Natexus

by Victoria L. James

  “I don’t know how to answer your questions directly. For that, I’m sorry.”

  “I just want the truth. I just need to know why one of the best people in my life is being taken away from me again.” My voice broke at the thought alone, and saying the words out loud was too much.

  “Because this is what we do, darling. This is our life. The life of our family. We pick up when we get found out, and we move along. It’s all we can do. It’s who we are.”

  “What?” I frowned hard. “What do you mean when you get found out?”

  “When people know how we live because of Nicholas.”

  “Alex’s father?”

  “Yes. The man who you stood up to, like few people ever have done before. The man who hurt you right in front of his son. Don’t you see what that did to him? Alex was distraught, Natalie. Still is. That day he saw you in the middle of it all, it changed everything for him. We know you know of my husband’s problems. He’s an alcoholic and he’s an abuser. That’s not something that’s easy to live with.”

  “I don’t understand. So the moment someone figures out what he’s like, you all hit the road and leave everyone you’ve ever loved behind?”

  “I wasn’t aware my son loved anyone outside of this family.”

  I shook my head with a small drop of disgust and a whole lot of disbelief. “I didn’t mean… I don’t…”

  To my surprise, Beatrice stepped forward until there wasn’t any distance between us. Raising one hand to my shoulder, she gripped me tightly as if to reassure me, and it took all my strength not to push her away and scream in her face. How could she be so blasé about this? How could she be so selfish?

  “I know you don’t like me very much, or Nicholas. I’m not asking you to approve. I’m not asking you to understand any of it. You just need to respect that this is our life.”

  “You think this is fair to your son? You think this makes you a good mother?” I hit back without thought, and even though my voice was soft, I knew she heard the venom in there. I knew she heard it because I could taste it. It was coating my mouth, making me want to spit more words of disgust in her direction. “Where’s Alex’s choice in all this?”

  “You don’t think Alex has a choice?”

  “He’s seventeen. You’ve got him pinned and stuck to your side. You’ve glued him there with guilt and shame. Can’t you see that?”

  Beatrice glanced back at the door. It was like a nervous twitch as she checked her surroundings every two minutes. She was always looking over her shoulder. The thought of Alex spending the rest of his life like that, too, made me sick.

  “I love my son.”

  “Then do the right thing, Mrs. Law. Get him away from all this.”

  “All this?” she snapped as she turned back to stare down into my eyes. “All this is what he wants, Natalie. You just refuse to believe it. Despite what you saw that day, despite what you presume to already know, Alex loves his father dearly. He loves me dearly, too. You don’t think I haven’t tried to find a way out of this? To figure out a happy ending for all of us? There’s so much you don’t know, child. So much.”

  “I know that I love Alex and I want him to be happy,” I admitted.

  “Then let him go,” she mouthed, over pronouncing every word she spoke. “Let my son go.”

  “It’s not easy to walk away from someone you want to save.”

  Her smile came freely then, the sadness behind it shining out like a dull light of inevitability. “Which is why Alex will never walk away from his father. It’s why I will never walk away from him either. Don’t ask him to choose between you and his family. You can’t win that fight.”

  My head rolled forward as the reality of what she’d just said hit me like a bullet in my chest. My mouth fell open as I gasped to pull in enough air, and all the light in my eyes drifted away, seeping down my legs and into the ground beneath my feet.

  That was it.

  That’s what it all came down to.

  I’d seen too much. I’d loved him too much, and in the end I’d made him believe that he’d have to choose between me and his family.

  I’d made all the wrong decisions when all I’d ever tried to do was be right for him.

  I’d tried to be the eagle and take charge. I’d forgotten where I really needed and wanted to be. Beneath him. Always beneath him. Just like that night in the summerhouse.

  The tears drowned my eyes until I couldn’t see anything but a blurred version of the world. I couldn’t lift my head, I couldn’t pull my shoulders back, and I couldn’t dare myself to look back up into the eyes of Mrs. Law one final time. So I didn’t. Instead, I said my goodbye with one small, pitiful nod of my head and then I turned away. I turned away from all the answers that were in that house, waiting for me to dig deeper to find them.

  I turned away from the unknown and I took my first step towards really letting him go.

  There were bigger things to deal with and bigger problems in the world than a seventeen-year-old girl’s broken heart.

  Alex was right. I was too intense. I loved him too much. I had been so scared of losing him that I’d somehow pushed him away. Maybe some people only have a certain amount of love to give the world, and Alex already had enough people to worry about. He didn’t need me weighing him down.

  As the door to the back of the cab slid open, I fought to blink back the tears once more. My head was down as I reached blindly into the taxi, and I had no idea what I was hoping to find there that could help me. When Marcus’ hand slid around mine, and I felt the strength of him pull me into his arms, I allowed my body to go to him freely.

  I didn’t put up a fight. I didn’t argue or try to be brave anymore. I just curled into his lap and let the tears of grief roll silently down my cheeks and onto his chest.

  He didn’t say anything all the way home, and for that I was grateful. I didn’t want to think about all the decisions I had to make about my future now. I didn’t want to think about what I’d just lost. I didn’t want to think about the pain that felt like it was tearing me in two.

  I didn’t want to think at all.

  I was just grateful for the silence.

  And as my world came crashing down around me for a second time, I was also grateful for the fact that I had no idea it would be another five years before I got to stare into the eyes of Alex Law again, or how I would feel when that time eventually arrived.

  THE TIME IN BETWEEN

  People always say it’s not easy to pretend.

  I found that funny. Pretending seemed to be the easiest thing in the world to me after that.

  I pretended it didn’t hurt. It was easier than feeling the pain.

  I pretended I didn’t search for him in the corridors at school.

  I pretended I didn’t miss him after twelve months of silence.

  I pretended I didn’t want him with me when I went to university.

  I pretended I never thought of him.

  I pretended to grow.

  I pretended to live.

  I pretended to be happy.

  I pretended to have fun.

  I pretended to forget.

  I pretended I wasn’t pretending.

  I pretended not to think of him on my 18th birthday.

  I pretended not to dream of him on my 19th birthday.

  I pretended not to remember him on my 20th birthday.

  I pretended not to wonder about him on my 21st birthday.

  I pretended not to miss him on my 22nd birthday.

  I pretended he’d been rotten all along.

  I pretended he was the villain in my story – that he had been cruel, twisted, and evil.

  I pretended to believe all the lies I told myself.

  I pretended I didn’t love him, that there was nothing about him for me to love.

  I pretended and pretended and pretended until pretending was all I knew.

  I pretended that everything was normal, everything was good, everything was great.

>   It was easy.

  It was easier than letting myself drown.

  Who wanted to sink to the bottom of the ocean with the weight of their thoughts, when closing your eyes and allowing yourself to float on the surface made each day seem so much more peaceful?

  PART TWO

  “Over time, the ghosts of things that happened start to turn distant; once they’ve cut you a couple of million times, their edges blunt on your scar tissue, they wear thin. The ones that slice like razors forever are the ghosts of the things that never got the chance to happen.”

  Tana French, Broken Harbor.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  FIVE YEARS LATER

  Marcus had always been a good kisser. He wasn’t just one of those men that made your lips tingle and your fingers twitch; he was more than that. With one brush of his mouth against mine, I became lost in him. He barely had to touch me before I was struggling to breathe. My body would sway forward, unable to wait for the moment we connected, greedy in its desire to quieten the mind with just a single second of tenderness from my boyfriend.

  Boyfriend.

  The term still seemed so alien to me, even after almost twelve months as an official couple. A couple who friends would refer to as Marcus and Natalie, Nat and Marcus. We were no longer single people. We no longer did things alone or were seen as two separate identities. In just a year, three hundred and sixty-five days, we had become one.

  I wondered every single day if that was something I was ever going to get used to.

  “Good morning, sleepy-head,” he groaned in that half asleep, half awake voice of his as he turned to face me in his bed. The white pillows and bed sheets framed his dark features perfectly, and when he unleashed his green eyes on me, the whole universe seemed to sparkle behind him as if to showcase him in his greatest light. It was saying, ‘Look at him, Natalie. Look at how gorgeous he is. Can you see the way he looks at you? Can you see the way we’ve highlighted the creases in his muscular shoulders and the way we’ve let the shadows fall on the curves of his biceps? Can you see the way the soft curls of his black hair fall perfectly onto his tanned face? Look at him, Natalie. Look how gorgeous he is.’ And I heard it all. I saw it all. I saw how lucky I was to have him in my life.

  Marcus had taken me away from a world of pain and expected nothing much in return except for me to do whatever made me happy. After over a year of him convincing me that Preston was a good university to go to, I’d put my trust in him and studied Criminology and Psychology for three years of my life. As he had promised me, the first twelve months of my courses were spent around him, and it had been one of the best years of my new life. He’d gone out of his way to make me feel comfortable – at home – like I’d been around his friends and his lifestyle since the day I had been born. Marcus was that constant that was always there for me should I stumble or fall. He was an extension of my best friend, Sammy, and when she couldn’t be there, he was.

  When he finished uni and returned home to find full-time employment, I felt lost in Preston. I’d made friends there, mostly thanks to him, but I didn’t have anyone like him or Sammy by my side. But still, I carried on and worked hard. I joined anything and everything I could – after class activities, sports clubs, even the debate team. I woke up at the crack of dawn, showered, dressed and then went out into the world. I worked and worked and worked. I wore my brain out, and I sweat until I couldn’t feel my muscles when I collapsed in bed. I knew the reason behind my behaviour, but it was very rare I allowed myself to acknowledge why I was so intent on keeping myself busy. If I didn’t have the time or the energy for those thoughts, they couldn’t take me over. They couldn’t turn me weak again.

  And I’d done it. I’d succeeded. I’d completed my course with a first and now I was back in Leeds, lying in bed next to a man who had refused to give up on me.

  Turning my body so I was facing him, I tucked both hands under my cheek and tried to blow the stray hair out of my face before I flashed him a smile. The hair never budged an inch, though, and without me having to say a word to him, Marcus reached over and brushed it away for me.

  “Thank you.” I smiled softly while he traced his finger down my cheek, my neck and across my shoulder, instantly bringing my skin to life.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Like I was dead.”

  “Definitely not dead.” He sighed through a half-smile. “The dead don’t snore.”

  My leg moved instinctively, flying forward under the duvet to kick him playfully in the shin.

  “Shit, woman. I bruise like a peach.”

  “And you lie like a criminal.”

  Marcus laughed roughly before he reached out and pulled me closer to him. There wasn’t any resistance from me. The first ten minutes of every morning were always my favourite with him. I let him guide me where he needed me to be, and once my hips were flush with his, I looked up into his eyes and tried to school my face to one of indifference.

  “I won’t ever lie to you,” he whispered.

  I believed him, too. He had no reason to lie to me. He’d always been more open and honest than I thought it was possible for a man to be. If anyone was the secret-keeper of the two of us, it was me. That very thought had my face falling just a little, but it didn’t matter how small the flinch, Marcus always saw it.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his hand rising to brush through my hair in soothing, gentle strokes. It lulled me back into a sense of security, and as I closed my eyes and pulled in a breath, I also found the strength to smile. When I looked up to stare at him again, I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. Instead, I closed the distance between us, and I kissed him. I kissed him the way I loved to kiss him – with absolutely nothing held back at all. That didn’t mean it was hungry or greedy. This was slow, almost painfully so. I’d spent so long perfecting this since we’d got together. I loved the way it silenced every thought I’d ever had. When I was mouth to mouth with Marcus, I felt sated. I felt warm. I felt loved and I felt at peace. It was why I knew I could spend my life glued to him this way. I didn’t need any energy to forget myself.

  He eventually broke away, and as his alarm started to blare in the background, he groaned in annoyance before we both began cursing the world of work that was about to drag us away from one another.

  It was just another typical Wednesday in Marcus’ apartment, and here I was after we’d both showered, watching him dress in his suit, shirt and tie, while I stepped into my dress. I didn’t need to ask him to lift the zip at the back for me. Within seconds of the fabric touching my shoulders, he’d crossed the room to fasten me in, planting a small kiss to my neck before he stepped away and grabbed his briefcase.

  “Will I see you tonight?” he asked me on his return, once again pulling me closer to him by the waist. I loved how handsy he was with me. He’d never been shy in showing me how he felt, and I liked that. I liked that a lot. It made me feel desired.

  “I don’t know,” I said, smirking as I swayed in his arms. “I think I might have a date with my other boyfriends tonight. I’ll have to check my calendar.”

  “Give me their names and addresses now.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can kill them all immediately.”

  “But then you’ll go to prison, and I’ll have to find somebody else to make me my full English breakfast on a Sunday morning.”

  “It’ll be worth it.”

  “Life would never be the same,” I joked.

  “Good for me I know an exceptional therapist who could put me back together again once I’d screwed up.” His eyes widened, and so did his grin, right before he kissed me on the lips one last time and turned to leave.

  “I’m a receptionist at a counselling centre,” I called out to him.

  Pausing at the door, he spun around and gave me a winning wink. “Not for long.”

  Then he left to go and spend his day in the office, computer programming, and I found myself moving around the apartment with
a smile on my face, hoping he was right. For reasons I couldn’t quite explain, I’d gravitated towards the psychology courses available at Preston when it came to filling out my final application. Once back in Leeds, I’d headed straight out to as many interviews as I could get my hands on in the counselling environment. These were people’s lives I was going to be responsible for. At the age of just twenty-two, and without adequate experience to feel comfortable enough to counsel a grieving mother or a man with sociopathic tendencies, I’d jumped at the chance to be a receptionist at The Oakmere Centre.

  I was doing what my sister had always told me to do. I was paying attention, trying to look beyond the bubble and learning from afar so when the time came, I could be good at what I chose to do.

  It was late August and the weather was stifling hot for us. West Yorkshire, England, wasn’t exactly notorious for its heatwaves, but here we all were, milling about the streets of Leeds with sweaty foreheads and looks of absolute exhaustion on our faces before 8.30am.

  As I pushed through the glass double doors of the building I worked in, I greeted everyone I knew with a smile. A weird energy seemed to be running through me that morning, and I couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason for it. The balls of my feet felt like they had springs built inside them, and even my blonde ponytail was bouncing behind me with a rare sense of enthusiasm as I slipped through the door to the reception area, spotting Barbara, my colleague, sitting there looking her usual, cheery self.

  “Whoa,” she cried as she spun in her black leather chair and turned to face me. “Turn down the lights, darling. That smile is too bright for this time of morning.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Good morning, Barbara.”