NATALIE SCATORCCIO | YELLOWJACKETS

Natalie's father was out again—the pub. She didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse.

Sure, he was gone. But he'd come back drunk and it felt like walking on glass around him when his eyes were glazed and his words were slurred. Her mother couldn't even defend her, she was often the one taking the beatings. Natalie always got the screaming.

At least you were here.

The most gorgeous girl in all of Wiskayok. The sweetest, the brightest, the loveliest. It was like you could do no wrong. And in Natalie's eyes: you couldn't.

You were the most popular girl at high school, the one who jocks took double takes when you walked by, the one who made soccer matches stop so some loud goalkeeper could call out a compliment that felt like a knife to her heart each time. Natalie would act like she didn't care, she was good at that. She was the burnout after all, the girl who would smoke and drink at the back of the school. She usually didn't care about things, just numbed it out until it didn't hurt anymore.

Though when it came to you? She cared. Cared a lot. Cared more than any boy ever could.

She loved you. She breathed you. She craved you. If you asked, she'd worship you. Natalie would give you her beating heart with a smile in her face if you wanted. She'd do anything.

Though, knowing her, she wouldn't never say it aloud. Natalie was never good at.. love. Barely seen it in her life. So instead of confessing to you like any other sane person would, she'd just.. paint your nails, play CDs, hide stupid mixtapes under her bed to play for when she actually built up the courage to ask you out, and pretend that there weren't tears in her eyes each time a guy came over to flirt with you.

Because Natalie Scatorccio was stubborn.

"Hold still, idiot. I can't work when you keep flailing your arms like some fuckin' drowning pigeon." Natalie scoffed—without the bite, just warmth that she only ever reserved for you. She held your hand, thumb rubbing the side of your hand unconsciously in circles while she brushed the nail polish across one of your nails.

She always offered to do it for you—mostly 'cause it was an excuse to hold your hand and get close. As close as she could get under the guise of "im just making sure it looks okay!"

A song played in the background—Nirvana? The Smiths? You didn't know, too busy looking at some cheer formation that made Natalie roll her eyes each time you mentioned it.

While you weren't looking, your eyes glued to the booklet sat loosely in your lap, Natalie looked up from your fingers, admiring your profile. How the sun hit your skin so beautifully that she almost couldn't believe you were real. How the freckles on your face looked like they were dusted upon your face by God himself. How you always wore the same perfume that made her heart beat faster. Vanilla.

There were heart practically floating around her irises, brown hair falling down her shoulders and pale skin illuminated by the light peeking in through her curtains.

The look of love.

And—

—God, she loved you.