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When Natalie died, when Natalie was killed, the world went numb, plunging into an eternal season of mourning— or, Misty’s did, at least. She’d say sorrow covered the entire world, blanketing it in Natalie’s memory, but Misty seems to be the only one left under the covers, shivering in bed and accompanied only by her grief. She cradles Natalie’s jacket, a jacket that has surely not been worn in years, to her chest and pretends that she can still smell traces of Natalie on it. She can’t, but she’s always been good at pretending— to herself and others.
Everyone else who knew Natalie seems to have already moved on— no one else seems to be tormented by the same grief that Misty is— but Misty can’t will herself to do the same, not when she knows the blame for Natalie’s death can be placed almost entirely, almost exclusively, onto her shoulders. It weighs heavily on her, threatening the ache in her chest and nearly forcing her knees to buckle underneath her.
God, Misty misses her so much.
She thinks she misses her too much.
The first time Misty saw Natalie after she died, she thought it was going to be a one-time thing, a visual and auditory hallucination spun from too much alcohol in her system and too much willingness to fight.
You shouldn’t take shit from dirtbags like that; you don’t have to take shit from anyone, Natalie said, and Misty agreed because she wanted to get into a fight and she wanted to get hurt. Misty wanted to hurt just as much on the outside as she was hurting on the inside so she tried to put herself in a position that would get her that as a result.
Misty thinks it’s something that Natalie would do, and she thinks that was maybe the point. She wanted to emulate Natalie beyond just wearing her jacket and eyeliner, imitating her mannerisms so fully that it was like Natalie was still standing beside her, rolling her eyes and firing off cutting remarks. Misty wanted to pretend she was Natalie, if only for a moment, because maybe that would mean that Misty, in the end, was less guilty. She wanted, she wanted, and she wanted, but still, Natalie did not appear in the flesh. She only ever remained as the lingering remnants of a ghost made to vanish too soon.
When Natalie vanished, after encouraging her to fight, to not take other peoples’ shit for once in her life, Misty was scared by the thought of that being the last time she ever witnessed a miracle.
She needn’t have been.
Now, Misty is becoming more and more convinced that Natalie is haunting her. Everywhere Misty looks, Natalie seems to appear— always as her younger teenage self with her dyed hair and outfits that would look entirely unnatural on Misty. She taunts and encourages her simultaneously, and Misty would be flattered if she weren’t so sure that she’s losing her mind and seeing things, finally succumbing to the same whims of the wilderness’ It that she has seen control all of her friends.
Misty misses Natalie and she loves her— she loves her so much— but she wants to know what this haunting wants from her. She has wondered, over and over again, if she wants retribution for Misty causing her to only be known as one thing in death. Natalie’s death was ruled as an overdose, but Misty was the one who killed her. It is her fault that Natalie will never be known by anyone else. Is this revenge from beyond the grave, or is it Misty’s own seemingly endless guilt manifesting as this reflection of the Natalie she once knew? Is it a penance or is it something else? Misty doesn’t know, and she can’t call Natalie to ask because Natalie is dead.
Natalie is dead, and she will never again answer one of Misty’s calls. It’s not that she answered Misty’s calls much in her life, she definitely didn’t do that, but sometimes she did. It was always a dance of wondering— wondering if she’d get a response or if she’d have to go check on her. Now, there is no wondering if Natalie will pick up because there is no way for her to pick up a phone at all.
Misty remembers when they were younger, and she remembers standing on the sidelines, watching Natalie play soccer. She was jealous, in a way, of the way Natalie was able to stick out like a sore thumb without being cast out. She wasn’t liked by everyone, of course she wasn’t, and everyone always had a sly comment about her sexual promiscuity or her drug habits, but she still managed to be cool— something Misty never knew how to do or be. She was unliked and called plenty of nasty things that Misty, at the time, didn’t know the meaning of, but she was not despised by everyone in the same way that Misty was.
Both before and in the aftermath, Misty couldn’t help but be hopelessly devoted, admiring from afar but never close enough to be permitted to touch.
Once, when they were younger, still trapped in the wilderness, Natalie kissed Misty.
It was a break from the pattern, but it didn’t last long at all.
The barest hints of moonlight slipped through the trees overhead, casting a ghastly sheen onto Natalie’s bowed head. I’ve never kissed anyone before, Misty confessed and Natalie looked ready to argue, taking the words as a slight, but then she stopped in her tracks, turning to look at Misty fully. Misty laughed nervously, the real confession clear beneath her words, and Natalie tilted her head to the side, studying her. Then, after a moment of hesitation, surprising both of them, she shuffled forward, grabbing Misty by the chin and slotting their lips together.
Above them, a spring wind blew through the trees’ quivering branches. It was a gentle kiss, all things considered, and would be considered chaste by some, but it was a kiss Misty savored nonetheless. Natalie was the first person Misty ever kissed— and she was glad for it— but it was the only time she kissed her. The heat bore down on them, ready for summer, and Misty knew, even then, that it would not happen again after rescue. Misty couldn’t help but think of it as a bit of forbidden romance but she supposed that might’ve been Natalie’s point.
It was a break from the pattern, but it didn’t last long at all.
It wasn’t a personal insult, Misty thinks.
Post high school, Misty remembers watching Natalie, looking after her and out for her in the aftermath when she wasn’t aware, and she remembers being practically helpless as she watched her descent into the shell of the person she once was. In opposition to the rest of the survivors, Natalie never seemed to be able to even pretend that she was getting better. She wasn’t well before, not exactly, but it was worse than ever before.
It hadn’t been a well-kept secret that Natalie had a horror show of home life— and Misty was able to figure more out for herself on further examination— but she was even more messed up in the aftermath. They all were, but some of them, like Natalie, were worse at the pretending of it. The drugs, the alcohol, the getting into fights, the getting arrested for all of those things spun out of control, and Misty knew, through her watching, that she was powerless to stop it.
Misty remembers Natalie’s head resting on her lap, once, when she found her in the aftermath of self destruction. In that moment, Misty leaned down and she cradled her, knowing that this was a role for her to take up. It felt almost consuming, watching over Natalie, and Misty didn’t hate the idea of watching over her forever.
Now, instead of Misty watching Natalie, it is Natalie watching Misty.
Misty used to think Natalie never liked her as much as she liked her— not out loud anyway— but she thinks she liked her well enough in the end— well enough that Misty is unsure if there is a malicious haunting following her. It is miserable wondering, but it is even more miserable to know that she will never be able to find a true answer to her question. She doesn’t like not knowing.
Misty never even thought Natalie would look at her, not like she looked at her, and she certainly never thought that she’d somehow end up becoming the closet person to Natalie when they were adults. Even if, in the end, they weren’t lovers, even if, in the end, Natalie didn’t like Misty exactly as much as Misty liked her, she was still her best friend. Natalie probably wouldn’t have said that Misty was her best friend, not out loud, but Misty knows, deep in her chest, that’s what she was to her.
There was a reassurance that came with being by Natalie’s side, and it is a reassurance that Misty thinks she will never receive ever again. Misty can no longer claim to be Natalie’s best friend. The only thing Misty can claim to be to Natalie now is her murderer.
Now, Natalie can only haunt Misty, forever frozen in lifelessness and childishness, as nothing but a stolen memory.