When You Come to Me (25 page)

“I think we should get up early and watch the sunrise, what do you think about that, Natalie?”

She nodded hesitantly. “Yes, that sounds nice…”

He chuckled into her cheek a little, pulled her closer, took a deep breath and said, “I meant what I said earlier, Natalie…I just want it to be you and me…it doesn’t have to be tomorrow, or the next day…but someday…”

“Mm-hmm,” was all that she said into his shoulder blade, attempting to sound gleeful.

She left Anthony lying in bed when the clock struck midnight. Tiptoeing, she reached into her suitcase, retrieved the same white dress she’d worn earlier that night, then frantically attempted to search for the keys to Anthony’s car, as Anthony stirred softly in bed, as the sound of the waves from the open veranda door poured through the room.

She found the keys in Ant’s jacket pocket, and when she dropped them, she froze, and waited for Anthony to stop stirring. It was then that she questioned if the trip was worth it all, if she could muster up the strength it took to stand up to him and say what she felt.

If she even knew what she felt at all anymore…

Natalie soared down the causeway, had a general idea of where she was going, heading in the direction of the south end of the barrier islands, keeping her eyes ardently focused on the road, as if she was confident that some greater force would guide her.

She drove across a bridge, coming into the coastal part of St. Petersburg, in Ant’s black Lexus, with only the music in the car, the stars, the fleeting streetlights and the black water to keep her company.

She reached Passe-a-Grille moments later, an island which was only two blocks wide, giving a darkening view of the Gulf on one side and the deep Atlantic on another. She veered off of Gulf Boulevard, finding a narrow road called Tidewater Alley. She pulled off the side of that road, into a bed of baby sea oats, killed the engine.

It was only then she allowed herself to feel guilty. She waited till it passed before she got out of the car, her hands a shaking mess, her body warm, her thoughts blurred.

She attempted a deep breath, to clear her mind, and headed in the direction of the beach, praying that being near the water would bring her solace.

It was there, walking along the shoreline, that she found Brandon. And she walked toward him, walked faster than she’d ever walked in her entire life, became only sensation then, losing her breath in the process.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, his hands found her waist, and he lifted her up, his strength only heightening her desire for him, and she kissed him, hard, long, deep, losing herself momentarily, and a single tear ran the length of her face.

And then he lowered her onto the grainy sand, she still held onto him, their foreheads grazing, and he whispered against her lips, “Do you love him, Tallie?”

She sighed, played with his hair a little, taking in its scent, and nodded, “Yes…y—yes, I do, Brandon…”

She said this to spite him. She watched his face fall.

Silence followed. She couldn’t imagine that she’d say that to him, and she didn’t know whether it felt good or bad, and she wondered if it hurt him.

“Do—do you l—love
her
?”

She felt him sigh against her face, felt the warm air. “I don’t know,” he told her.

And they kissed again.

“You hurt me,” she told him, feeling another tear fall.

“I know,” he told her. “I’m sorry.”

“And you’re with her…”

“I know,” he said. And he kissed the side of her face.

She pulled away from him, he saw the tears in her eyes, and he reached up to wipe them away. She slapped his hand down, and wiped them away herself.

She didn’t need him…never really needed him for anything…

“That’s all you can say, Brandon? ‘You know’? ‘
You’re sorry
’?”

He stared at her.

“Do you think that seeing you with her is easy? Do you think that you can just say sorry and expect it to all go away? It made me sick, Brandon…it really did…”

“Well, how do you think I felt, Tallie? How the fuck do you think I felt when I saw that guy with his hands all over you? Kissing on you like you’re some piece of meat? Do you think that seeing you with him made me feel any better?”

“What makes you think that I’m at all concerned with your feelings, Brandon? What makes you think that I give a rat’s behind about you and your feelings? How do you think I felt, Brandon? Did you ever consider my feelings? You walked out of my life without so much as a phone call? Do you think that that made me feel better? You know what? You make me sick...you make me sick!
Go
! Go have fun with her…leave me be! Leave me with my life and I’ll leave you with
hers
…I think that’s what you wanted all along, huh?
Her
…”

She backed away slowly, eyes locked to his, waiting for the moment when he’d begin to follow her.

But he called after her quietly, extending his hand, his deep voice barely above the sound of the waves. Natalie only continued to back away, hoping that her heart was still intact, hoping that the warmth on her lips would go away, hoping for enough strength to get into that car and drive away.

Inside, she shook as she climbed into the driver’s seat and wiped the tears from her cheek. She took another glance toward the moon-smeared shoreline, saw his shadowed silhouette against the starry, black canvas and sighed. She convinced herself that this was the right thing to do.

And as she started the engine, her insides warmed to the small triumph.

HE COULD EASILY REMEMBER when he fell in love with Natalie. She was only a sophomore at the time, with a perfect little bottom, legs for days, and the kind of smile that made him forget his name, or anything else that happened before she walked into his life. She wore her hair in those high ponytails, had this indescribably sweet southern drawl that reached high levels of cuteness whenever she yelled at him for belching in her face without excusing himself or whenever he played too rough during their constant wrestling. She’d steal his favorite Bulldogs pullover at least once a week, and he loved the way it hung off of her body.

He’d just broken up with Sophia for the first time that year, and Natalie was at his house more often than he went to class each week, reading her Organics Lab book, the wisps of her delicate black hair, falling into her face, sitting on his grandmother’s worn sofa in his living room. She’d piddle and paddle back and forth from the sofa to the kitchen, barefoot, the pullover hiding her bottom, picking pieces off of the cake that she’d just baked for him and Scotty to eat. The boys never minded her being there. Him, especially, who knew that he loved her each time that she touched him, or rested her head on his shoulder, or made him laugh with her awkward facial expressions.

He loved her to the point that it made him ache, to the point that he thought less about his mistakes with Sophia and more about how the sun hit Natalie’s face in such a way that her brown skin glowed. He wanted her so badly that he lost sleep, and counted the moments until he could see her again. But when he was around her, he pretended to be as carefree as possible, hoping that his heart didn’t cave in each time that she gave him that doe-eyed smirk.

It all made sense now, didn’t it? The way Natalie stood there before him on the beach, her dark eyes watching him closely, as if to study him, as if she didn’t know every piece of him already, as if she didn’t know why he’d disappeared for so long, as if she couldn’t feel that he still loved her, even now, when he lay next to Sophia, his first in many ways.

He had come to the realization some time ago that he didn’t make much sense without her, and he knew it each time that he past a marker that reminded him of her; something inexplicably beautiful that he didn’t notice before, that he only noticed when he was around her.

He lost something inside of him when he left her. How funny he was to think that the missing pieces of him were with Sophia, the person he once devoted his world to, the epitome of what he thought love was, and how he was supposed to feel.

After he left Natalie, he remained in Georgia, becoming a nomad on the road. Everything he once valued in his life was caving in on him. And he couldn’t breathe.

He strangely left everything behind: his classes, his job, his friends, Natalie. It seemed that nothing really made sense to him anymore, even Natalie, the one person he genuinely treasured more than anything else that this life could offer him.

He left her because he felt she didn’t love him. Was that not the craziest thing he could ever feel? He’d sense that, when he looked into her eyes, he saw nothing, and was reminded of the same sensation the night of their one-year anniversary. How his stomach turned when sensed that she didn’t want a forever with him, despite the fact that he couldn’t even fathom enduring a life without her, landing on a point where all his thoughts, and all his feelings revolved around her, protecting her, being with her, laughing with her. He was sure that those feelings evoked in the presence of Natalie made his time with Sophia seem trite, jaded and completely obsolete.

Yes, loving Tallie was different. Loving her harvested nerves that had never been stepped on before. He was a man wildly in love, falling further, fast, deep and hard, on the cusp of one of the biggest transitions in his early adult life.

He’d gone away to clear his head, find a straight path of thought, find solace. And then Scotty called one night, saying that she’d come to the house on Trent road.

“She was crying,” Scotty had informed him, sounding rather pitiful. “I’ve never seen her cry that hard.”

He didn’t respond – the idea of him doing that to her made his stomach ache a little.

“She was worried about you,” Scotty continued. “She thought that something may have happened to you, but she didn’t know what. She didn’t know what to do with herself. There was no way that any of us could reach you. You need to call her, Brandon. You need to call her and straighten all of this out with her. It’s Natalie, man. She doesn’t deserve this. If you still love her, you’d call.”

A wave of guilt fell over Brandon’s senses. He had no choice but to agree with Scotty – Natalie definitely didn’t deserve this type of treatment, especially from him. But what would happened when he picked up that phone, dialed her number and heard her voice on the other end? Would he lose his inner sanity at the sound of it? He didn’t think she’d receive him as well as she’d done before – there was simply too much damage circling between them for him to plainly explain his actions to her in a reasonable manner and have her be the same understanding and nurturing Natalie that’d she’d been before. If anything, Scotty had always been that one unswerving friend, the one that knew and understood everything about him and his bullshit when he was sure that no one else did. Scotty should have known where he’d been hiding and why he had to leave.

“Where the fuck have you been, man?” Scotty had asked him.

“Around,” Brandon said, plainly. “And I’ll be home soon…”

He came coursing into the city limits of Athens shortly following their phone conversation, trembling at the sight of all the memories that he left behind, feeling as though the city had changed and the people in it.

He’d returned to Athens, praying that she’d receive him as wholeheartedly as she’d done before. He desperately wanted forgiveness for his foolishness, for his stupidity. She simply had to know that they were meant to be…they were always meant to be – although there was no way of knowing whether or not she’d still be there. Perhaps she’d decided to flee as he had done; perhaps the memories were just too much for her to bare. But no, he didn’t give his Natalie the credit that she deserved – she was a fighter, a stubborn, effervescently beautiful fighter, who thrived in finishing the things that she started, no matter how arduous, no matter how dreadful.

He was walking downtown his first night back, reveling in their familiar haunts, en route to meet Scotty at a pub at the corner of Brent and Laurel. He’d passed by Sabby’s Caribbean, had glanced through the window, and spotted a girl who sat close to the wide-paned glass that looked very similar to Natalie. He’d slid his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, narrowed his eyes and glared at her. He’d identified the smoothness of her brown skin, the way her nose wrinkled when she found something to be really funny. He’d recognized those brown ears, that stuck out whenever she wore her hair in a tight ponytail, and he’d watched her eyes change the way they only did when she felt really vulnerable.

She sat across from another guy, at a small, round candlelit table, sipping her drink bashfully, watching the guy lean into her and reach for her hand delicately. Something inside of Brandon made him feel sick, and he resisted the urge to run inside, knock the guy’s lights out, and take Natalie away from him. That was his answer – the one that he’d dreaded learning – Natalie Chandler had moved on.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

He met up with Scotty at the bar, sat beside his friend on the stool, and had downed the first bottle of Budweiser that was placed before him with masculine ease.
Hell, if I can’t have you, I can have this and be just as satisfied…you’ll see…

He then turned his head to the right, just before he poured all of his sorrows into a shallow glass of scotch that followed, and Sophia appeared through a break in the crowd, standing alone, sipping slowly from a martini glass, her loose curls pinned up nicely, her black dress clinging to each part of her body. She’d approached him slowly, and that same sneaky grin that had captured him so many years ago, left him spellbound. She was a welcomed dark silhouette, a stunning vision to both his blurry vision and wounded heart.

“Well, hello, there, Randy…”

Calling him that took him back to the moment when he’d first told her that he loved her, sitting outside of her dormitory on the rickety porch swing. They were only eighteen, and he’d pushed her flaxen curls out of her face, had kissed her full lips softly, had told her that he loved her, and she’d called him
Randy
. He could have sworn that she was an angel then, and he’d thought that nothing made more sense than being with her, had fallen in love with her baby hands, her porcelain skin, her light giggle.