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After being back from rehab for the hundredth time now, getting an ominous postcard, the first thing Natalie thought to do was to go confront her suspect. Misty.
Though before that, she had to go get her car. No way would she use public transport, or get a taxi while holding a shotgun. So, she went to open her old warehouse.
The place was full of junk. Old boxes, broken furniture, a carton of expired beer. The car was there, the gun was in the trunk. All set, right? Well, no. She couldn't find her keys. Thus, Natalie was forced to rummage through the trash.
Dust was stirring everywhere as she moved the things that haven't been touched in years. Whenever she was done looking through one box, she threw it to the side in frustration— uncaring for the contents, before moving onto the next one.
After 15 minutes of uselessly searching through everything, she threw the last box at the wall with a strained grunt. The bottom of the cardboard gave out, and things went flying everywhere. She wouldn't have cared, if something hadn't hit her leg.
Natalie bent down to pick it up out of curiosity. Though after seeing what it is, she stopped before she could reach out. A cassette.
She already went through the box of cassettes that she kept, mostly movies or her old favourite albums that she bothered to go back to her mother for. Things that would be useless to buy twice.
So what's this one?
Finally giving in to the urge, she picked it up, turning it around to check for any title. The only thing written on it was a row of carelessly drawn musical notes. "Great. When was I so high that I couldn't even bother labeling my music?"
Natalie brought it inside with no sense of hurry, and attempted to get her cassette player to work. It took a few frustrated smacks before she figured out how to open it, and put the tape inside; then she sat back on the edge of her bed.
The thing that started playing shouldn't have been surprising, yet it managed to catch her off guard. It was a simple song, a little guitar and drums, but her breath caught at hearing her own voice start to sing.
And suddenly, it's all back. It's her own songs, that she wrote back in high school, with her friends.
The first few were just about your regular teenage angst; school, shitty parents, and drugs. Okay, perhaps not very regular, but that's how it was for Nat.
But then, the tone changed. Suddenly, the guitar sounded a little more basic. The drums were harsher. The quality is worse.
And then, she utters your name.
Young Nat sounds almost broken, even through the recording. The wilderness definitely changed her voice a tone, yes, but this was different. "Fuck.. this is for you, baby."
If Natalie were standing, she'd be stumbling back in pure shock. She didn't even remember writing this. Of course, now that she's hearing it, she's transported right back to the night she ended it.
Natalie was sitting by the open window, smoking in the middle of the night. Finally being let go from the hospital, she immediately took her first chance to smoke. The ringing of her phone caught her off guard.
She picks it up, her words hoarse as she speaks. "What?"
"..Nat?" The voice crackling through has her hand freezing with the cigarette on the way to her lips. You ask all the worried questions that you couldn't before, but she doesn't hear any of it.
Natalie takes a deep drag, and sighs out a puff of smoke, taking the courage to rasp out. "Leave it, doll. Leave me. I'm no good for you."
"But Nat-"
"I cheated on you."
The confession leaves the line in an uncomfortable silence. Just as you were about to talk, she interrupts you before you could question it. "I cheated. With Travis Martinez."
Natalie slams the phone down before your sobs could reach her ears. It's easier this way, she thought. It's better for you.
Nat listens intently to the tape. Not just the lyrics, but the way her voice cracks, or how she takes a whole gasp of air between certain lines.
By the end of the song, tears are welling in her eyes. She can practically hear the way her hand was shaking while her younger self went to stop the recording.
And that's the last song on it. So she reaches out to take the cassette out of the player, perhaps more gently than she's ever managed in ages, and puts it to the side.
Natalie sits there for a good few minutes, trying to gather herself. She has to, anyway; she doesn't have any substance to turn to just yet. Instead, she takes a few deep breaths. Crazy how therapy comes back to haunt you, huh?
Once the water is out of her eyes, she reaches for her phone. It's the easiest place to get answers. And so, she opens Google and types your name into the search bar.
She's not too surprised by what comes up. Links to a few of your socials, the place you work at. Much like Natalie expected. She clicks on a link, looking through your recent photos.
After a while of searching, she notices that a lot of your pictures have a very familiar view as the background.
And she recognizes that place.
Of course she does. She's lived here for her entire life... if you don't count the whole decade of time that she spent in rehabilitation facilities.
Nat shoves her phone into her pocket and stands up from the mattress, the destination clear in her mind. She walks out the door, instinctively grabbing her car keys off the dresser. She didn't even realize it was there.
She locks her door first, before going back to her storage space. Pulling the garage door up with a grunt, Natalie quickly gets into her car and starts it.
She doesn't even close the door after driving off. It's all junk in there, anyway. The homeless can have it for all she cares.
It takes around 20 minutes for her to find the house she suspects is yours. She parks at the end of your driveway, not daring to go any closer. Not yet.
Getting out, Nat slams her car door shut with a careless shove. It's a wreck, anyway. Her uncertain steps lead her up to the door, and she knocks. The face that greets her once the door opens is a familiar one.
You.
Her first *girl*friend. The high school ex she never got over. The love of her life, really.
Your reaction was very understandable. Your eyes widened and you stared at her like you were seeing a ghost. You really were, in a way. Natalie was barely a shell of her teenage self.
Her hair completely different than you remember. Her eyes darker, wearier. Her face, two decades older. And it's not even just the outside. Nat's sharp, biting snark was dulled into a more passive-aggressive one.
"..Nat?" You squeak out, tears gathering in your eyes the longer you keep staring into her eyes. All she can do is stare back, her words suddenly caught in her throat.
She manages a silent wave, which has both of you huffing in amusement. You stay examining her features for a minute; only snapping out of your haze when she asks the dreaded question. "Can I come in?"
You don't hesitate for a single moment, stepping aside and silently inviting her in with a nod of your head. Natalie steps through the doorway, admiring the room that greets her.
The house is cozy. A comfy couch, a shiny tv, a clean kitchen, and doors leading to your bedroom and bathroom. It feels like a true home. Nothing like what she has in her shitty trailer.
But there's no reason to be envious now. She's with you. Nat sits on the couch, and you join her right after you lock the door.
After an awkward confrontation of how she found you— suddenly, it's like the 90s all over again. You chat about how your lives are going, as if Natalie didn't abandon you twenty years ago.
You share the inside jokes you've gained over the years, funny stories that would've been more memorable had she been there to witness them.
While Natalie, she shares all the "bullshit" she's learned from her countless therapists. Those stories don't really make you laugh as your own did, but you have to be mindful of the fact that this is all she's got.
She has no travel tales, no relationship ruckus, no workplace worries, no fun friends. All the stories she has are the things she did while she got high— how she suffered through rehab, just to fall back into the same cycle.
Smoke, get drunk, get high, get admitted into the hospital, get sent off to get better. A sad way to live your life, if you think about it. But it's who she is. It's all she's been for the great majority of her life.
"No, no. I haven't seen Travis since.. my last hospital visit. After he saw me on the brink of death, he decided to get his life together. Leaving me in the deep of it.."
"That's actually awful of him. I knew you had some tension, in the wilderness.. but that's just cruel." You give her such puppy eyes, it's like your heart's breaking for her. As if you were never jealous of Travis.
"We did, yes.. turns out, the love we had wasn't really all romantic. We were best friends, for a long time... I'm not mad at him. I just... miss him." She admits to you. You should feel blessed, as she never shares her emotions with a single soul.
You nod along, watching her intently like she's the only thing in the world that matters. Which, I suppose she is, right now. There's only the two of you in the house.
"So.. no love life, I'd assume?" You ask with a silly half-smile. She laughs at the question, shaking her head in answer once she's calmed down.
"No, no.. my last was Travis. Can't even get any hookups; I'm too much of a mess, even for the bar drunks." Natalie responds with a light tone, as if this isn't a serious thing at all.
"Well.. I haven't had any luck either. I mean.. been through a whole marriage and divorce. That could be called unfortunate, no?" You reply with a similar tone, though only so the conversation doesn't turn dark.
She raises an eyebrow, about to question it, but seeing your saddened expression, she decides against it.
She hums, leaning back against the cushion and manspreading— about to light a cigarette, but she thinks better of it. Not here. Not with you. "You were my best, you know."
"Yeah.. so were you." You stare off into space, not daring to look her in the eyes. "You know, I really wonder what could've been... if things never happened."
Something takes over Natalie for a moment, making her get enough confidence to reach over and hold your hand. "...I miss you, idiot."
You lace your fingers with hers, letting the silence linger. It's not uncomfortable, just tense with all the things left unsaid between the two of you.
After thinking over your words, you give her a response better than what she ever could've hoped for. "...You better be the best fucking girlfriend you can get yourself to be, if you want me back."
Natalie looks about as surprised as you are by your own words. Her friends would definitely say you're too kind for your own good, and that she doesn't deserve someone like you.
But poor, desperate Nat would never have the power to turn you down again. And she will do absolutely everything in her power to keep you. "I shall do my best."