in her pockets. “Sure, Taylor.”
“Now,” Jackie sniffs. “I’d appreciate it if you’d wait outside. I need a minute to get ready.”
“And to clean out your garbage can,” Nat says, pointing.
Jackie stares at it miserably. “Right, and to clean out my garbage can.”
Natalie stands in the middle of Jackie’s room, too awkward to sit on the bed. She crosses her arms and lets her eyes wander over all the pictures on the walls; most of them are of Shauna. The ones that aren’t of Shauna are of Jackie and Shauna.
Damn. She really thought they were fucking.
Jackie pokes her head out of the bathroom after a few minutes. “If you need to borrow anything, feel free. There’s some stuff in the bottom drawer.”
“Thanks.”
Nat goes to rummage through it, finding it full of flannels and old t-shirts. She has a sneaking suspicion of what this drawer actually is, but she keeps it to herself. The shirt she’s wearing is soaked with what smells like beer but has the consistency of sticky Kool-Aid; she peels it off without a second thought. She elects for a faded Fleetwood Mac t-shirt, pulling it on and resting her leather jacket on her arm. Nat glances down at her jeans; the trim-cut denim is black enough to hide whatever ungodly substances she got on her last night at the party.
She kind of looks like she got dragged out of a river. It’ll have to do.
Jackie comes out looking fresher than ever. Nat snags the damp towel from her shoulder and stands in front of the vanity, wiping the smudged makeup from yesterday. Jackie gives her a vaguely disgusted look but Nat shrugs it off.
“Thanks for letting me sleep in your tub.”
“I didn’t, actually,” Jackie says, distracted.
“Still.”
“Sure, Nat. And, um—thanks. And sorry, I guess.” Jackie pulls her striped long-sleeved shirt over her head.
It’s a defining contrast between Jackie and Shauna; Jackie seems to stumble into cruelty without realizing it, but Nat’s never seen Shauna be vitriolic without it sounding calculated. She sincerely questions whether she wants to attend the team lunch, but she really would like to see everyone—summer’s nearing an end and they’ll be heading away soon, and she worries somewhere deep down that she’s going to miss them.
(That’s a lie, she knows she’s going to miss them—really, she worries about what she’s going to do without them.)
“Can you climb out the window?”
“Huh?” Nat is torn from her thoughts, staring at Jackie.
“The window,” Jackie gestures. “I don’t need my parents up my ass right now. Just knock on the door and say you’re here for the lunch thing.”
Nat eyes the window critically. It’s certainly not the worst place she’s crawled out of.
“Fuck, okay.”
Jackie gives her a chipper smile, some part of it genuine but not enough to fool Nat. “Great. I’ll see you downstairs.”
Shimmying out the window and across the roof proves embarrassing and mildly torturous as Nat’s tired limbs protest at the movement. She scuttles towards the side with no grace whatsoever, clambering down and hanging off the edge before dropping down onto the lawn. She brushes herself off with as much dignity as she can muster, which isn’t much.
Natalie knocks on the door and greets Mr. Taylor with a polite smile. His eyebrows draw together, confused.
“Natalie?”
“Uh, yeah?”
He smiles. “Sorry, I was expecting Shauna. You’re here for Jackie, I’m guessing? Seems like you guys had quite the party last night. Her Mom and I just got back this morning—Jackie’s up, though.”
Nat gives him a thumbs up. She’s absolute shit with impressing parents, and it shows. “I’ll, uh, wait out here.”
“You don’t want to come in?”
“Nah, that’s fine. She should be right down.” Mr. Taylor gives her an odd look. “I mean, I’m guessing she’ll be down soon. We had plans to go to a team lunch?”
It comes out sounding too much like a question; luckily, Nat is saved by Jackie thundering down the stairs.
“Oh, hey Nat, good to see you, sorry I’m late, let’s go!” Jackie says all in one breath, whooshing past her Dad and out the door.
Nat gives a bewildered Mr. Taylor another awkward thumbs-up before turning back and following Jackie down the driveway.
Nat leans back, the fabric of the car seat pressing into her thighs. Jackie sits ramrod straight at the wheel, hands clutching ten and two. Nat eyes her warily.
“No offense, but I didn’t think you even had your license.”
Jackie scoffs indignantly. “Offense absolutely taken.”
“I’ve literally never seen you drive a car.”
“Can you even drive, Nat?”
“Technically, yes.”
“Legally,” Jackie stresses.
“Oh. Then no.”
Jackie takes a turn a bit too sharply, popping the curb. “Not a word. First my bathtub, now my car,” Jackie huffs. “I can’t believe you didn’t hear us last night, by the way. We were arguing pretty loudly in my room.”
“I can barely remember showing up to the party, let alone what happened after.” Nat winds the window down with clumsy movements, turning her face to the wind.
“You really shouldn’t take drugs from strangers, you know,” Jackie says, judgment evident in her voice.
“It wasn’t a stranger, Jesus. I got them from Frank.”
“That’s worse. You get how that’s worse, right? Didn’t he drop out in ’94?”
“’95,” Nat clarifies, not bothering to defend herself. Honestly, Jackie has a point, and Nat can tell she’s going to have to fight a lot more battles today. Might as well conserve her energy.
“I thought he went born-again in jail.”
“Didn’t take,” Nat says drily.
Jackie gives her a sidelong glance. “What if it had been laced? You really should be more careful, Nat.”
Natalie feels herself bristle, even though Jackie’s tone is more concerned than judgy. It makes her skin crawl regardless; she hates people inserting themselves into her shit as if they know better, as if they could even fucking get it.
“I have an idea: let’s keep our fucking thoughts to ourselves.”
Jackie makes an odd noise in the back of her throat. “Jesus, fine. I’m just worried about you, is all.”
“Worry about your own shit, Taylor. Seems like you got yourself into plenty of it last night.”
Jackie frowns, her hands tightening around the wheel. A seed of guilt blossoms in Nat’s stomach and she pushes it down, turning to stare out at the cookie-cutter houses blurring past them.
Natalie recognizes a familiar car in the parking lot when they pull into the diner because the day can become infinitely shittier when it wants to.
“Oh,” Jackie says, “Shauna’s here already.”
Nat’s over it. “Good fucking luck, man.” She steps out of the car, stretching her sore back and ignoring whatever Jackie is trying to stammer out. She slams the door and fishes a hand in her jacket pocket, walking blindly towards the restaurant.
“Looking for something?” A voice calls out just to her left; she turns and sees Lottie leaning up against the front of Shauna’s car, a lit cigarette dangling from her mouth. She smiles around the body of it, pulling it from her mouth and exhaling slowly.
Fuck. She looks really good. She’s wearing a tight pair of pink shorts and a light grey sweatshirt with the Seattle Mariner’s logo on it. Nat feels her mouth dry up and fishes for a response.
“Big fan?” She gestures towards the sweatshirt and Lottie smiles even wider.
“Nah,” she shrugs, holding the cigarette out to Nat, who takes it happily. “Someone left it at my house, I think.”
Nat sucks in her first drag; Christ, it feels like Hot Yoga probably does for the middle-aged Moms in Jackie’s neighborhood. She feels downright rejuvenated. Lottie’s words coil a bit jealously in her stomach.
“Overnight guest?” She takes another drag, eyes flitting around the parking lot. Lottie gives her a strange look caught somewhere between amusement and something that Nat can’t quite place.
“No, nothing that exciting,” Lottie says. “It got left behind at the July fourth pool party. Akilah’s cousin’s friend’s… something,” she finishes with a shrug. “He was from Washington, I guess.” She moves to pluck the cigarette from Nat’s fingers but the blond leans back, quickly taking another drag.
“Take this and I’ll kill you,” Nat says, smoke curling in the air around her.
“I was done anyway. You look like shit, by the way.”
“Jeez, Lot, way to make a girl feel special.”
The strange look is back on Lottie’s face for a split moment before she seems to shake it off. “You alright?”
“I’m fine. Back hurts like a motherfucker, though.” Lottie raises an eyebrow, which Nat scoffs at. “Not like that, Jesus, who do you guys think I am?”
Lottie scrunches her face. “I didn’t mean it like that. You were practically hanging off of Frank last night, I just assumed something happened.”
“Well, it didn’t,” Nat says shortly. “I slept in Jackie’s fucking bathtub.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, fuckin’ seriously.” She takes another angry drag, something hot rising through her ribcage.
Lottie tilts her head, searching. “Right. Okay. I’m going to head in and find Shauna if she and Jackie haven’t killed each other already.”
Lottie moves past her and into the diner. Nat sighs, resting back against the brick wall of the restaurant. She’s tired of herself: the kneejerk reaction of defensiveness and anger. She’s sick of feeling like a gut punch away from collapse.
She studies the burning cigarette; Lottie’s lipstick, a faint pink, stains the very end of the filter. She traces it absent-mindedly with her thumb and remembers Lottie’s New Year Party, how Lottie had grabbed her face firmly in between her hands and planted one right on her lips. Nat expected it to taste like chalk but it was more like strawberries, a fruity, floral scent lingering when a buzzed Lottie leaned back. The taller woman waited, just a moment, but Nat couldn’t find a single thing to say—Lottie released her and grabbed Van instead, crashing their mouths together and moving right down the line to Tai.
It was meaningless, just something straight girls do with their friends. Nat knows this, has seen it play out a hundred times. But she also knows that girls taste a bit different, how they like to be pressed up against walls and have their jaws mouthed at. Her sexual history isn’t nearly as extensive as people seem to think, but it does include a girl with brown hair she met at soccer camp and a tall blonde from the summer she worked at Blockbuster.
Natalie likes them tall; Natalie likes Lottie, and she’s not even sure when it started to happen. Maybe it was after they lost nationals in May when Nat took on the team’s heartbreak like she could carry it all. Lottie was the only one who noticed, besides Van. She smoked the three of them down in the hotel room until Van’s eyes were red in a way different from crying, and Nat could only laugh at every other word out of her mouth.
Nat pushes the cigarette against the wall, stubbing it out and dropping it into her pocket in lieu of an outdoor ashtray. It’s New Jersey, for fuck’s sake, how is there not an ashtray out here?
She remembers receiving flowers on her front porch a few days after her Dad died, a beautiful bouquet of petals and stems that she couldn’t even name. Her hands shook opening the card, dreading the condolences to follow. Nat was afraid that someone had sent them in accusation or genuine grief, even though no one gave a shit about anyone bearing the Scatorccio name, dead or alive.
On plain white cardstock: For Natalie. It wasn’t signed, but Nat knew damn well who sent them.
Lottie never said a word about it, and Nat had never looked at her quite the same. Maybe that was when it started, she thinks as she steps into the diner, maybe that’s the root of the whole goddamn awful thing.
Lottie is making a commendable effort to keep the conversation alive between a stony Shauna and an awkward Jackie. Nat fights the urge to turn right back around, taking a seat instead.
“Thank God,” she mutters right as she slides into the chair next to Lottie; Van and Tai come through the front door, hands brushing.
It’s the worst-kept open secret in their Wiskayok social circle: their relationship is on a strict “don’t ask, don’t tell” basis, with the only exception being their fellow Yellowjackets, who tease them about it endlessly. Nat’s called Van “whipped” more than she’s called her by her full name, and they’ve been friends since Nat spit on her in first grade over a playground dispute.
Van comes up to the table, ignorant of the tension; she slaps Nat on the shoulder, making her grumble unhappily. They had gotten over the whole spitting thing, eventually.
“Scatorccio, you’re looking delightful.” Van always speaks with her full chest, her words loud and solid. Nat takes them in her hands in her mind, letting herself warm a bit.
A grin slides onto Nat’s face. “A glowing review from Wiskayok’s resident lesbian,” she jokes.
Van claps her on the shoulder again, sliding into the seat next to her. “Only the best for you, dear,” she says. Nat’s the only one who gets away with saying shit like that to her; Nat’s not sure if it’s because of their lifelong friendship or because they both like women.
It might also be because she broke Tyler’s nose in the fifth grade when he said something dicey about AIDS.
“Van, hey,” Lottie greets warmly, stretching a hand out. Van squeezes it briefly and Lottie pulls it back, propping her head up. They’re so completely different, but Lottie has slotted as cleanly into Van’s life as Nat had.
Tai casts a wary eye around the table, clearly picking up on the tension. “Shauna,” she says slowly, glancing at Jackie. “I missed you at the party last night.”
Shauna folds her arms over herself, leaning back in the chair. There are three open spots between her and Jackie, forcing them into a lopsided circle.
“I left early,” she mutters, eyes flicking over the restaurant. Tai raises an eyebrow but says nothing, folding her hands tightly in front of her.
Lottie straightens a bit on Nat’s right, her fingers tracing a pattern into the vinyl tablecloth. Nat tunes out as the conversation crawls to a start, choosing instead to watch the steady motion of Lottie’s wrist. Van nudges her with her foot under the table knowingly, and Nat stomps down on it in response, making the other woman wheeze slightly.
Jackie’s saying something about the team composition of JV—Nat hardly cares beyond a genuine desire to help the team, former or otherwise, which she’s never been able to shake. She’s loyal to a fault, even when she would rather not care at all.
Not like she’s very good at controlling her feelings, anyway.
Lunch drags on a bit, but Van manages to finesse the majority of the awkward moments of silence. Lottie and Tai are studying everyone with obvious concentration, probably attempting to piece it together. Nat pokes at her sandwich half-heartedly, too queasy to finish it.
She leans over to Lottie. “Where’s Mari?”
Lottie turns toward her and Nat resists the urge to look away from her eyes, always a little too deep and brown to not be unsettling. “At the field with Akilah already. She’s helping JV get their act together before Jackie and Tai get the chance to sink their teeth in.”
Nat hums, resting back against her chair. She catches Lottie eyeing the empty seats, her face blank. Nat can only guess; she’s probably picturing Laura Lee, who had left right after they graduated. They had a night of teary goodbyes around a campfire and that had been it. Nat felt the pain of her absence far more sharply than she thought she would. Lottie, though, had seemed uniquely devastated; Nat remembers the curl of her fingers in Laura Lee’s shoulder, her grip too tight to be friendly.
Later that night, Nat had been looking for a spot to smoke, stumbling through the woods when she heard the hush of voices. Laura Lee and Lottie stood in a clearing, huddled together; Nat froze, unsure of what to do. Lottie gripped Laura Lee’s hand in hers, her voice too soft to make out; Laura Lee broke the hold and moved her palm to Lottie’s face, pulling her forward. Nat could hardly breathe as she brought her in for a kiss, Laura Lee’s off-hand clutching the other woman’s waist. It was gentle, intimate, and over in seconds. They pulled away from each other, Laura Lee thumbing at the tears on Lottie’s cheeks. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered into the taller woman’s ear, the words lost in the breeze.
Nat turned away and stumbled back to the party, her chest burning, and drank until she blacked out. She woke up the next morning in the backseat of Shauna’s car, with Van and Akilah asleep in the front and Laura Lee halfway across the country.
Lottie had been shuttered up for two whole weeks afterward, not making a single public appearance until Jackie went and knocked on her door for almost an hour straight, declaring she’d stop only if the other woman came out.
It had worked, clearly.
Tai says something about JV and Nat tunes back in; most of the table is already standing. She doesn’t bother asking who’s got the check—Lottie’s already sliding her credit card into the back pocket of her shorts. It’s not like Nat was gonna get the fuckin’ thing.
She follows them out the door with her hands in her jacket pockets. She stops suddenly, feeling a hole in the inside of her left pocket. She sticks her finger through it and curses; the cigarette butt must have been just hot enough to cook its way through the only part of her jacket that wasn’t made of leather, because of fucking course it was. Lottie casts an inquisitive glance over her shoulder at the sound of Nat swearing; Nat opens her jacket and pokes her finger through the hole again, scowling.
Lottie stifles a laugh at the sight, bumping their shoulders together. “Don’t worry, Akilah can fix it. She has, like, a million girl scout badges. I’m sure sewing is one of them.”
It’s a sort of olive branch; Nat takes it, returning the shoulder bump with one of her own.
“Thanks, Lot.”
Lottie gives her a radiant smile, her hair falling over her shoulders as she turns away. Nat stares after her for a moment, only looking away when Lottie shuts her car door. Jackie had fled like a bat out of hell, which, fucking rude, considering she’s Nat’s ride, but whatever. Van and Tai are huddled up like the world’s gayest duet, so that’s hopeless.
Someone clears their throat to her right. She doesn’t even need to turn around to know who it is.
“Shipman,” Nat sighs. “Mind giving me a ride?”
Shauna shakes her head, fingers clutched around her keys. “Get in.”
It’s a lot worse than her ride with Jackie. They’re silent for five whole minutes, Shauna not even pretending to make polite small talk. Nat kind of prefers it this way, normally; but right now, all she can think about is Jackie looking up at her with her big, wet, bug eyes.
Nat decides to bite the bullet, if only because she’s become so goddamn curious about the whole thing.
“So, you and Jackie are hooking up, right?”
Shauna brakes a little too hard at the stoplight and whips her head over to Nat, eyes blown. “What? Why would you even ask me that?”
“I slept in her bathtub last night,” Nat admits.
Shauna absorbs that for a moment, her expression tight. “She told you?” Nat nods, pulling another sigh from Shauna; the other woman returns her eyes to the road, body slumping into the seat. “Shit.”
“Look, it’s none of my business, but I really don’t get what the big deal is. You guys have been friends for—”
“I’ve been sleeping with Jeff.”
“—for—I—Jesus fucking Christ, Shipman. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Shauna glares at her, features twisting up angrily. “You know what, you’re right. It is none of your fucking business.”
“Well, at least you didn’t call me a slut like everybody else has today,” Nat says bitterly. This is what she gets for trying, screw her and Jackie.
Shauna’s expression softens a bit. “That’s not true. People shouldn’t say shit like that to you.”
It’s unreasonably considerate given how emotional Shauna is; that angry, hungry thing rises into Nat’s throat again, smothering all sense.
“I know, I’m not even the one fucking my best friend’s boyfriend.”
Shauna slams on the brakes, bringing the car to an abrupt stop on the side of the road. “Get out.” She doesn’t even look at Natalie, her voice all edges.
Nat huffs as she opens the door and steps out. Shauna doesn’t hesitate, peeling off without a second glance. Nat spots the familiar path leading through the woods—even with the shortcut, it’s a fifteen-minute walk home, at least.
That’s fine. Nat’s walked farther.
The sun has climbed higher in the sky by the time she finally gets home, and she can feel a sheen of sweat breaking out over her skin. Nat steps out onto the main road, her hand shielding her face.
And goddamn it, if it isn’t Shauna Shipman pulled over on the side of her road in her shitty beater, scowling out the window.
Nat walks up and taps on the glass; Shauna jumps, clearly lost in thought. She rolls the window down, a tired look on her face.
“Miss me?” Nat says, leaning against the car.
“Wanted to make sure you got home alive,” Shauna says gruffly, averting her eyes.
Natalie throws her a bone—it’s been a shitty day for everyone, it seems like. “Give me five minutes to grab my stuff?”
Shauna nods, mind already elsewhere.
Nat walks over to her trailer, walking straight in—her Mom didn’t leave all that much, so the only person who bothers to lock it is Natalie, which she seldom does. Her Mom is on the couch, right where she left her, staring blankly at the TV.
“Hey, Mom. I’m heading out to play soccer with the girls.”
Her Mom just hums, distracted; Nat’s not even sure why she fucking bothers.
She barges into her room, pulling open a duffel bag and stripping her clothes off. She decides to keep the shirt on, stuffing her jacket and jeans into the bag, electing for a pair of gym shorts instead. Running around after a night spent tripping on acid isn’t ideal, exactly, but playing always makes Natalie feel better. Besides, it might be the last time to do it with her team. The thought sinks like a rock in her gut and she ignores it, pulling on her cleats and throwing her boots into her bag.
She throws a goodbye over her shoulder as she leaves, slamming the door shut behind her. Shauna’s in the same spot as before, fingers drumming on the wheel. Nat climbs in, sighing. Shauna glances over.
“You’re wearing my shirt, you know.”
“Got it from Jackie,” Nat says. “She’s got a whole drawer’s worth of your stuff, Shipman. It’s like Buffalo Bill’s basement in there.”
Shauna makes an odd face, her nose scrunching, but says nothing.
They don’t speak during the ride over to the pitch, and Nat’s never been so grateful. She thanks Shauna when they get there, not even waiting for the car to turn off before she pries the door open.
She needs to breathe—she needs grass, fresh air, and the sun to be just ten percent less bright if it could manage it.
Everyone else is already on the pitch doing drills. Tai and Jackie are walking among the JV, correcting their posture and kicks like it’s second nature. Natalie jogs over, nodding at Lottie where she stands on the sideline.
She smiles at her. “Hey, you’re here. We’re just about to start the scrimmage. Shauna with you?”
Nat jerks her head in the direction of the parking lot. “Coming. She gave me a ride.”
“That was nice of her.”
“Left me on the side of the road first.”
“Ah,” Lottie says, eyebrows drawing together.
“You were being an ass,” Shauna says from behind them.
Nat just shrugs. She can’t deny it.
“Oh, good! You guys, um—you guys are here!” Jackie’s cheeriness sounds awfully forced; Shauna frowns, her signature look, and studies their former captain. “Let’s do regular teams. Except, uh, Lottie, do you think you can switch to B? Our numbers are off without Laura Lee.”
“Sure.” Nat can feel Lottie tense beside her at the mention of their former teammate; Nat doesn’t feel all that relaxed herself, thinking again about the scene she stumbled upon in the woods.
They split up without argument, though, and Natalie gets to enjoy an entire sweaty hour of soccer against JV. She lets herself sink right into it, not thinking about Jackie or Shauna or Lottie, even: the way Lottie stands at the edge of the pitch, the way her arms pump when she’s running down mid-field, the length of her legs sprawled out on the grass while they take a break.
Nat redoubles her efforts despite the gnawing sensation in her gut, and they win handily. Jackie calls it when half of Junior Varsity is laid out on the sidelines, utterly spent. Jackie claps her hands together and it’s like every other practice, the memory of it tugging at Nat’s mind.
Lottie steps up beside her, lifting the bottom of her shirt to wipe at her forehead. It exposes her stomach, stopping short just below her sports bra. Nat feels like she’s swallowing sand. Lottie jogs off, and Nat takes a second to pull herself together.
Jackie starts running kicking drills with the JV still standing. Tai and Mari join in, both of them set to play soccer in the fall at their respective universities. Nat sits on the grass next to Shauna, propping herself up by her elbows and watching them run the drill. Van makes some sort of showboating gesture at Tai, causing her to narrow her eyes and kick the ball at full power; it just barely brushes past Van’s hand and into the net. Tai grins viciously, blowing Van a kiss. The redhead laughs, throwing the ball back to the next JV player.
Jackie’s standing near the goal talking to Lottie; Van turns to chime in, eyes leaving the ball. The JV player doesn’t notice, leg already swinging into motion. Nat lunges forward instinctively, her voice raising in warning.
She’s too late. The ball flies through the air and smacks Van straight in the head, sending her stumbling back into the net. She curses, hands clutching her face; Nat’s already running over, Shauna hot on her heels. Lottie rests a hand on Van’s shoulder, asking her to move her hands away. Jackie worries at her lips, face paling—she’s always sucked with blood.
“Move your hands, Van. Let us see,” Lottie says gently, fingers brushing against Van’s knuckles.
Nat can hear Tai’s angry voice behind her, snipping at whatever poor bastard kicked the ball. Nat can’t find it in herself to pity them, though, when Van pulls her hands back and reveals her blood-soaked palms. A steady crimson river pours from her nose and down her face, dripping off her chin.
Nat winces at the sight. “Jesus, dude.”
“Don’t tell me: I’m no longer model-hot?” She tries to joke, but it comes off a bit grotesque as the blood leaks into her mouth, stark red against the white of her teeth.
“Of course you still are,” Lottie tsks disapprovingly, touching Van’s cheeks carefully. “Does this hurt?”
“Good to know. And no, just my nose.”
“I don’t think it’s broken,” Lottie says, dropping her hands back to her side.
“It better fucking not be,” Tai mutters darkly as she steps forward into the group, fingertips tilting Van’s chin gently back and forth to survey the damage.
“I’m fine Tai, really. Even if it does look like I went down on Drew Barrymore in Scream.”
Shauna chokes back a laugh as Tai stares at Van incredulously. “I can’t believe you’re joking about this. She’s lucky she didn’t break your jaw.”
“She’s lucky, or I am? Or maybe you?” She waggles an eyebrow, tilting her head back so the blood is forced to drip a bit slower.
“Van,” Tai admonishes.
“I’m okay, seriously.”
Tai sighs then swivels, turning her ire elsewhere; Jackie blinks, caught off guard at the intensity of her stare. “And where the fuck were you, huh?”
Lottie steps forward. “Tai, we were just—”
“No,” Tai snaps. “She should have been watching. She’s the one running the drill.”
“Relax. Van said she’s fine,” Nat says, gesturing at Van, who looks extremely uneasy. She glances between them all, holding the bridge of her nose between her fingers.
“That’s funny, I don’t remember asking you,” Tai snipes. “Fucking sloppy, Taylor,” she says, turning back to the former captain.
“I’m sorry, okay? This isn’t an official practice, anyway. It’s not like I’m in charge,” Jackie attempts to defend herself.
Tai laughs mockingly. “Seriously? You can’t actually be that stupid.”
Jackie’s face breaks into hurt and Shauna takes a step forward, putting herself directly in front of Tai.
“Back off of her, Tai,” Shauna says, voice low. Jackie stares at her with wide eyes. “It was an accident. We’re not even officially a team anymore, the season’s over.”
“Some of us can’t afford to act like practice doesn’t matter, Shauna.”
“It’s a game between friends, not a goddamn championship.”
“Hey, assholes. Van is still bleeding out the fucking nose, here,” Nay says, waving her hand in their faces. They all turn to her, wearing a smattering of expressions; Van seems nervous, the blood starting to crust on her face. Nat taps at her shoulder. “Come on, hotshot. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Van spares a glance at Tai; she gives her a gentle nod and an encouraging smile, still obviously steaming beneath it. Nat wraps a hand around Van’s forearm and steers her away toward the building in the distance, hoping it’s the park’s public restroom. Van brings her hand back to her nose and stumbles at the loss of vision. Nat steadies her with an arm around her waist, grimacing at the sight of blood trickling down the goalie’s neck.
“She got you good, huh?”
“She really, really did.” Van laughs then winces, her face stilling. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh.”
“Red’s a good color on you, you know.”
“Yeah, that’s perfect. Keep saying stuff like that.”
Nat laughs, guiding Van over a stray mound of grass and back onto the dirt trail that’s been formed over time under the feet of thousands of visitors. It’s strange when she thinks about it—a path made purely from a collective desire to reach the same goal. It reminds her of the locker room after a game, with the music pumping and the energy so high that it scrapes the ceiling.
She pulls Van into the bathroom and props her up against the sink, leaving her there to grab a huge wad of paper towels from the dispenser. Thank God they’ve somehow stumbled their way into the best-stocked public restroom this side of Jersey. She runs the paper towels under the water, watching Van in the corner of her eye; the redhead is pressing tenderly at the skin around her nose and wincing periodically.
“Dude, stop touching it.”
“What? I’m just curious.”
“About what?” Nat asks, bringing the paper towels up to Van’s face. She starts gently wiping at the crusting blood on her chin, careful not to aggravate the skin too much.
Van makes a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat, letting Nat tilt her head to get better access to her neck. Nat tosses one of the soaked paper towels out next to her, focusing on a line of blood down the length of Van’s throat.
“I’m sorry Tai got kind of mad,” Van says, and Nat feels something plummet to the bottom of her stomach.
She pulls back so she can look the other woman in the eyes. “You don’t have to apologize for her, Van.”
“I know.”
A pause. “Do you?”
“I’m working on it,” Van sighs.
“Tai fucking loves you, even if she is a little overprotective.”
“She’s just stressed about playing soccer in the fall. It’s like she feels this huge responsibility to be perfect.” Van frowns as Nat starts dabbing just below her nose. “I think she thinks that I don’t get it, but I do.”
Nat wipes a careful line down Van’s nose. “People like Tai—they can afford to worry about stuff like that. We don’t have that luxury.”
The implication goes unspoken: people like Nat and Van don’t have the chance to play at being perfectionists because life already demands the impossible of them. A mother who’s drinking herself to death and a father already six feet under leaving ghosts in his wake—they didn’t get to have the sort of stability at home that allowed them a crisis of ego.
Something breaks across Van’s face. “I know. I only worry about being enough.”
The words stick in Nat’s throat; she wipes gently at the blood above Van’s lips, her other hand reaching up to rest on the side of her head. Van knows what it means. A small, grateful smile pulls at the corners of her mouth.
“Have you told her? About… you know, your Mom and everything,” Nat asks, uncharacteristically gentle. She always is, when it comes to Van.
“I don’t know how,” Van confesses, her words coming out strangled. “I’m not sure she could ever understand.”
The problem is that Natalie agrees—Tai loves Van more than anything, but that doesn’t mean she’ll get it.
They’re interrupted by the door swinging open. Lottie pokes her head through the side, fingers wrapped around the handle.
“Hey, Van. Just came to check on you.”
Van makes a sloppy gesture with her hand, her head tilted back too far to see as Nat keeps cleaning. “Come on in, Lot. It’s a blast in here.”
Lottie steps in, shutting the door quietly behind her. Her expression is soft and concerned; Nat feels it like lava in her veins, burning her from the inside out.
“Sorry, Van.”
Van gives her an inquisitive look. “For what?”
“Sorry you got hit in the face like that,” she offers, crossing her arms and standing next to Nat.
“It’s funny,” Van says, “some strange woman was just telling me about how you shouldn’t apologize for other people.” Nat frowns instinctively.
Lottie studies her face. “She sounds wise.”
“Like a very, very old man,” Van says warmly. “An Italian grandpa, even. Good ol’ Grandpa Scatorccio. Tell us about your favorite proverb, Grandpa.”
“Shut up,” Nat grumbles, pulling the last of the paper towel away. Van kicks lightly at her legs in amusement while Lottie tries her best to choke down a laugh.
Van’s face is flushed from the rubbing but otherwise clear of blood. There’s a split in the skin right at the bridge of her nose; Nat thumbs it carefully, thinking. A hand sticks out next to her head—she turns, startled at the sight of Lottie holding out a plaster.
“Shauna had some in her car. Figured you might need some.”
Nat mumbles her thanks and presses it down over Van’s nose. She apologizes when the other woman winces, but Van waves her off.
“Wow. My heroes,” she says, a smile splitting her face.
“You have no idea.” Lottie grins, pulling something from her pocket. She holds out a joint and a lighter to Van. “Your pain medication, Sir.”
“Charlotte Matthews, you didn’t,” Van says, pressing her hand over her heart in faux shock. She takes the joint and presses it between her lips, careful not to aggravate her nose. She lights it and hands it off to Nat after a slow inhale.
“Good work, Lot,” Nat grunts, taking a brief hit before passing it back to Van.
Lottie squeezes Van’s knee affectionately and excuses herself to go set up for the party; Nat’s eyes linger on her as she moves to walk out the door, nearly colliding with Tai already on her way in.
“Tai,” Lottie says warmly, letting her pass before walking out.
Tai gives her a nod, completely focused on Van. She takes in the sight of the other woman: Van’s sat up on the sink, grinning lazily with a joint held between two fingers, smoke curling out of her mouth. Nat grins at the expression of pure, melting love on Tai’s face; it washes away the line between her brows, relaxing her posture.
“Van. You seem like you’re feeling better,” Tai breathes out, stepping into her space.
Van brackets her girlfriend’s hips between her legs, pulling her closer against the sinks with her feet pressing into the back of Tai’s knees. “I feel amazing, actually.”
Tai looks over at Nat. Her appreciation is evident in her eyes; the blond gives her a nod back. She’s always respected that about Tai. She makes her feelings clear: wears them on her face, or states them in plain words. You always know where you stand with a person like Tai, and being on her good side is one of the better achievements that Nat has managed in her life. They bicker constantly, and Tai doesn’t get Nat, not really, but she knows that Nat loves Van, and that’s enough. Nat and Tai love people in a similar way, like bears love their cubs: warm and enormous, inclined to unsheathe their claws if the situation calls for it.
Tai presses an affectionate kiss to Van’s forehead as the goalie blows smoke from the corner of her mouth. Nat moves to excuse herself but stops when Van’s foot kicks out in protest.
“No, stay. Let’s hang out. Lottie’s party isn’t for another hour or whatever.”
“I think it’s two, actually,” Tai corrects. Van rolls her eyes lovingly.
Nat plucks at her shirt, pulling it away from her body. “I need to shower, man. I’m disgusting, and the sinks in this bathroom aren’t gonna cut it.”
“Come over to my place and shower,” Tai offers. “I’ll smoke you down if you want.” Van nods her head enthusiastically.
Nat fights a smile, mind already made up the second Van had asked.
They spend the next two hours getting well and truly blasted; Mari’s cousin goes to Rutgers and has been supplying the team with a steady stream of shockingly sufficient weed for years now. Nat lays her freshly-showered head on Tai’s floor and listens to her and Van argue about the best horror movie in the last half-decade. It’s relaxing—she never really feels like a third wheel with them, anymore.
It wasn’t until after nationals that something seemed to click between them; they had been hooking up all of senior year, Nat knew, but it seemed to actually become real that spring. Van had always talked about Tai like she wanted something more, but Tai was finally reciprocating; she took Van out to the movies every day for a week to convince her they were dating.
It makes Nat’s heart burn to see Van so happy, splayed out on Tai’s bed with her head hanging over the edge, Tai sitting on the floor below her. Van deserves to be happy. She’s a good person, Nat thinks, watching the redhead’s face become increasingly blushed as she laughs with her head upside down. For someone so boisterous, she’s always been so secretive; Nat’s the only one who knows about her home life, and it’s only because they have it in common.
Van had been the only one to even kind of get it after Nat’s Dad accidentally blew his own head off. Nat remembers being curled up with Van beneath a park bench, their faces lit by the glow of the cigarette they passed back and forth. Van whispered about how she wished she could hurt her Mom, like really, really, hurt her, the same way she’s hurt Van. She admitted that violence doesn’t seem apt in the few instances in which she’s indulged herself in it; it doesn’t close the gap of pain in a way that really matters, not when her Mom can just turn her head drunkenly to the side and forget it ever happened. The words had poured out of Nat’s mouth in response; she talked about holding a gun in her hands and pulling the trigger, feeling the world screech to a halt and not resume turning for months to come. Van held her so tight afterward that Nat can still feel the ghost of her hands on her back all these years later.
They eventually shamble out to the car, Tai having sobered up a half-hour in advance of driving; never caught off-guard, that one, always has a plan or two or four up her sleeve. Nat and Van are still completely off their asses, giggling uncontrollably in the backseat.
The party is in full swing by the time they get there. The driveway is packed with cars, overflowing out onto the grass. It seems like half of Wiskayok is bursting out of the mansion and out onto the stretching patio and yard. Music thunders from inside the house; Nat can feel the vibrations from her seat in Tai’s car. Van lets out an impressive whistle.
Tai parks, maneuvering around a group of party-goers hauling a beer keg in over their shoulders.
“Looks like Shauna and Jackie are here,” she notes, pointing out their cars.
Nat is high enough that she can’t hold back her groan. “Oh, God. They’re gonna be apocalyptic tonight.”
Tai raises an eyebrow.
Van snorts, wincing when it pulls at her bruised nose. “Nah, they’ll hook up in the pool shed or something.”
“They’re not fucking,” Nat says, distracted by the flash of lights pouring from the front door.
“Dude, they definitely are,” Van says.
Natalie rolls her eyes, easing herself from the car with all the grace of a newborn fawn. Tai comes around the front, Van hanging from her side with a huge grin on her face. They walk through the grass, weaving through cars and people, until they reach the front door.
“Speak of the messy devil,” Tai mutters.
Jackie Taylor is sitting on the front stoop, nursing a red solo cup and looking like someone recently burned her house down.
“Jackie-Jack,” Van sing-songs. “Why so sad?”
Jackie’s eyes snap up, studying them each in turn. “Oh. Hey, guys. Glad to see you’re feeling better, Van.” She glances nervously at Tai. “I’m really sorry about that, by the way.”
Tai gives her a stiff nod but otherwise says nothing; Nat rejoices internally that the war is over.
“Where’s Shauna?” Nat asks, again lacking the impulse to bite her tongue.
Jackie shuffles her feet. “She’s, uh, inside, I think.”
Van, oblivious to the tension, leans forward. “Where’s your boy Jeff?”
Jackie shrinks away a little, biting her lip. “He’s not my… we broke up like an hour ago.”
Nat’s eyes widen in surprise, absorbing that.
Van claps Jackie on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Jack. I’m sure Shauna will ask you to the prom instead.”
Jackie’s lip wobbles and it’s like a damn bursting all at once: tears start pouring down her face and she chokes back a sob, stumbling forward into Van. The other woman reels back, saved by Tai pressing a hand into her shoulders to steady her. Van wraps her arms tight around Jackie, utterly confused.
Nat snorts. “Good luck with that.”
“Wait—” Van and Tai both try to protest, but Natalie ignores them and enters the house.
She makes a beeline for the kitchen. Lottie’s parties are legendary not only in scale and intensity but also in the quality of their offerings. Her high is ebbing away, and her day has been spectacularly shitty—she’s more than ready to down a bottle of something worth more than the horse she rode in on.
She’s wearing the same jacket and jeans as this morning, except her shirt is swapped out for one of Van’s, now. It’s a plain black tee with red, dripping words on the front spelling out The Horror! Nat had found it uniquely hilarious about two hours ago and refused to wear anything else.
The kitchen is packed when she finally manages to push her way in, an almost dizzying number of bodies pressed into the small space. Nat doesn’t recognize the majority of them and she’s not even drunk yet.
Speaking of: Lottie’s crammed in the corner. She’s working on something at the counter, a bottle in each hand—Nat takes a moment to be embarrassed that she recognized her from behind. In fairness, Lottie is nearly six feet tall, so she does stand out a bit. Lottie’s wearing a short black dress that ends midway down her thighs; the back is almost entirely cut out except for the straps. The muscles in her shoulders push and pull against each other as she stretches past someone to grab a bottle of vodka on the neighboring counter.
Lottie must catch sight of Nat in the corner of her eye because she turns, bottle in hand and a dazzling smile on her face. The neckline of the dress plunges halfway down her chest, ending a few inches below her breasts. Nat has seen Lottie naked in the locker room, and it doesn’t come even close to being as revealing as this, somehow.
She’s forced to stop short, colliding with the body of someone in front of her. They reach out to steady her shoulders as they chuckle about watching where she’s going; she shakes their hands off and glares at them.
Ah, fuck. She knows this particular idiot, unfortunately. At least, she thinks she does.
“Oh, hey, um, John…ny?” She finishes, unsure.
He frowns. “It’s Johnathan. You don’t remember me? You were all over me at Mari’s.” He smirks; it looks ugly on him, somehow, and Nat suddenly recalls why she ditched him last week.
It started out fun, with a make-out session and ludicrously filthy grinding; but an uncomfortable pit formed in her stomach the longer they danced together. His hands were too big and his breath was too hot; it all just felt wrong. She eventually lied and said she was someone’s ride home, leaving him on the dance floor and praying she’d never see him again.
Well. Her luck is shit today, it seems.
He leans into her space and she tilts back instinctively, fixing him with a blank stare.
“Yeah, good to see you. Excuse me.” She moves to step past him but he grabs her arm, his hand wrapping around it firmly.
“You sure you don’t want to finish what we started last week?” He grins, clearly full of himself; his obvious enthusiasm honestly might have worked on Nat a couple of months ago, but right now it just makes her skin crawl. The way his hand rests on her is decidedly unattractive, even if it is fairly innocuous.
She shakes him off, a tight smile on her face. “I’m good. I’m with my friends tonight. She’s just over there. I’m gonna head over, I’ll see you around.”
The grin slips off his face, his features hardening. “Seriously? All that last week and now you’re just not interested?”
“Yeah,” Nat says, hands tensing at her side. “That’s how it goes, sometimes. Now get out of my way.”
He crosses his arms and steps closer into her space; she bumps into someone behind her, nowhere left to go. She grits her teeth, readying herself for an argument, but is interrupted by the press of another body next to her.
An arm slings over her shoulders. She turns to see Lottie wearing a stony expression, her off-hand clutching a bottle a little too tightly.
“Hey, Nat, I’ve been looking for you,” she says, faux casual. Her eyes are fixed on the man in front of her.
“I’m talking to her right now, actually,” he states.
Lottie towers over him by a good number of inches. She quirks an eyebrow. “Sure. Bye now,” she says sarcastically.
The guy lunges forward, wrapping a hand around Nat’s wrist before they can step away.
Nat immediately wrenches herself free with a growl of anger in her throat. “Get the fuck off me, asshole.”
Lottie’s whole body tightens, her shoulders drawn back. She steps in front of Nat, pushing her firmly behind her as she moves. “Okay, you’re done. Get the fuck out,” she hisses through gritted teeth. Nat’s only seen her like this a few times; it’s almost scary, how intense her anger is.
“And who are you?”
“I’m the one throwing the party, dipshit. I’m not going to tell you again. Get out.”
“Or what? You gonna sic your servants on me?”
“No,” Lottie drawls menacingly, leaning forward until their faces are just inches away. “I can’t afford to pay people enough for what I’m going to do to you if you don’t get the fuck out of here in the next three seconds.”
Time seems to slow. Nat grabs Lottie’s hand, trying to tug her back and de-escalate the scene in front of her. Lottie doesn’t budge, her muscles rigid in her back. Shit, shit—Nat feels torn between wanting to see Lottie absolutely beat this guy’s ass and being afraid that they’ll actually hurt each other.
“Lottie,” she tries. The taller woman spares her a glance, concern and fury burning in her eyes. Nat suddenly can’t find the words, all of them drying to ash in her throat.
“What’s goin’ on?” A drunken voice slurs behind her. It’s Jeff; his eyebrows are scrunched in confusion, his gaze lingering suspiciously on the guy in front of Lottie. He turns angry in an instant, wobbling forward. “What’d you say to them?” He demands, and Nat feels panic flood her body.
Great. Just what this fight needed: a wasted Jeff Sadecki, fresh off his latest breakup.
Someone crashes into Nat from behind, sending her stumbling into Lottie who runs into Jeff who slams into John-whatever; they all smush together, some drunken moron hollering incoherently behind Nat. They all shove off each other angrily, Nat’s hand resting on the small of Lottie’s back to steady her.
John-whatever is cursing—his whole front is soaked through with beer. “Fuck you, moron,” he shouts to the drunken interloper.
The offender—it’s Randy, of course, it’s Randy—just shrugs, clearly not giving a shit. The other guy storms off, and Nat can’t believe how grateful she is for Randy, of all the people in the world.
“Good save,” Jeff says to him eagerly.
Randy stares at him. “Huh?”
Jeff stares back, equally confused. “Wait, what?”
“Randy, Jeff,” Lottie sighs, pulling at the dripping fabric of her dress. “Good to see you, as always.”
They clap her on the back like she’s one of the guys, stumbling their way back into the crowd. Natalie finally takes the chance to check over the other woman, her thanks stuck somewhere in the back of her mouth.
Nat winces as she looks her over. “Ah, shit. Sorry, Lottie.” A river of sticky beer has poured down the side of Lottie’s face and down her clavicle, leaving an amber line running the length of her front and ending just short of the low cut of her dress.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says breezily like it isn’t that big of a deal. She fixes Nat with those big fucking doe eyes of hers as if she can see straight through to the back of her head. “Are you okay?”
Nat shrugs dismissively, which makes Lottie’s mouth dip into a frown. “I’m fine. He was just being an asshole.”
Lottie’s frown deepens. “I remember him from last week. He complimented my tan,” she says sarcastically, fingers scrunched into air quotes. “He said it was ‘really good for a white girl.’ I nearly decked him right then.”
Nat cringes. “Yikes. Sorry.”
Lottie hums in agreement, eyes trailing over Nat’s body like she’s taking stock. Nat, inexplicably, feels herself fight a blush. “Help me with my dress?”
Nat can only nod, letting Lottie take her hand lightly and guide her through the kitchen. They pass through the living room, which is in absolute chaos: there’s a couple basically having over-the-clothes sex on the couch, someone is passed out on top of the grand piano, drooling on the keys, and Misty and Crystal are standing on the coffee table doing karaoke at full volume. Lottie stills for a moment, taking it in.
“Dude, you might not have a house left in a couple of hours,” Nat jokes, eyeing what she’s pretty sure is a freshman clambering onto someone’s shoulders.
Lottie shrugs, her expression flat. “Who cares? Let it burn.”
It’s said like a joke but there’s something else lingering in her tone, just beneath the words. It tugs at Nat and she blinks, studying her. The other woman looks utterly disinterested—if anything, she might even be amused.
“Parents not home?” Nat asks tentatively as they take off again, skirting the edges of the chaos.
Lottie just shrugs again. Nat feels it take root in the back of her mind. Lottie never talks about her parents. Ever. Nat had imagined her situation was more similar to Tai’s than it was to her and Van; she wonders, briefly, if she’s made the wrong call.
Lottie leads her wordlessly up the stairs, leaving the din of the party behind them. They turn the corner and Lottie suddenly freezes, arms by her side. Nat bumps into her.
“What?” She says, and Lottie shushes her.
Nat leans around her to look; at the end of the hallway, she can make out the shadowy figures of what she thinks are Jackie and Shauna. Jackie’s up against the wall, Shauna’s hands clutching at her shirt. They’re talking furiously at each other, their voices too low to make it.
“What do you suppose that’s about?” Lottie whispers, her eyes wide.
Nat scoffs quietly. “Probably about how they’re not fucking.”
Lottie’s brow furrows. “Wait. They’re not?”
“I know, I didn’t believe it either.”
Lottie smiles softly at her in the dark, amused, and Nat swallows it whole. Lottie, her dark hair falling around her shoulders, the amber shine of beer on her chest; she looks so outrageously beautiful in the din of the hallway. The cacophony of noise from downstairs vibrates under Nat’s feet, running up through her legs and into her arms; she feels it run a circle around her pulse. Everything is suddenly a little too loud.
Lottie just keeps looking at her.
Nat clears her throat. “Bathroom?”
Lottie blinks, snapping out of it. “Oh. Right.”
They creep down the hallway to Lottie’s room, careful not to alert Jackie and Shauna. Lottie tugs Nat into her room, breezing through it and straight into the ensuite bathroom. Nat doesn’t think she’s ever been in this many ensuites in one day, let alone in her whole life.
Lottie spares her a glance as she runs a towel under the tap, squinting. She pats the counter next to her. “Here. Come on up.”
Nat obeys mindlessly, lifting herself onto it and scooching back until the marble hits the back of her knees. She dangles her legs over the side, glancing down at the white tile floor.
“Okay,” Lottie says, wringing out the towel and shifting in front of Nat, who realizes far too late what she’s gotten herself into. Lottie steps forward, Nat’s legs loosely bracketing her hips. “Is this okay? I think I’m too tall otherwise.” There’s an undercurrent of nerves in her voice.
Nat’s having a heart attack, surely, given how her pulse is racing in her veins. “Yeah, it’s fine. Hand me the towel?” She swallows stiffly, holding a hand out; Lottie passes her the towel and Nat lifts it to the other woman’s face.
“Sorry to make you do this twice in one day,” Lottie hums.
Nat huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, lucky me.” She pauses for a moment, the towel hovering over Lottie’s left cheek. “By the way, not to sound like an asshole, but I didn’t need you to step in back there. I could have handled it.” She continues her ministrations as Lottie’s eyebrows draw together, surprised.
“No, I know. You just shouldn’t have to. Besides, I don’t want his weird bullshit here anyway.”
Natalie’s still not comfortable with it, but she swallows her protests; Lottie has plenty of valid reasons to kick that guy to the curb. Nat’s not entirely sure why she doesn’t want to be one of them. “Can you move your head back? I think your face is done.”
Lottie tilts her head back slightly so that Nat can run the towel under her chin and down her neck. Nat can feel the movement of Lottie’s throat as she swallows, her fingertips brushing against the skin. It runs like an electrical current between them, sparking through Nat’s arms and down to her feet.
Nat’s hand nearly shakes where it dabs at the last sticky spot on Lottie’s clavicle. The weird, unspeakable thing between them expands, filling the room; Nat can feel it urging her forward, making the muscles in her ankle twitch as she tries to maintain a bit of room between them.
She accidentally pushes a little too hard against Lottie’s shoulder and the other woman sways, hands instinctively coming up to grab Nat’s knees and steady herself. Nat can feel her own eyes widen, watching it play out similarly on Lottie’s face.
Fuck, what the fuck; Nat needs to get a handle on this, quick.
She leans back to check her work and discretely catches her breath. Outside, the sun must be nearly set; Lottie is painted in soft pinks and a glowing orange by the light pouring through the slats of the window blinds. Her brown eyes are practically hypnotic, a sliver of melting crimson cast straight across her face and over her eyelids. The brightness shrinks her pupils, drowning them in warm brown. Nat’s transfixed. Lottie tilts her head to the side, sending the light running over the edges of her cheekbones; she studies Nat like she’s hanging on the wall of a gallery.
“This lighting suits you,” Lottie says softly. The setting sun catches on an amber spot trailing down the middle of her chest, right between her breasts. “You look handsome.” Her fingers twitch on Nat’s knees tellingly.
Nat takes a hasty breath. “I, uh, think I got everything except, uh, that.” Nat gestures at Lottie’s chest, uncharacteristically flustered. “Do you want me to…?”
Lottie softens for a moment. “Only if you want to, Natalie.” She stares at Nat impassively; the only thing betraying her lack of emotion is the fact that Nat hasn’t seen her blink in almost twenty whole seconds.
Nat can feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. “Sure, yeah, what’s a little chest rubbing between friends?”
Lottie smiles wanly. “Sure. And I’m sorry, by the way, about the Frank thing this morning. I honestly didn’t mean it like that.”
Nat waves her off. “Don’t even worry about it, seriously. I had a shitty morning and I overreacted.”
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t think you slept with him.”
“Really?” Nat says, trying desperately to stay focused on the task at hand. She runs the towel gently across Lottie’s skin, screamingly aware of her position relative to Lottie’s cleavage.
“Yeah. I know people talk a lot of shit, but I think you’re pretty careful with your heart.”
“Trust me, Lottie, it was in absolutely no danger with Frank,” Nat says, mouth twisting into a smirk.
Lottie laughs. “No, I know. I just mean in general. I’ve never seen you actually date anyone.”
“People are assholes,” Nat says in place of a truth she’s not even sure she can stuff words into.
A trickle of water runs down Lottie’s chest, following the line of her dress. It passes over the swell of her breast and Nat wipes it mindlessly with the towel. Lottie’s hands squeeze a bit tighter on Nat’s knees in response; Nat realizes a second that later that both she and Lottie have gone completely still. Nat looks up, Lottie’s eyes burning into hers.
“Is everyone an asshole?” Lottie asks, a bit breathless.
Nat feels pretty winded herself. “No. Not everyone, I guess.”
Lottie leans forward, pressing into Nat’s space; the towel drops to Nat’s lap, her hands clutching at it.
“I’d like to think I’m not an asshole,” Lottie says quietly, her eyes searching Nat’s face. “Do you think I’m an asshole?”
Nat swallows, her mouth dry. “No, Lot, I don’t.” The towel falls to the floor; she clutches at the edge of the counter, instead.
Lottie slips her left hand from Nat’s knee and runs a finger over the blonde’s knuckles. “Natalie,” Lottie breathes, their faces inches apart. “Can I kiss you?”
Natalie’s head has barely completed the motion of a nod when Lottie crashes their mouths together. Lottie drops Nat’s hand to grasp at the side of her face, her palm resting on the curve of Nat’s jaw and her fingers stroking at her cheekbone. Her other hand releases Nat’s knee so that she can slide it up Nat’s leg instead; Nat’s breath hitches when Lottie stops the movement high up on her thigh, just short of her waistband. Lottie’s lips press firmly into hers, skin sliding on skin.
Nat breaks them apart, a breath rattling in her throat. The sun is gone, the room is dark; Lottie’s pupils are blown wide and she looks hungry, utterly starved for what’s in front of her. Nat wants to give it to her—Nat wants to give Lottie whatever she fucking wants if it means she’ll keep looking at her like that.
Nat brings both hands to the back of Lottie’s neck, pulling her down slightly so that she can press a kiss to the bottom of her chin. Lottie sighs and Nat reels at the gentleness of it; the soft, round curve of the sound filling the space between their breaths. She kisses her way up Lottie’s jaw and back to her mouth, pressing her tongue against her lips until she relents, letting Nat slip inside.
Lottie licks a line across Nat’s teeth and it should be sort of gross given how wet it is, but it really, really isn’t; Nat groans and watches Lottie flush at the sound. She wishes she could move her head lower, down to where Randy’s godforsaken beer dripped down Lottie’s cleavage. She settles for the soft flesh behind Lottie’s ear instead, taking the earlobe between her teeth and pressing her hands firmly onto the back of Lottie’s head. Lottie gasps at the sensation, fingers digging into Nat’s jaw. She tongues the spot where it meets Nat’s neck, making her groan again. Heat races up and down her limbs, her fingers trembling where they’re knotted into black hair.
Lottie presses her lips to the helix of Nat’s ear, breathlessly panting into it. “Wrap your legs around me, I’ll pick you up,” she says, and Nat feels it all the way in the tips of her toes.
“What—are you sure—”
“Just do it,” Lottie huffs against her ear, making Nat shiver violently at the sensation.
She presses her face harder into Lottie’s tight grip; Lottie’s other hand is wandering up under Nat’s shirt, stroking at the small of her back. Nat doesn’t need to be told a third time. She shucks her jacket and wraps her legs around Lottie’s waist, hooking her feet together; Lottie wraps her hands around the underside of Nat’s thighs and lifts her straight up from the countertop. Nat’s breath hitches, a whine passing from her mouth into Lottie’s, who devours it eagerly.
She can’t even believe what’s happening: Lottie Matthews is carrying her. To her bed. And she’s wearing this fucking dress. Nat feels her pulse thump-thumping steadily between her legs, her body aching for contact.
Lottie walks blindly over the threshold of her bedroom, bumping them into the doorway. Nat laughs, breathless, and feels the curve of Lottie’s smile against her neck in return. Lottie gives her thighs an apologetic squeeze and Nat presses a line of kisses across her cheekbone, lips following the curve of Lottie’s cheeks.
“Don’t you dare drop me,” Nat huffs into Lottie’s skin. She feels the rumbling of Lottie’s ribcage on her inner thighs as Lottie laughs again; her fingers clutch tighter. “Jesus, Lot, I feel that everywhere,” Nat says, voice strangled.
Lottie abruptly stops laughing. She slams their mouths back together and makes a final push toward the bed. Nat coils her limbs around her like a snake, lost in the sensation of Lottie’s mouth on hers. She barely notices that Lottie’s setting her down until her back hits the mattress, the edge of it bumping against the back of her knees. Not willing to untangle her hands from Lottie’s hair, she pulls the taller woman down with her with a grunt of effort.
“Oof,” Lottie laughs, crashing down on top of her. She maneuvers herself back up, sitting near the start of Nat’s hipbones. Her knees press into the bed and she rests her hands on Nat’s shoulders, her thumbs stroking tenderly at Nat’s neckline.
Nat just stares at her for a moment, soaking it in; Lottie Matthews sits on her chest, looking for all intents and purposes like she’s going to devour Nat whole.
“Is this okay?” Lottie asks, her hands stilling in response to Nat’s staring. “We can always stop.”
“No, no, I’m good. Come back,” Nat says, leaning up and propping herself on her elbows.
She wraps a hand around Lottie’s shoulders, pressing at the top of her spine; Lottie sighs, pressing her bare skin harder against Nat’s palm. She shuffles back as Nat tilts forward. Nat glances up for permission; Lottie catches her eyes, nodding.
“Please,” she says, and Nat’s fucking gone.
Using her hand at Lottie’s back to keep her in place, Nat leans until her face is brushing against the other woman’s cleavage, the silky fabric of her dress sliding against Nat’s cheeks. Nat can feel heat climbing up her neck and into her face as she presses her lips to the sliver of skin between Lottie’s breasts. The taller woman hisses, hand coming up to fist into Nat’s hair. She tugs it reflexively as Nat licks up the exposed curve of her breast; Nat moans in the back of her throat as the strands of her hair tighten around Lottie’s knuckles.
Nat ghosts her mouth over her dress, only just able to feel Lottie’s nipples pushing up against the fabric and into Nat’s panting mouth. She flattens her tongue and presses it firmly down, Lottie’s back arching into Nat’s hand. A moan is pulled from her mouth, guttural, and Nat needs more: she needs more skin, more of Lotting gasping into her mouth, more of everything, fuck. Lottie presses her hips closer down onto Nat, and Nat can feel the dripping heat between Lottie’s legs even through the fabric of the shirt she’s wearing. It makes her fucking crazy; she straightens up, face burrowing into Lottie’s chest, and starts pulling at the bottom of her own shirt.
“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” Lottie sighs, tangling her hands into Nat’s hair.
Something stirs in Nat and she stills, freezing against Lottie’s chest. She thinks of Lottie’s big, empty house that no one gets invited to sober; Laura Lee wiping the tears from her slender face and bringing her in for a kiss; the strange hollowness of her brown eyes some mornings before practice. Lottie is an enigma, and secrets are dangerous. Nat feels panic crawl up her throat, suddenly overwhelmed. What is she doing? Why did she think this could happen, her and Lottie in her giant bed in her lonely house surrounded by all her fucking mystery? It’s like a bucket of ice water has been poured down her shirt, her lungs tightening uncomfortably.
“Nat?” Lottie pulls her hands away, scooching back so she can study her face. Concern grows in her eyes; she keeps her hands at her sides, fingers curling into the sheets. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“Get off. Please.” Nat finally finds the words, pushing weakly at Lottie’s knees. The other woman scrambles off of her, anxiety pouring off her in waves. Nat sits up and scrubs a hand over her eyes, trying to calm down; the straps of Lottie’s dress are sliding off her shoulders. Nat stands, a bit wobbly; she flinches back when Lottie instinctively reaches out to steady her.
Lottie chews on her bottom lip, retracting her hand like she’s been burned. “Nat,” she whispers, her voice catching. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“This isn’t going to work. I don’t know why I thought this was going to work.” She runs her hands hurriedly through her hair, looking anywhere but Lottie.
“What do you mean? Did I do something wrong?” Lottie’s trying so hard to understand, Nat can hear it in her voice—it pushes her just a little bit too far, sending her straight over the edge.
Panic burns through her chest; she can’t get her fucking pulse to slow. “No, I just—I don’t even know you, Lot, not really.”
Lottie’s expression shatters, tears welling in her eyes. “Yes, you do. Why would you say that? Did—did someone say something to you?”
Nat waves her hands wildly, Lottie flinching back away from her in surprise. “See? That’s exactly what I mean! What the fuck are you talking about? Who would even say something? I don’t know anything about you, Lottie! What’s up with your parents? Why have none of us ever met them? What’s up with your giant, empty fucking house?”
Lottie winces. “Nat, please—”
“Is this even real?” Nat says, gesturing between them.
In an instant, Lottie’s mood shifts completely, her jaw tightening so hard Nat swears she can hear her teeth squeak. She crosses her arms, pulling them tight against her torso. “You know what? I think you should leave.” A tear tracks down her face and she wipes it away furiously.
“Are you serious? You’re not even going to talk to me about it?” Nat admonishes, reeling back in disbelief.
Lottie snaps, pointing an accusative finger at her. “I don’t owe you anything, Nat. It’s my fucking life. Is that seriously what you’re mad about?” She takes a deep breath, fingers grasping the bridge of her nose. Her next words come out so quietly that Nat has to strain to hear them. “Do you even like me?”
Nat’s stomach plummets to the floor. “I… Lottie,” she stammers hopelessly.
“I’m guessing that means you do,” Lottie says, her voice breaking on the last word. She looks away and clenches her eyes shut. “So, if that’s not the problem, what is? I obviously like you back.”
Nat can’t meet her eyes, her gaze falling to the floor. She shifts her weight uncomfortably.
“Oh,” Lottie sighs, voice suddenly heavy. “You don’t believe me, do you? Is that it? Nat,” she breathes, her voice brimming with sympathy.
Nat doesn’t know what’s true anymore; her nerves are utterly frayed at the end, anxiety running through her like a live wire. Lottie takes a step forward and Nat puts her hands up defensively, her familiar wall sliding into place. She turns away, trusting that Lottie won’t grab her; she doesn’t, she would never.
“Natalie—”
Nat hears Lottie call out after her but she ignores it, rushing over to the door and wrenching it open. The hallway is empty, thank God; she hurries to the staircase, Lottie’s footsteps echoing behind her.
“I’m fucking leaving,” she shouts, loud enough for the other woman to hear her.
“Nat, please.”
Her palms feel clammy, her fingers slicked with nervous sweat. She grabs the banister for balance as she turns to flee down the staircase; her wet hand has no traction, causing her arm to slip down the banister and pull her awkwardly forward. She distantly hears Lottie shout her name, her voice full of fear—Nat can only see a blur of oak as her foot tumbles over the edge of the stair beneath her. Her shoulder wrenches in its socket, yanking her towards the steps, and she falls—
Nat gasps awake, her hands clutching the nearest surface she can find. Her heartbeat races in her neck and she chokes on air, desperately trying to calm her pulse.
She opens her eyes: green tile. White ceiling. Cold ceramic beneath her fingertips.
She’s hungover in Jackie Taylor’s bathtub.
Again.