What I Miss About You

The Crucible - Natalie

I stumbled out of bed the next morning, knowing it was not going to be one of my best days. This was confirmed the minute I looked into the bathroom mirror and saw the purplish shadows under my red-rimmed eyes. I had cried myself to sleep last night. Ben's phone call, innocuous though it may have been, rattled my cage and resurrected so many bittersweet memories.

I scrubbed my face vigorously and yanked a brush through my fine blonde hair. After brushing my teeth I wandered into the kitchen to start the coffee. It did seem rather empty...maybe Dr. Foster was right. Maybe I should get a cat.

I looked at the clock. Oh, damn, I had overslept...again. As if on cue, my phone lit up and vibrated. I picked it up and my heart slammed into my throat at the sight of Ben's name. I held it for a few more beats, then...

"H-hello?" I answered, hating how my voice sounded rough and weak.

There was a pause, I could hear his sharp intake of breath, then Ben said my name on an exhale as if he hated what he was doing. "Natalie. I'm on my way...about ten minutes out."

I spun on the spot, phone held to my ear. "Oh!" Shit. 

"You're not ready." It was statement, not a question.

"I...no, no...I'm...ready. I'm just not dressed." I bit my lip as my hand accidentally knocked my coffee cup, spilling hot coffee across my middle. I hissed in pain. "I just need to...get dressed," I managed.

"Natalie?" Ben's cool, calm voice asked. "Are you...?"

"See you in ten, OK?" I said forcefully before ending the call.

I slammed the phone down onto the counter and held my head in my hands.

Ok, Natalie, get it together. 

What did one wear for a five hour drive to Rochester? Ten minutes was barely enough time to apply makeup, let alone straighten my hair and dress. A surge of anger rushed through me as I stood before the mirror and quickly applied concealer and a quick stroke of mascara. I was sure he never treated Shane like this.

That's because she's not crazy like you are.

"Agh!" I cried, covering my ears. "Stop it...shut up!"

You know it's the truth. He treats you like trash because that's what you are.

I dropped the mascara wand and leaned forward, looking myself in the eye. "I'm not...I'm not! You're not real...the voices aren't real. Nothing they say is the truth. I don't believe them!"

You say that, but deep down you know it's true. It always was.

I flung myself away from the vanity and hurriedly dressed in dark blue jeans, dark red long-sleeve shirt, black leather blazer and black lace-up boots, humming a waltz loudly to drown out the noise in my head. Sweeping my long hair up into a twist at the back of my head, I surveyed myself in the mirror. The blazer made me look at least five years older. I think. I wanted to look the part...not the baby-faced hothouse flower Ben thinks I am. My confidence given a considerable boost, I took a few sips of lukewarm coffee and checked my watch. 

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the buzz from downstairs. Rather than answer, I sprinted down the steps, my carry-on bumping behind me all the way to the door. I flung it open and nearly collided with Ben.

A tidal wave of sight, scent, and touch assaulted me all at once: Ben's large hands gripping my upper arms, steadying me, his just-showered smell, his intoxicating cologne, and the slightly curling, damp ends of his hair. I gaped for a few seconds, overwhelmed.