Chapter Text
In the aftermath, they’re holding onto each other.
Nat doesn’t even realize it until she’s got a fistful of Lottie’s coarse hair between her fingers, her cheek buried against the tall silhouette that she hasn’t seen stand this upright in weeks, maybe months.
She notices movement around them, hears Shauna heralding everyone towards the plane and the stranger who flew it here, and there’s a hand on her shoulder and a voice saying they need to go, but she doesn’t know how to move when Lottie is holding her like this, doesn’t know how to do anything anymore now that she’s finally no longer in charge.
They’re getting out. She got them out of here.
She can feel her legs shake with relief.
“Is it over?” Lottie breathes next to her ear, her voice surprisingly clear for someone who hasn’t said much of anything in days, drifting in and out of consciousness, her mind only marginally more catatonic than her body after months of starvation.
It’s hard to be ecstatic when nothing feels real anymore.
Her hand moves over the furs on Lottie’s back and she holds her closer, so close she can barely breathe with her nose pressed into Lottie’s chest.
“Come on,” she finally whispers, lifting her head to catch a glimpse of dark eyes staring back at her lifelessly, pupils dilated all the way. “We need to go.”
She drags her with her through the fresh snow, an arm around her waist to steady her. Lottie doesn’t question her. Doesn’t ask again. Lets her lead the way.
There are blankets on the plane, and she sits Lottie down in the first seat she finds, then helps her out of several layers of furs and wraps her in the strange comfort of industrial-grade polyester.
She ignores Shauna’s searching look, doesn’t care about what the girl is trying to talk to her about right now, not when their survival is no longer at stake.
She never liked Shauna much, anyway.
Lottie looks over at her when she sits down next to her and their arms brush, just scans her eyes over Nat’s face like she’s trying to make sense of everything, and Nat would find that eerie if she wasn’t so relieved to see Lottie show signs of understanding again.
Then they’re taking off, and Lottie’s head is in her lap, airplane safety rules be damned. Nat runs a hand through her hair and stares straight ahead.
This is the most she’s touched another person in months; it feels alien.
She wakes her up when the plane starts its descent, because she needs something to focus on that isn’t how her last time on a plane ended in death and starvation and unthinkable horrible shit.
“Lot,” she leans down to whisper in her ear, brushing her unruly hair behind it. “Wake up,” and then, “It’s over.”
There’s little ways to tell when Lottie is fully present these days — namely her eyes — and they fly open now, pupils fixed on something in their periphery.
The laughter that follows is maniacal enough to make Nat question if any of this is really happening.
***
There’s a whole hospital wing sectioned off for them where they’re held for observation, and she hears the word quarantine thrown around by doctors and nurses in head to toe protective gear.
Her first real meal back in civilization is a slice of white bread with a pitiful smear of jelly down the middle.
The nurse looks at her apologetically from behind her ridiculously large safety goggles and says something about making sure her stomach gets used to processed foods again. Nat doesn’t reply, just takes a bite of the bread. She doesn’t have the energy to make the sarcastic joke at the tip of her tongue about how she’s had far worse meals in the past year and a half.
Strange how her sense of humor came back the second basic survival no longer has to be the only thing on her mind.
There’s a long hot shower waiting for her after, and she watches the water run black, then brown, then finally clear. She scrubs at her skin like getting the layers of dirt off will make it all go away.
The same nurse from earlier helps her into a fluffy robe, keeps gently asking if she needs help with this or that, and Nat feels her patience wearing thin.
Does it look like I need help? She screams back at her in her head, then catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and abandons the thought. With cheekbones so prominent they’re cutting into her skin and eyes that look sunken and hollow, she looks like she’s got one foot in the grave. She looks nothing like herself.
The hospital-issued lounge wear is an extra small, but it’s still big on her.
She’s given meds, three different little pills in a tiny paper cup, to help her sleep, and she doesn’t ask what that means before throwing back all three.
Her dreams that night are a crazy highlight reel of memories. Her body refuses to let her wake up, makes her relive it all, every single death she’s forever going to be responsible for.
It’s the best night of sleep she’s ever had. She’s out for a full fourteen hours, and when she opens her eyes again, someone is setting a tray of breakfast down next to her.
“You can have breakfast in here,” a nurse says, and Nat greedily reaches for the food, instincts kicking in. “Or you can join one of your friends next door.”
Nat stares straight ahead. She hasn’t seen any of the others since the plane, hasn’t asked about them or heard anything.
She shakes her head no and focuses her efforts on the plate of food instead.
They’re no longer her responsibility. She doesn’t have to see any of them ever again.
It’s a calming thought.
***
A hand on her wrist wakes her up, and her stupid fight-or-flight response kicks in right away, pulling her arm out of reach.
The room is dark when she opens her eyes, the only source of light the emergency exit sign above the door. It only takes her a second to adjust, her sleep-addled brain catching up with her surroundings, and she feels her shoulders sag in relief.
“Natalie?”
Lottie sits down on her bed, her long hair braided back, her face all cleaned up, looking like a ghost of the girl she used to be.
She’ll blame sleep for the way she rasps out, “Lot?” like she’s happy to see her, like they’re just at a team pre-game sleepover and she fell asleep on the couch again.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Lottie says, playing with the hospital bracelet on Nat’s wrist.
Natalie smiles despite herself. “So you thought you’d keep me from sleeping, too?”
It’s weird, this new normal they’ve found themselves in. Nat can’t remember the last time she had an actual conversation with Lottie, much less one initiated by her.
“I was waiting for you to come see me.”
Natalie sighs, and tries to pull her wrist away from Lottie where she’s holding it, as if to tether herself to this moment, to the here and now. Her grip is surprisingly strong, and Nat relents almost immediately.
What’s personal space after nineteen months together anyway?
“Did any of the others?”
Lottie shakes her head and looks away.
“I don’t wanna be here, Nat,” she whispers, leaning closer. “I don’t want to go back there.”
Nat can’t help it; she sits up and reaches over to grip Lottie’s shoulder hard.
Of all the batshit things Lottie has said over the past year or so, this is what finally strikes a chord with Nat. They’re safe now; she no longer has to mince her words in the interest of peace.
“Are you kidding? You’d rather starve to fucking death in the fucking wilderness than go home to your doting daddy and his dirty money?”
She wants to get a reaction out of her, wants to see if Lottie will take the bait and fight her, but Lottie just moves closer and throws her arms around Nat. It’s an awkward hug, the angle all off, but Nat lets Lottie have it.
She doesn’t know why, “You’ll be okay,” feels like the biggest lie she’s ever told.
***
Really, it’s like she can’t catch a fucking break.
Less than a month after they get back, the fucking funerals start. There’s one pretty much every day, sometimes multiple, and Nat knows she’s expected to go.
She doesn’t go to any of them, not even Jackie’s. It’s not like there’s anything left to bury, anyway. No one asks her about it, but maybe that’s because she avoids public places her teammates might frequent and rarely answers the phone.
Then the city of Wiskayok announces they’re holding a memorial service for all the victims, and the survivors are to be honored for their bravery and Nat hasn’t even swallowed the bile rising in her throat before the phone’s ringing in the kitchen and Shauna’s in her ear, spouting thinly veiled threats to ensure she shows up for that one.
It would be a stretch to say Natalie has been keeping busy. She’s been struggling with how mundane it all feels, all the ratty old furniture in their trailer park home, how she no longer feels like there’s a point in getting up in the morning now that the only survival she’s responsible for is her own.
Her mom’s never gonna win Mother of the Year, she’s always known that much, but Nat can tell she’s scared of her now. What little time she spends at home between waitressing at the diner and drinking at the bar always ends in tense silence. It’s like they don’t know how to talk to each other anymore.
(Nat’s pretty sure that one’s got nothing to do with her recent absence. It’s not like they were close before, either.)
The morning of the memorial, she walks out of her bedroom in black jeans and a simple black shirt she borrowed from Kevyn, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and the weed she smoked to keep her from freaking out all night. (It did nothing to help, but at least it made her feel less in control of it all.)
Much to her surprise, her mother is in the kitchen, dressed in an all-black outfit Nat last saw her wear to her dad’s funeral.
“What are you doing?”
Nat glares at her from across the room, and she sees her mother flinch. If she thinks her daughter’s such a monster, she might as well act like one.
“You’re not coming to this, are you?”
Her mom grabs her purse and gives an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. Nat doesn’t want to talk to her, is kind of glad she’s too scared to hug and try to comfort her, but she does need a ride to the festivities so she rolls her eyes dramatically and mutters, “Fine,” as she walks out the door.
There’s a row of chairs reserved for them at the front when they get to the ugly suburban town hall, and Natalie stifles a laugh. Of course she’s the last to arrive. She sits down between Van and Lottie and ignores the scolding look Shauna directs at her. Whatever. So she didn’t feel like dressing up for this fucking freak show of collective grief.
It figures that the chair at the end next to Misty stays glaringly empty. Travis fucked off out of this miserable hellhole the second he could; Natalie can’t say she blames him. She should’ve done the same.
The mayor starts off with a morbid little spiel about how dead kids are somehow worse than dead adults because of all the wasted potential and Nat bites her lip to keep from laughing. Van notices, of course, and shoots her a warning look, but there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes so she must see the absurdity of the situation they’re in too.
One by one, the families of the dead go up on stage and shake hands with the mayor, and whatever sleazy senator they dragged into this tragic affair and when Javi’s name is called and no one is there to claim the handshake, Nat lowers her head in shame. Her leg starts twitching, and Lottie reaches over and intertwines their fingers, her pokerface betrayed by the way her eyes are glazed over, too.
If Lottie Matthews is comforting her, she must be pretty fucking far gone.
It gets worse from there. Vice Principle Berzonsky tries to lighten the mood by spinning some tale about how heroic it was for the remaining Yellowjackets to pull themselves up by the bootstraps and stay alive, and she feels Lottie squeeze her hand extra hard when he talks about them learning to fish and hunt for food to keep their bellies full. Right. They let Shauna come up with a plausible story for all of them weeks ago, before they talked to anyone, and people seem to be buying it a little too easily.
(Maybe they want to believe it. Nobody wants to think about the gruesome alternative.)
Then the six of them are asked to come on stage, are given a standing ovation and ugly bouquets of flowers, and Shauna steps up to the mic like a seasoned pro, finds exactly the right words to keep the clapping crowd on their feet.
From butcher to media darling. Talk about a glow up.
“We so wish we could be up here with many more of our teammates today, but we will not let their memories die. A part of them will be with us forever.”
(Misty’s the only one smiling in the picture Nat spots in the paper the next day.)
The audience claps, and Natalie sways uneasy on her feet, sleep deprivation and the absurdity of the situation making her want to puke up whatever meal she can’t remember having for dinner last night.
It’s sickening, all of this.
The whole thing wraps up, and Natalie tries to sneak away from the others, but Tai is faster, grabs her shoulder and says, “Come with us.”
She doesn’t want to, but doesn’t have the energy to fight her, either. Tai gets pissy when she doesn’t get her way, so she lets herself be guided out the building. Maybe they should debrief to ensure they’re still on the same page about all of this.
They cram into the back of Tai’s car, Van to her left and Lottie to her right. Misty’s in shotgun fiddling with the radio, and Nat laughs when she turns the volume all the way down as Barbie Girl blares from the speakers.
“The fuck is this, huh? A party?” Natalie asks, making eye contact with Tai in the rearview mirror. “And where’s Shipman? Is she ditching us to blab to the papers some more about how a part of our dead friends who we ate will live on in us or whatever? Because—“
“Natalie!” Misty exclaims, scandalized, except Nat can tell it’s all for show. The little freak probably loves this turn of events. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
Van turns to her and nods. “Yeah, in case you haven’t noticed, Shauna’s kind of saving all of our asses by having her shit together.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Nat laughs, but no one else seems to be in on the joke. She puts on her best trauma therapist voice. “Lot, do you feel saved? Is this helping you find closure?”
Lottie barely looks at her in response, stares straight ahead and juts out her chin the slightest bit.
“There’s no saving those doomed to repeat their torment.”
They all fall silent at her words, until Taissa finally hits the brakes hard at a red light and whips her head around to look at her.
“Okay, now what the hell does that mean?”
Everyone’s looking at Lottie expectantly, and a slight smile works its way onto her lips. Natalie can’t remember the last time she saw a genuine Lottie Matthews smile like that.
“I was joking,” Lottie admits sheepishly.
Nat throws an arm around Lottie and starts laughing, and then the rest of them join in, and for a brief moment it almost kind of feels like before.
***
It’s only her and Lottie left on the bleachers by the soccer field, their knees brushing, passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth.
It’s still too cold for them to be out here at night, but too cold lost its meaning two winters ago, when the wilderness brought them five feet of snow on a regular basis.
“They all think I’m crazy,” Lottie says quietly, playing with the frayed lace ends of her black dress. “I hate how they look at me, you know.”
Nat shrugs. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“You don’t?” She pauses to look Nat right in the eye to confirm she isn’t being lied to. “No, you don’t.” It’s matter of fact, like Lottie is just innately confident in her own ability to read people, which is all kinds of dope and Nat thinks if everything wasn’t this fucking…… fucked… she’d tell her that.
Despite all the shit they’ve been through, Lottie has only ever stayed true to herself. Nat isn’t sure she can say the same, and if she does, she doesn’t want to think about what that would say about her.
It’s late, and she’s kinda drunk, and she doesn’t even know when the others left but she’s glad they did. This feels easier to stomach, just liquor and Lottie and her quiet brand of self-awareness. She thinks she would punch Shauna or Tai if she had to deal with their stubborn infighting right now.
She grabs the bottle from Lottie’s fingers and lifts it to her lips. “They all think I’m a ticking time bomb.”
“Well,” Lot says, a coquettish smile on her lips that feels familiar. It makes her feel warm all over. “Isn’t it kind of rude of them to not help you cut the wires on those explosives if they know you’re about to blow up?”
“Nice metaphor, Matthews,” Nat whistles, then takes a beat to stare straight ahead at the soccer field. “They have their own shit going on.”
What she really wants to know is if Lottie thinks she’s a ticking time bomb, too. Sometimes she feels like she might be. She doesn’t ask, and Lottie doesn’t mention it.
They sit in silence for a little while longer, and Lottie lets her head drop to Nat’s shoulder, sighs all contented like they’re not having a really fucking heavy conversation after a heavy fucking day.
“I should get home,” Lottie finally says. “My parents don’t like when I stay out late now.”
Lottie’s house isn’t far from here, and neither of them drove, so Nat gets up and holds out her hand to help Lottie stand.
“I’ll walk you.”
“You live on the opposite side of town. How are you gonna get back home from there?”
“I’ll call someone for a ride, it’s not a big deal.”
Nat sets the whiskey down on the bleachers and walks towards the steps, dragging Lottie with her.
They walk past their old school in silence, because anything they could say about where they are would feel wrong, and tainted, and awful. She doesn’t know why they’re still holding hands, but she doesn’t care enough to stop now. It would be weirder to draw attention to it, probably.
“You should sleep over. I wouldn’t mind some company,” Lottie finally tells her when they’re approaching the Matthews’ mansion.
She should say no. Under normal circumstances, she knows she would. She’s sure Lottie expects her to. But the whiskey and the lack of sleep are catching up with her, so all Nat manages is a gruff, “Yeah?”
“I’ve been having trouble falling asleep alone,” Lottie admits. “It feels weird, not having you guys within reach.”
She doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t think Lottie needs to know all the reasons she hasn’t been sleeping either; she’s not gonna put that on her so she just nods and squeezes her hand.
“You’re sure your parents won’t mind?”
Lottie gnaws on her bottom lip and shrugs her shoulders defiantly. “What are they gonna do, kick me out? They only just got me back…”
That makes Nat giggle, and then Lottie is laughing too, all genuine giddiness and Nat finds herself thinking maybe the end to this terrible fucking day made the beginning of it worth it.
She sleeps in Lottie’s bed, wears a cozy pair of her ridiculous pink silk pajamas, and when she wakes up from one of her usual nightmares, Lottie is spooning her from behind. Her arms are tight around Natalie’s waist and she’s breathing quietly against her neck, sleep undisturbed by Natalie’s tossing and turning, and Nat decides to just close her eyes and try again.
In the morning, she watches the Matthews’ housekeeper set a bottle of pills down in front of Lottie and pretends she doesn’t see her spit them out the second the woman turns her back to the table.
***
She’s at home, contemplating raiding the mostly empty liquor cabinet her mother has never bothered to lock, and it’s the middle of the day. She has no fucking clue what day it is exactly; they’ve all been more or less the same to her for the past month.
The phone rings, and Nat doesn’t know why the fuck she goes over and answers it. It’s like she’s got some sort of weird premonition she should, or something.
“Yes?”
Someone laughs on the other end of the line. “That’s how you answer the phone?”
“Lottie?”
“Nat…”
They both go quiet, and Nat wonders for the millionth time why she can’t just snap out of it and be fucking normal again.
“Hey, is it okay that I’m calling?” Lottie asks tentatively, her voice going up in pitch like she’s nervous.
Nat bites back a grin. “I don’t know, what does your therapist think?”
“Maybe your therapist and my therapist can exchange numbers and arrange a playdate for us.”
Neither of them is in therapy. They both laugh at the thought anyway.
That’s how she ends up sitting next to Lottie Matthews on the shitty couch her mother bought on sale years ago, drinking absolutely terrible white wine from red solo cups at lunchtime on a Tuesday.
Lottie’s in expensive dark jeans, her hair in a slick low bun and she’s wearing little stud earrings that Nat’s never seen before. Nat can’t help but notice how good she looks; or well, better than she has been, anyway.
“What are we even doing?” Lottie asks, folding her legs up on the couch so she’s facing Nat.
Nat suppresses a smile. She was about to ask her the same thing.
“Hanging out?” She offers, raising her cup for a toast. “Could be worse, we could be drinking alone.”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t about to do this regardless of whether I was around,” Lottie teases, petting Nat’s leg through her tights.
And sure, she could lie or feign offense, but this is Lottie, and if there’s one thing Lottie’s presence will do to you it’s make you painfully self-aware.
“What can I say?” Nat points at herself. “Ticking time bomb.”
Lottie grins at her, digging her teeth into her cup.
“I think I’m crazy enough to get what you mean.”
They both have their vices, but at least they’re aware enough to joke about them.
Before things can get awkward, Lottie perks up and motions to her bag like she just remembered it’s there. “I brought supplies,” she says, then rolls her eyes when Nat mimics smoking a blunt. “Not those kinds of supplies.”
That’s too bad.
They put on Clueless because Lottie insists it’s a modern masterpiece and the alternative was My Girl, which Nat vetoed immediately. (Too fucking sad.) They eat popcorn and cuddle up together, sip their wine and laugh at appropriate times during the movie.
If nothing else, it’s nice companionable silence, and a reprieve from trying to find things to occupy her mind with that aren’t dark as fuck.
***
Nat and Kevyn don’t talk, not really.
They listen to music, and sometimes watch shitty stoner flicks Kevyn rents from the video store, and get so high she forgets her own name.
It’s not too different from how their friendship worked before. It’s nice; some semblance of normalcy returning, one thing in her fucked up life that’s stayed the same.
She can tell Kevyn has questions, and sometimes, when the THC in her system hits a plateau, she almost thinks she’d like to dare him to ask. Wants to see what she’d tell him if she was pushed.
But Kevyn doesn’t ask and Nat doesn’t tell and that’s for the best.
***
“So what do you do all day?”
There’s a joint between her fingers and smoke in her lungs.
Lottie crosses her legs and shakes her head no when Nat offers her a hit. Go figure. She’s not about to force drugs on anyone, so she pulls her hand back and lights what’s left of the spliff again.
“You know—” Lottie brushes some hair behind her ear and gestures around the Matthews estate, where they’re currently sitting out on the deck, taking in the first rays of spring sun. “Lots of stuff. I read or use the steam room, or my mom will take me out shopping if she’s around.” Nat blows smoke in her face and grins, which makes Lottie cross her arms in front of her chest. “I do things!”
It’s absolutely ridiculous that hearing spoiled rich girl Lottie Matthews talk about her sheltered little life makes Natalie want to day drink, but she feels bad for her. It all sounds boring and lonely and like she’s missing any sense of purpose.
Nat can relate to that. (Not that it takes much to make her want to drink these days.)
“Weren’t you going to go to college?”
“Dartmouth,” Lottie smiles a little wistfully. “But that’s obviously not happening now.”
She blames the weed she’s been smoking all afternoon — some of Kevyn’s cousin's most okay stuff yet — for how she decides to press her for details, a sarcastic smirk on her lips.
“Why the hell not? I’m sure Dartmouth would love the media attention that comes with having a Yellowjacket on campus.”
Lottie just shakes her head and eyes the floor.
“My parents won’t even let me go to the mall by myself. You really think they’d let me move to New Hampshire?”
Nat doesn’t know what to say to that — thinks she’d be a dick to try and dig deeper and ask about the pills and whatever else is obviously going on in Lottie’s life. She has many questions, but she’s learned not to ask. They all deal with their shit differently; it’s none of her fucking business.
Maybe it was the psych eval that did her in. Lottie was hardly coherent towards the end of their time in the wilderness, and Nat’s sure she couldn’t have fared much better in conversation with the trauma therapy team charged with figuring out how permanently scarred all of them came back from their little wilderness adventure.
(She thinks about her own release report, the one her mother didn’t bother hiding from her once she finally got to go home. How she seemed remarkably detached from it all and was not showing any signs pointing to unhealthy coping mechanisms according to these so-called experts and wonders what the hell they would’ve had to say about someone as visibly broken as Lot.)
She can’t ask about any of that, so she doesn’t.
“They let you see me…”
Lottie laughs, sounds bitter when she says, “No, they don’t.” And then, a beat later, “They have no idea. They think the staff is watching me when they’re out, but they all feel so fucking bad for me that they turn a blind eye.”
Nat doesn’t know what to say to that, so she makes a stupid joke.
“Charlotte Matthews, you little rule breaker.”
Lottie breathes a laugh, sips her water and goes back to staring out at the birds chirping up in the trees.
***
Out of boredom, more than anything, Nat gets a job. (The money’s okay too.)
It’s a shitty waitressing gig at the Olive Garden over on Oak, and she thinks her mother makes them hire her, because she knows she dated one of the managers there for a while. There’s no universe in which Nat’s in any way qualified for this kinda thing.
She’s bad at most of it. She can never get anyone’s order a hundred percent right, even though she tries her best to write them down, and she knows her smile could use some work after spending so much time in nature allowing her resting bitch face to permanently set. At least carrying a bunch of plates isn’t as hard as it looks, and she kinda enjoys the challenge of stacking them the right way to ensure none of them drop; it’s like real-life Tetris or something.
Kevyn comes by after school sometimes, sits in the booth closest to the kitchen with her and talks shit about the losers in his community college classes, and Nat thinks it really isn’t so bad, having something to do with her time.
Unfortunately for her, Wiskayok is a tiny little town, so of course it’s only a matter of time until she starts waiting on people she’d rather avoid. Most people who recognize her from school are nice enough not to ask how she’s been, and if nothing else, the pitying looks lead to decent tips left for her.
One Friday night, Shauna walks in about an hour after her shift has started, and she looks about as shocked to see Nat as Nat is to see her here. They kind of stare at each other for a minute, and then someone slides into the booth across from Shauna and ruins the moment.
Jeff Sadecki.
Leave it to Shauna to date her dead best friend’s ex-boyfriend as if they didn’t all dig into Jackie’s charred body like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet. Fuck.
Her supervisor’s kind of an asshole; she notices Nat trying to pawn the table off to someone else and sends her over there anyway.
“What can I get you?” She mumbles, barely looking up from her notepad.
Shauna opens her mouth to speak but Jeff cuts her off.
“Nat Scatorccio, is that you? Holy shit, how have you be—“ Jeff winces, and when Nat looks over at Shauna, she’s glaring at him. “Ok, ok! Sorry. Hope you’re doing good, is all I’m saying.”
Nat clicks her tongue. “Doing amazing, as you can see.”
Jeff swallows thickly, eyebrows raised, and Shauna gives him a few seconds before she rips the menu from his hands.
“He’ll have the Chicken Alfredo penne and I’ll do a Caesar’s salad, extra croutons.”
She notes that down and glances at Shauna. “Any drinks?”
“Two cokes.”
For the rest of the night, she watches Shauna closely, barely keeping up with her other tables, and she’s in the kitchen stacking empty water cups when her supervisor tells her some rude girl is asking for her.
“You’re on your break. Go talk to your friend.”
Well, shit. It’s not like she can argue with that, so she slips out of the kitchen and near damn screams when Shauna is right outside, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the empty corridor next to the bathrooms.
“What the fuck, Shauna? Jesus fucking Christ.”
“I could say the same thing to you.”
“Could you? I’m not the one ambushing people at their place of work.”
Shauna rolls her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I must have missed the call where you told me about this exciting new development in your life.”
“Fuck you, Shipman. Or should I say Sadecki? Since—“
Shauna cuts her off with a mean glare, her fingers curling into a fist at her side, and for a moment Nat honest to god thinks she’s about to get punched. She’s seen her throw punches; she wouldn’t put it past her.
“Great, well, I just wanted to check on you,” Shauna pauses for emphasis, and shoots her a mean smile. “But you’re clearly doing incredibly well for yourself.”
Look, she knows she should walk away and let it go. She knows Shauna’s MO; knows that she’s only gonna make it worse if she lets herself be provoked.
But this is the most alive she’s felt in weeks, and she wants to see the hate in Shauna’s eyes when she takes her down a peg. She never claimed to not be at least a little unhinged herself, too.
Her target in sight, she pulls the trigger and shoots.
“At least I’m not fucking my dead best friend’s boyfriend just because I feel bad about killing her.”
Hook, line and sinker.
Their faces are close enough for Nat to feel Shauna’s breath speed up, coming out in angry huffs, and then she’s pushing her against the nearest wall, her shoulder blades digging in painfully where Shauna is holding her tight.
“I hope you fucking die,” she seethes. “I hope it’s slow and painful and you spend every single second of the rest of your pathetic, miserable life thinking about the terrible person you are. About everything you’ve done.”
Nat nods calmly, scans her eyes over Shauna’s face and smirks. “Yeah, you too.”
There’s no fucking way she’ll back down first. She’s not a fucking coward.
They stare at each other a little while longer, and then they hear the sound of someone walking their way, so Shauna lets go of Nat and shoots her one last look before she rounds the corner to leave.
She doesn’t know what she’s thinking, isn’t thinking at all, when she asks to use the phone in the office and dials Lottie’s number.
There’s no chance she’s gonna let Shauna ruin her Friday night.
***
Lottie is leaning against the hood of her dad’s red Mercedes in the parking lot when Nat finishes her shift. She’s in her Yellowjackets letterman jacket and a little skirt, and Nat instantly perks up.
“Your carriage awaits,” Lot says when they’re close enough to hug, arms extended, and Natalie shakes her head at the lame greeting, but hugs her tight anyway. “Where am I taking you?”
Nat considers this as she slides into the passenger seat. Her mother’s probably still at the bar, because that’s where she spends her Friday nights, but Nat doesn’t want to risk running into her later.
“Are you parents home?”
Lottie scrunches up her nose and nods. “But I can probably sneak you in.”
“You sure?”
“We’ll just hang out in the pool house.”
“Won’t that be suspicious?”
“My mom thinks I like to meditate in there. I told her it helps me with the hallucinations and the violent urges.”
Natalie just stares at her. What?
“Um.” Lottie smiles over at her nonchalantly as she backs out of the parking lot. “Are you okay?”
“That was a joke, Nat. God, why does no one ever get my jokes?”
They both know why.
Lottie shushes her when she unlocks the front door, whispers, “Follow me,” and holds it open for her. They’re almost all the way to the patio door next to the big staircase in the foyer when Nat hears someone approach.
“Charlotte?” It’s Lottie’s dad, and Nat crouches behind the long, draping curtains as quick as she can. She isn’t well hidden at all, so she’s hoping he’s not gonna come any closer. “Is that you?”
Lottie raises her voice when she says, “Hey, dad.”
“Where have you been?”
“I just went for a drive around the block to clear my head.”
“Well, don’t stay up too late. You know we’re taking you to see Dr. Carter in the morning.”
She hears a little more mumbled conversation and tries her best not to pry, which is, admittedly, hard. She doesn't get to process what she heard before Lottie taps her on the shoulder, motioning for them to go.
When Lottie closes the door to the pool house behind them and turns on one of the small lamps in the corner, she’s got a huge smile on her face.
Nat has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling back at her. “You really are a rule breaker now, huh, Matthews?
It’s kind of weird. They used to hang out all the time, before. Of course they did. Nat’s always considered Lottie a friend, she’s just sort of forgotten that she used to be fun.
Lottie walks over to the big wooden shelving that lines the walls and opens a cabinet door, to reveal a well-stacked row of liquor bottles.
“What’ll it be, Ms. Scatorccio?”
Nat grins at her. “Dealer’s choice.”
Seemingly spurred on by that request, Lottie reaches for a pretty crystal tumbler and opens the mini fridge-freezer to grab some ice (fucking rich people and their pool houses with fully stacked bars), then pours an amber-colored liquor for Nat and walks over to hand her the drink.
“You’re gonna make me drink all by myself?”
Lottie shrugs, grabs a can of soda for herself and sits down on the ottoman. “I probably shouldn’t drink.”
“Yeah?”
The cracking noise of the soda can being opened echoes in the room, and Lottie takes a sip.
“I’m not supposed to, while I’m on my meds.”
Nat nods, willing herself not to pry. Lottie being medicated is probably a good thing, if that’s what the doctors think will help her, right? She certainly seems a lot more lively and all there these days.
“Are they helping?”
Lottie looks bitter in a way Nat isn’t used to anymore, a little worry line forming between her eyes.
“My parents think so.”
There isn’t much she can say to that, so Nat raises the glass of bourbon to her lips and takes a big sip. “This is more my kinda medicine.”
She isn’t really sure whether she’s joking.
***
“Remember winter formal our senior year?” Lottie asks.
Nat lies back on the sofa, glancing up at Lottie next to her, her hair brushing the brunette’s thigh. From this vantage point, she can see the light of the pool outside reflected on the ceiling just behind the curtain. There’s a chip on it where she knows Jeff and Randy once broke a bottle of cheap vodka when Randy insisted he could carry Jeff on his back. Fucking losers. “I try not to remember any high school dances, actually.”
“We went to that stupid Italian restaurant Jackie liked, and they gave us a table right by the door, and she was pissed.”
Nat laughs. “Sounds like her.”
“She said she didn’t want it to look like we’d waltzed in last minute without a reservation.”
“God forbid.”
Lottie’s hand moves into Nat’s hair, brushing through it gently.
“Why are we talking about that anyway?”
She’s two drinks into the night, which isn’t enough to get her drunk, but she’s enjoying the buzz and the company.
Lottie just ignores her question.
“We came back here,” Lottie says, fingers catching on the choker around Nat’s neck. “You were super fucked up on— I’m not sure what, exactly.”
Nat can’t help but grin at the thought.
“Molly, probably.”
Definitely.
“Right, sure, that. And you kept begging me to turn up the music, even though it was late and we would’ve woken up my parents.”
“Lot, don’t get me wrong I’m loving this little walk down memory lane, I really am, but what’s with the nostalgia tonight?”
Lottie splays a hand on her collarbone, moves the other down to her arm and draws little soothing circles.
“That was the night I realized you and I are the same.”
There was a brief moment in time when Nat would’ve been offended by that notion; back when she thought Lottie had lost her mind and didn’t want to be associated with her particular brand of crazy nature healer. But Lottie always means well, she’s learned, and Lottie wouldn’t be telling her this if she didn’t genuinely feel like it was true. It’s probably a compliment.
She decides to indulge her. “Why?”
Nat cranes her head back to get a look at Lottie’s face and finds her smiling back at her.
“It’s strange,” Lottie pauses. “I feel like it just reminded me of myself and how badly I want to be able to feel things sometimes.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“The others were all telling me to just ignore you and leave you to sober up. But you were dying to hear that stupid Nirvana song just once and kept begging me to put it on. It was hilarious. Do you remember what you said when I asked you why you needed to listen to it so badly?”
Nat can hardly remember what she had for dinner two days ago, not to mention a conversation several years ago which she was clearly high off her ass for. She shakes her head and waits for Lottie to finally get to the point of this story.
“‘cause it’s a fucking great song?” she throws in, even though she isn’t even sure which one it was.
“You said it’s the only thing that could make your head feel like it wasn’t gonna explode.”
“I mean, yeah, I was rolling, so,” Nat says, tipping some more of her drink into her mouth absentmindedly.
“No, I could sense it was something bigger than that. You were tuning into your feelings.”
“Damn, Lot. So you based your entire idea of who you think I am on some random thing I said while I was tripping on molly?”
The thing Nat finds most fascinating about Lottie is her uncanny ability to be genuine. Sure, she’ll joke around here and there, but she isn’t one to put on an act or hide behind humor. It’s there in the way she nods now, like it doesn’t strike her as odd to be telling Natalie any of this, like any of what she just said makes sense at all. It’s kind of cool.
“We both just have all these feelings that we don’t know what to do with. I’ve always wished I could harness them somehow, to understand them more deeply.” When Nat doesn’t respond, she adds, “Maybe I should try psychedelics.”
Natalie laughs, sits up and rests her chin on Lottie’s shoulder.
“I would actually pay to see that,” she deadpans.
Comfortable silence falls over them, and Nat finds herself breathing Lottie in, the clean scent of whatever fancy soap she probably uses, and something else that’s just distinctly her.
“Shit, you know I came here to tell you that Shauna is fucking Jeff Sadecki, not for group therapy.”
“What?” Lottie laughs, pushes Nat’s face away from her own so she can look at her. “That’s so fucked up.”
And yeah, it really is.
***
They fall asleep on the sofa together.
Nat’s squished between Lottie and the back of it, and they’re face to face. When Nat wakes up, Lottie’s got an arm thrown across her midriff, her fingers drawing little patterns under her shirt, and Lottie must’ve been watching her sleep because her brown eyes are staring right at her when Nat opens hers.
She’s pretty sure Lottie blushes.
“Sorry, I’ll stop…”
“Don’t. ‘t feels good.”
Nat’s too tired for any of this coy bullshit, so she just closes her eyes again and moves so her own hand is holding Lottie by the waist.
***
At Taissa’s birthday party, they keep her and Shauna in separate rooms. It’s Van’s idea. (And one of her better ones, too.)
She isn’t even sure why she’s here. But it’s the first party she’s been invited to in two years, and she felt bad saying no, especially when Lottie started begging her to show up so she wouldn’t have to be on her own all night.
“You know they’re your friends too, right?” She’d teased, but Lottie had just pouted a little more, and Nat couldn’t really say no to that stupid adorable little pout.
Turns out Lottie Matthews is quickly becoming one of her vices.
That’s how she ends up in Taissa’s parents living room, a red solo cup in hand, chatting to Van while Lottie stubbornly refuses to leave her side.
“Remind me why Shauna said she will leave if she has to see your face?”
Nat laughs. “Because she’s a dramatic little bitch.”
Lottie’s being quiet tonight, except for the occasional laugh if anyone says anything particularly funny, and that gets her to chuckle, her hand coming to rest on Nat’s thigh. Nat sees Van’s eyes follow the movement and braces for whatever the redhead is about to say.
“Another drink, Nat?” She asks.
Sure, why hell not. She throws back the rest of her drink and holds the empty cup out for Van to take, but Van shakes her head.
“Come with me, you know I can’t mix a drink for shit.”
Subtlety is an art form that’s entirely lost on Van Palmer, so Nat gets up with a sigh and shoots Lottie a resigned look.
Taissa’s in the kitchen arranging snacks on little plates, and she waves distractedly when they walk in.
“So,” Van starts, holding a bottle of vodka in front of her like a microphone. “What the hell did I miss?”
Nat rolls her eyes. “What is this, an intervention?”
“Why, do you need one?” Taissa quips, and Van grins at her girlfriend.
“I need another drink.”
Van finally relinquishes the vodka, staring pointedly when Nat pours herself a generous drink that she tops up with just a dollop of coke. Whatever. Being around all these people she was hoping not to see ever again is hard enough; she doesn’t want to be coherent for it, too.
“Why is Lottie acting like that?” Van finally asks, trying for a hushed whisper.
“Like what?”
Taissa, ever so blunt, looks up and says, “Like she’s been lobotomized and reprogrammed to be some kind of weird robotic extension of you?”
Nat winces at the first sip of her mostly-vodka-slight-hint-of-coke and ignores the pointed look Van shoots her.
“Oh my god, can you two just fucking leave me alone? If I don’t have friends, you worry, and now you think Lottie and I are too friendly?”
“It’s just… you know she’s…”
“She’s what?” Nat taunts. “She‘s fine.”
Tai cuts in again. “She didn’t seem fine when we…”
“None of us were fucking fine, Taissa! You, of all people, should know that.”
“Okay, calm down,” Van puts a hand on her shoulder and Nat rolls her eyes, flips her off and leaves the room right as she hears her say, “We’re just looking out for you!”
Back in the living room, Lottie sniffs Nat’s drink and pulls a face, takes a reluctant sip and groans. “That has to be the worst drink I’ve ever tasted.”
She touches her arm and smiles when Lottie leans into her touch.
“Hey, can we leave after this?”
“Already?”
“Van and Tai are being annoying,” she says, forcing herself to take a big gulp of vodka.
She doesn’t have to elaborate for Lottie to get it. Lottie nods, says something about a movie she’s been meaning to show Nat anyway, and that her dad is out of town, which Nat knows means her mom will be fast asleep by the time they get back. She wouldn’t mind a sleepover in Lottie’s fluffy bed with the silk sheets.
“Sounds like a plan,” she says, and honestly wonders why they came here in the first place.
***
It’s all kind of okay until it’s not, usually. She’s in a state of flux.
Natalie wouldn’t say she’s thriving, or anything, but she’s not constantly miserable, either, and that has to count for something, right? It’s not like she was thriving before.
She’s okay, as long as she keeps busy.
Busy usually involves Lottie.
They’re sitting in the deck chairs out in the backyard at Lottie’s house, smoking more weed than Nat would normally consider sensible. Coming from her, that’s saying a lot. She’s stopped trying to predict whether Lottie will agree to join her on her substance abuse journey, but today she got an enthusiastic smile when she held the joint out to her, so here they are.
The sun is setting, and Lottie’s parents aren’t home this weekend, and things are great. Nat knows they have all the time in the world, and she feels kind of lightheaded in the best of ways, and yeah, whatever, maybe she’s a little stoned.
Lottie blows smoke rings and giggles, hands what’s left of the spliff over to Nat and then she gets up and walks over to the pool.
“We should go for a swim,” she says, already unbuttoning her short sleeved blouse. She looks over her shoulder at Natalie and grins. “Come on!”
Nat grins back at her. “Okay, lush, someone’s cut off.”
Lottie ignores her comment, steps out of her jeans and turns around to wave her over.
“I’ll go in alone if you’re too chickenshit, Natalie,” she threatens, a carefree smile on her face. “Don’t try me. You know I will.”
Fuck it. Nat bridges the gap between them and reaches for Lottie’s hand, trying to pull her away from the edge of the pool.
“It’ll be freezing, Lot,” she tries, but Lottie doesn’t budge.
“It’s heated.”
She drapes her arms over Natalie’s shoulders and leans down so they’re face to face. Damn her and her fucking height. Nat’s eyes dart down, and she hates that Lottie’s cleavage is just right there for her to ogle. She shouldn’t even be looking.
(She can’t really remember a time when she wasn’t trying not to look.)
“You know you want to,” Lot tries, bats her eyes at her and Nat’s a goner. It’s not the worst idea in the world. Lottie reaches for the bottom of Nat’s band tee and pulls it up just a bit. “Here, I’ll help.”
Before Nat does anything embarrassing, like let her, she pulls her own shirt over her head and makes quick work of her jeans, too. She steps out of her worn Chuck Taylor’s and hip checks Lottie.
“I’ll race you,” Nat says, which doesn’t even make sense considering they’re standing about two steps away from the pool, but Lottie still immediately jumps into the water, surfacing with an excitable giggle.
Lottie splashes some water at her, and Nat walks over to the ladder and lowers herself down, ignores the taunts from Lottie about how she’s boring.
“It really is heated,” she says lamely when the water is up to her shoulders.
Lottie gasps, all fake bravado, swims over to her and pulls her closer by the arm. “Did you think I was lying? To you? Why, I would never do such a thing.”
It’s the weed, and the comfort of the warm water maybe, that makes her splay her hand on Lottie’s hip and pull her in closer. She’s feeling affectionate, and she knows Lottie never minds when she gets a little handsy.
She doesn’t know who kisses who. But one minute they’re splashing each other and then they’re kind of wrestling, trying to dunk the other under, and… Yeah. They’re kissing in Lottie’s pool, in fucking March no less, and the last thing Natalie is thinking about is whether this is a good idea.
They come up for air eventually, and Nat knows she must look fucking smitten or something because Lottie giggles, pushes at her shoulders and says, “Stop staring.”
Then she floats away from her, lies back on the water and stretches out her limbs, and Nat wonders if she made that kiss up. Her mind has played weirder tricks on her.
It feels more likely than the alternative.
She asks, “Is this better or worse than Shauna and Jeff?” when Lottie swims her way again.
Lottie pauses to think about it, and then says, “We all have our own shit going on.”
Nat would drink to that if she had one.