Entangled

by Cat Clarke

  Nat called me two days after we met. I’d been kicking myself for not getting his number, and starting to doubt that he’d ever call. Maybe I’d been a bit full on? Not full on enough? I’d spent most of my time staring at my phone, willing it to ring. Picturing Nat taking a deep breath before punching the numbers into his phone. I was desperate for a distraction from my craptastic life – anything I could lay my hands on. And I was definitely more than a little bit keen to lay my hands on Nat. When he finally did ring, I was not quite as cool as I wanted to be. We chatted for a bit, with me saying things so stupid I had to physically restrain myself from whacking the phone against my head. Still, I managed to pin him down to go out for a drink that night.

  That first night I thought I had no chance. He was friendly and sweet and funny, but in a brotherly sort of way. But I wasn’t after a brother, or a friend. I really wanted him. Somehow, in just a few days, he’d transformed from ‘sort of hot’ into ‘Hottie McHotterson, fittest boy in the history of the world – EVER’ in my mind.

  At one point in the evening, Nat even went so far as to say he had a friend he thought would be perfect for me. And here was me thinking that I couldn’t have made it any more obvious how I felt. Well, not without jumping the poor boy in the middle of the pub. And I don’t think the rest of the clientele would have been best pleased about that. Looking back, I’m not sure if I would have gone after him quite so determinedly if it hadn’t been for all the crap I’d been going through. I mean, I probably would have still been interested, but I would have tried to maintain at least a nugget of dignity. No boy is worth looking like a fool for.

  We said goodbye at the bus stop. He really was my bus-stop boy. We hugged, and I was just about to turn and leave when I thought, ‘Fuck it,’ and decided to take the bull by the horns/the boy by the balls.

  ‘Listen, Nat, I’ve been dropping hints all night, and I’m not sure if you don’t get it, or you’re not interested – which is fair enough, by the way – but I like you, and I’d like to see you again. And not as a friend.’ There. Said it. Eek.

  He looked awkward. ‘I like you too, Grace. But there’s someone—’

  I jumped in. ‘OK, I get it. I wish you’d told me before. I did ask. That’s fine. I … I’ll see you around.’ And then suddenly I was fighting back tears – beyond ridiculous! I’d only just met the boy. It’s not like he meant anything to me. I think it was just the idea of him that was so appealing. I was desperate for someone to take care of me. To tell me everything would be OK. To hold me and touch me and make me feel better.

  I turned away in embarrassment. Nat touched my shoulder just as I was about to make a run for it.

  ‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Hey, come on now. I don’t have a girlfriend, if that’s what you’re thinking. There was just someone who I thought … I don’t know … I liked her. And I thought that something could happen there. But it didn’t work out like that and I’m trying to forget about it. And I don’t want to use you to do that. I think you deserve better than that.’ I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. He was so sincere, and so completely and utterly desirable right at that moment. I turned back to him. His face was inches from mine. He smelled really, really good.

  ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’ I whispered. Then I kissed him, just a little bit. He kissed me back. God, that kiss …

  And so began the one and only relationship in my life that ever meant anything.

  day 17

  Aargh. More bloody dreams. And this time one of them was actually rather bloody. Nat and I were at the park, sitting in the den at the top of the climbing frame. For some reason we couldn’t talk – it wasn’t allowed. We just looked at each other. Nat wasn’t wearing a shirt. He had scars criss-crossing his arms. I was surprised I hadn’t noticed them before. I wanted to ask him about them, but I couldn’t.

  As I watched, the scars turned from white to red, and blood started to drip down his arms. It soaked into his jeans. Blood splashed onto the floor. I tried to reach out to him, but my arms wouldn’t move. I tried to scream, but no sound came out of my mouth. Nat started to laugh, and the laughter turned to tears, and he turned into Ethan. And Ethan was sobbing and looking at me imploringly, and I knew he was trying to tell me something but I couldn’t understand.

  I woke up sweating and shivering, all tangled up in the duvet. I jumped in the shower and stood under the hot spray, willing the pounding water to drum the images out of my head. Afterwards, I wiped the steam from the mirror and stood looking at myself. I ran my fingers down the inside of my left arm, and the girl in the mirror did the same. The skin was ridged where it should have been smooth. It will never be smooth again.

  I was nervous the first time I undressed in front of Nat. I’d never really cared that much before. Boys were usually too drunk to notice, and when they occasionally did, I’d find some way or other to distract them (which never proved too hard). But this was different. I didn’t want Nat to think I was a weirdo. It felt like what Sal had said was now tattooed on my brain … some freak who cuts herself in a pathetic attempt to get sympathy from people. Each of those words cut deeper than a blade ever could. If Nat felt the same way, I didn’t know what I would do.

  It was maybe the third or fourth time we’d been out. Up until then, Nat had been the perfect gentleman. But I was gagging to do more than just kiss him. I’d never met anyone like him before. My mind was really starting to run away with itself – already wondering if he could be THE ONE. Ridiculous. But he was thoughtful, and clever and caring. I felt a twinge of sadness that Sal wasn’t around to talk to about him. Maybe it was just as well though – I’d probably have bored her to tears with ‘Nat said this …’ and ‘Nat did that …’ and ‘Oh, he’s just sooooo dreamy’. Well, maybe not the last one. I would never actually say ‘dreamy’ … but I might think it.

  I met Nat at the pub where he was working a lunchtime shift. I’d never normally be seen dead in a place like that, but sometimes you’ve got to compromise. I sat at the bar and chatted to him while he worked. He was brilliant with the customers, even the crazy old muttering man at the other end of the bar. Nat just has this kind of easy manner that makes anyone who talks to him warm to him immediately. He’s completely comfortable talking to anyone. Not that he’s cocky or anything – that would be gross. He just knows how people work and exactly what to say to put them at ease. Back then I could picture him as a doctor, maybe breaking the news to someone about the death of a loved one. (And then coming home to tell me all about it. Like I said: my mind was really starting to run away with itself.)

  Every so often, Nat would catch my eye and smile that beautiful smile. Tonight was going to be the night. Mum was away for the weekend (again), so the coast was clear. I’d taken extra-special care shaving my legs that morning, put on my hottest underwear (black, of course) and even changed the sheets on my bed (maybe the second time I had ever done that in my life). I was nervous and excited, which made a nice change.

  Nat got off work at six, and we went back to my house. We cracked open a bottle of red wine and cooked a meal together. I chopped the tomatoes while Nat set to work on the onions. The onions made him cry a little. I laughed and kissed him on the nose. It was so perfectly domestic and comfortable. For a fleeting moment, I imagined that this must be what it was like to be married. Get a grip.

  There were candles on the table. The food tasted great. The wine was luscious and warm. And Nat … well, he was hot hot hot. I’d never wanted someone more. I liked listening to him talk about the things that interested him. He’d get so passionate and his eyes would twinkle and shine. After dinner, we sat on the sofa. I was pleasantly tipsy – just tipsy enough to ask him about that girl he’d been interested in.

  Nat shook his head. ‘I don’t really want to talk about it, Grace. I’m here with you now.’ I wanted to know more, but Nat used my old trick of distraction. He kissed me, with a new kind of urgency. I soon forgot all about Mystery Girl and sank bac
k into the moment. Before long, Nat was on top of me, and I was pulling him closer to me. One of his legs was between mine, and I squirmed against it. I could feel the heat of him through his jeans. He started to paw at my T-shirt, and it took all the willpower I had to half whisper, half pant, ‘Not here … upstairs.’

  ‘OK, I’ll give you a head start.’ He grinned a wicked grin.

  I ran up the stairs two at a time, with Nat close on my heels, swiping at my bum. Both of us laughing like idiots. He caught me at my bedroom door and manhandled me around to face him. Pushed me up against the door frame and kissed me again. I pulled his T-shirt up, and it got stuck going over his head. I kissed him through the white cotton and then pulled the T-shirt the rest of the way off. His hair was all mussed up, and he looked better than ever. Better than anyone. I raked my fingers over his chest. It was just hairy enough not to be too boyish, but nowhere near gorilla-hairy (thank God). We stumbled over to the bed and I pushed him down and straddled him, kissing his chest. He lay back, and I pulled off my top.

  This was it.

  No more hiding. Nat was going to see.

  The only light in the room was streaming through the open door. Still, it was enough to illuminate me. Of course, Nat was a boy, and so his eyes (and hands) immediately fixed on my breasts. It was only when he started to run his hands over me that he noticed something wasn’t quite right. His thumb was tracing a path down the inside of my arm. ‘What’s this?’ he murmured, in between kisses. ‘Nothing,’ I said, and found his mouth with mine. But he pulled away and I rolled off him, steeling myself for what was to come. ‘What happened to you?’ Genuine concern.

  I lay back on the bed with a sigh, hardly able to look at him. He sat up and took hold of my arm. ‘God …’ he whispered. ‘This looks like … you did this, didn’t you?’ I nodded, still looking away. I could feel his eyes roving over me, taking in the most recent cuts, which had yet to heal. Sal’s right. I am a freak. Shame, uncoiling and wrapping itself around me.

  ‘Look at me, Grace.’ I did – reluctantly. ‘Do you want to talk about this?’

  I shook my head. He nodded, leaned down, and kissed me perfectly. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered. And I believed him. He kissed me all over and ran his tongue over the scars, which didn’t seem creepy or weird. It was as if he was trying to kiss them better.

  He didn’t have any condoms with him (clueless), but didn’t mind that I had a small stash in my bedside drawer. Some boys can be funny like that. Boys are stupid, mostly.

  And so we had sex. It was OK, not mind-blowing. It was sweet and tender, and (dare I say it?) something close to loving. A new experience for me. Afterwards, we lay face-to-face, our legs intertwined. I nuzzled against his neck, and he stroked my back.

  ‘Now can we talk?’ Nat said after a while.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘About this?’ His roaming fingers had found some scars.

  I tried to distract him, but he was having none of it.

  ‘Grace, talk to me.’

  I sighed. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. It’s just something I do sometimes. It’s embarrassing and stupid and I bet you think I’m a freak and …’ He silenced me with a kiss.

  ‘I don’t think you’re a freak. I want to understand.’

  I lay back and stared at the ceiling. ‘I don’t really understand it myself. All I know is that it makes me feel better when things are bad.’

  Nat pushed himself up onto one elbow so that his face was above me. He rested his left hand on my stomach. It felt warm and comforting.

  ‘Do you think you can stop … hurting yourself like this?’ I said nothing. ‘Do you want to stop?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never tried.’

  ‘Would you try for me? Go on … let’s make a deal. You stop hurting yourself and I’ll … er … I’ll give you plenty of red hot lovin’ whenever you so desire.’ He wiggled his eyebrows at me and I burst out laughing. His hand moved lower and lower and my breath caught in my throat. Maybe this deal could work after all.

  Nat stayed with me that night. And the rest of the weekend. There was a lot of talking and laughing and just being together. The sex got better, which was a relief. The whole weekend was practically perfect. We didn’t talk about the cutting. I began to think that maybe I could forget about what Sal had said, after all.

  Nat dropped a bit of an interesting bombshell on Sunday night. We were lying in bed, talking about our families. I think we’d both realized that we didn’t actually know that much about each other. I’d told Nat a bit about Dad, and how things were with Mum, and he’d been unbelievably great about it. And then he started telling me about his brother.

  ‘He’s a good kid. I love him to bits, but he’s so highly strung. Way too sensitive for his own good. It all gets too much for him sometimes, you know?’ I nodded.

  ‘Dev gets so depressed. I worry about him a lot – that he might do something stupid one day.’

  ‘Dev?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, Devon. He got the short straw when our parents were deciding on names. I mean, Nathaniel’s not so great, but it beats Devon any day of the week.’ Nat noticed me looking at him strangely. ‘What?’

  ‘Devon’s your brother?’

  ‘You don’t know him, do you? Seriously?’

  ‘He’s in my year at school.’

  ‘Shit, I should have thought. I forget we’re not the same age. Dev seems so bloody young, and you … well …’ He eyed me up approvingly.

  ‘How come you didn’t go to my school then? I’m sure I would have remembered someone like you.’

  ‘Our parents split up about nine years ago. My dad scarpered with one of Mum’s friends – what a gent, eh? Mum had a complete breakdown. Couldn’t cope with me and Dev. And I didn’t help matters much. I played up quite a bit – just to get attention, really. Not something I’m particularly proud of. Anyway, lucky old me got sent to boarding school. Dev would have gone too, but Mum didn’t think he could cope. I was well pissed off at being sent away while “Mummy’s little prince” got to stay at home. But looking back on it now, getting away from here was the best thing that ever happened to me. No offence.’

  ‘God,’ I said. It was a lot to take in. I couldn’t believe I was going out with Devon’s brother. Mental. How could I not have known about him before? If I had, I’d have been a lot more friendly to Devon, that’s for sure.

  ‘Listen, Grace. I never would have said anything about Devon if I thought there was even a remote chance that you knew him. Clearly I’m a complete retard. Promise you won’t say anything about what I told you – about Dev.’

  ‘Of course I won’t say anything. I don’t really know Devon that well, anyway. He’s more a friend of a friend. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.’ I kissed Nat on the forehead and we lay in silence for a while. I was wondering whether Sal had ever met Nat. I knew she’d been to Devon’s house a couple of times, but surely she’d have told me about him if she had? I was dying to ask if Nat had met any of Devon’s friends, but I didn’t feel ready to get into the whole Sal thing yet.

  Over the next few days, I found myself thinking about Devon quite a bit – about his depression. It just showed that you can never tell what’s really going on with people. Beneath the shiny surface they present to the world.

  I wondered if Devon ever cut. Probably not. More of a girl thing, I guess. It’s in all the magazines. I find it sort of shameful to be part of such an obvious teenage statistic. I like to be a bit more original if I can.

  Those first few weeks with Nat were pretty great. For the first time in my life I was perhaps eighty per cent happy. And the missing twenty per cent was all Sal. Probably more than that, if I’m honest. I thought about her a lot, and nearly picked up the phone a hundred times. But as distractions go, Nat was more than adequate.

  We had been going out for about a month when I decided to pay Sophie a visit. I’m not entirely sure why. Anyway, I popped into the shop on the off-chance and, s
ure enough, there she was behind the counter. The shop was busy. A yummy mummy with a screaming baby in a bizarre sling-type thing. Two old ladies gossiping and trading stories of ailments. A shifty-looking boy wearing skinny grey jeans and a black T-shirt emblazoned with the name of some band I’d never heard of. He was lurking in the condom section. Bless.

  I waited until the old dears were the only ones left in the shop. They were oblivious to everything, not to mention slightly deaf. At least I assumed that’s why they were talking so very loudly about haemorrhoids. Grim.

  I headed up to the counter, and Sophie and I exchanged cautious hellos.

  ‘How are you, Grace? Is everything …?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. Oh, yeah … it was a false alarm, by the way.’

  ‘You must be relieved.’

  ‘Uh, yeah, just a little bit.’ I forced a laugh, but Sophie didn’t laugh with me.

  ‘So listen, Soph …’ I began, trying not to be put off by the guarded look on her face. ‘I’ve been thinking … I don’t suppose you’d like to go out for a drink one night, would you? Celebrate my lucky escape from the nightmare of nappies and sleepless nights?’ I was kind of nervous, much to my surprise.

  ‘Er … I don’t know. Maybe.’

  ‘Steady! I’ve heard that too much enthusiasm can seriously damage your health.’

  ‘Well, it’s just a bit weird, that’s all. We haven’t spoken in God knows how long and suddenly you want to go for a drink with me.’ Sophie was picking at the edge of the counter with her thumbnail.

  ‘Well, when you put it that way, I suppose it is a bit weird. Still, I just thought it might be a laugh … but if you don’t want to, that’s cool.’

  ‘What about your partner-in-crime?’ I hated when people called Sal that. I’m not sure why it bothered me so much. Looking back, it was actually sort of cool. Like Batman and Robin or something. Except they’re partners-against-crime. And Robin is so gay.