Nothing, she's too stunned

Chapter 3 - Stay the night

"No, absolutely not. We are not doing this," Samantha refused before even setting down the first box.

Natalie was taken aback. Her mind crumbled piece by piece; like an eggshell. Something forgotten over the past fifteen months began to leak out, rising to a place where it had once taken root.

"Your little excavation ruined my already miserable school life!" Samantha snapped.

"Do you have any idea what you caused? I should beat you up right here and now."

A small bump. Natalie fell backward landing on her cushion, a box fell heavily in her lap. She didn’t want to hear this. She was over Samantha.

The furious woman tossed her boxes aside without a care for her belongings and stepped closer.

Four steps away—Natalie remembered sitting on that bench, cornered.

Three steps away—"You’re going to move, not me. Are we clear?"

Two steps away—Natalie remembered that night: the pain on her neck and every word she had imagined Samantha would say to her.

One step away—Natalie’s mind raced. How was she going to organize a new apartment? A new moving truck, fees, schedules—her rationality couldn’t keep up. Emotion took over.

Samantha loomed in front of her, imposing, menacing. No. She would not be scared off.

"I didn’t want this to happen to you. I—I looked up to you and—" Natalie explained desperately.

"You sure are looking up to me now," Samantha interrupted, her voice thick with anger.

Before Natalie could respond, she felt the rush and then the sharp impact of a forehand across her left cheek.

"You’ll get out, one way or another," Samantha threatened. "And if I have to drag you out by your hair, so be it"

Natalie turned slowly, revealing the red mark blooming on her face. Her eyes were teary, but to Samantha they signaled neither pain nor hate—only sad acceptance.

Natalie nodded in defeat. Samantha knelt to her eye level to inspect the damage she had caused.

"Mhrm".

*Too much? * Samantha thought to herself.

Nothig happened for five seconds.

Suddenly Samantha's body tensed defensively as Natalie reached out. Warm fingers made contact with her cheekbones—soft, gentle. They moved carefully, admiringly, until Natalie’s whole hand rested on Samantha’s right cheek, mirroring the spot she had just struck.

"It’s okay if it’s you," Natalie said.

Those eyes. That broken smile. That expression of sadness, distress, confusion—and, more paradoxical than anything, gratitude.

Samantha was stunned. A core memory she had long buried resurfaced. Her own eyes grew glassy, reminiscent.

That took Natalie by surprise. She had never seen Samantha like this—never imagined it. A glimpse of vulnerability.

"Alright, time’s up, everyone! Show the class your results," Mrs. Fox announced.

She circled the students’ desks, examining and judging their paintings. When she stopped at Samantha’s, she gasped audibly.

"Has your mother been showing you movies you shouldn’t watch, Sam?" Mrs. Fox asked.

She stared down at the chibi-styled skulls with tiny stick-figure legs dancing around a burning pentagram.

When Samantha’s father had left the world too early, her mother drowned herself in various art to cope: gothic rock to silence the voices in her head, ink to fill the void in her heart, trad-goth clothes to cover the cracks in her soul.

It was the first time Samantha had been exposed to it—and she fell in love instantly.

It didn’t make her a complete outcast, but some kids avoided her. They simply couldn’t understand.

She shook her head and continued. Samantha finished her painting even after the class ended. Mrs. Fox asked her to step outside.

It was raining. The small glass roof over the entrance barely sheltered the kids rushing back inside.

"Soulless! Soulless!" , "Ginger-witch!" Random children yelled as they passed Samantha.

Irritated, she looked around and saw no one nearby. Then she heard sobbing from around the corner. Glancing down at her fancy shoes, she felt her disdain for walking into the rain.

After rolling her eyes, she decided to approach. Deliberate steps through the muddy rain—splish, splash—were soon drowned out by the crying.

A pathetic sight. Jane Ugger was cowering in the mud, the edges of her red hair filthy, her white dress streaked with green and brown stains.

It was clear Jane had been pushed in the mud, cast out—yet Samantha couldn’t have cared less.

"Kick her while she’s down," she thought, a sadistic impulse rising with a grin.

"It would be so easy. Just raise your shoe and ki—"

Nothing happened for several seconds.

Jane’s sobbing stopped as two small arms wrapped around her trembling figure.

Samantha covered her, though her slight frame did little to shield them from the rain. Her forearms brushed Jane’s cold, gravelly, uncomfortable skin—yet Samantha tried her best.

They crouched there awkwardly in silence, the rain the only marker of time until the school bell rang the end of break.

Samantha’s concept of beauty had always been shaped by grief, dark colors, and symbols of ****. And then Jane turned her head and looked at her with those eyes. With that broken smile. That expression of sadness, confusion—and, more paradoxical than anything, gratitude.

Natalie awaited a response. Her wrist was quickly pushed aside.

"Got anything useful in there?" Samantha asked, as if nothing had happened. She ogled Natalie's box.

Even though she wasn't sure how to feel about this sudden change in demeanor, Natalie happily opened the box to reveal her belongings.

Embarrassingly, the first things visible were her underwear, plugged in before her actual clothing. Samantha didn't care; she just tossed the delicate strings aside to see what was hidden beneath.

The clothing collection surprised her. These were no cheap, easy knock-offs but carefully chosen trad-goth pieces.

"You did your research," Samantha admitted.

Natalie nodded.

"I thought you were a poser. What the hell is your deal?" Samantha continued, scoffing.

Natalie stared first at her underwear, which had been tossed around the room, then shifted her gaze to the ground.

"I studied you," Natalie confessed.

Samantha tilted her head.

"How you dress, how you behave..." Natalie continued, curling strands of hair around her index finger.

"Well, that's not creepy," Samantha remarked sarcastically.

Natalie shook her head.

"Please don't think badly of me. I—" Natalie ground her teeth.

"Oh, next you gonna tell me where my lost fidget spinner is?" Samantha remarked psychotic.

Natalie shook her head once more.

A long deliberate sigh buzzed through the room.

Samantha helped Natalie up from the ground. The box fell sideways, spilling the rest of its contents onto the floor.

"I just wanted to be friends with you," Natalie continued, stuttering.

This was so out of character, so out of place to Samantha. She knew Natalie was popular with the boys and had plenty of friends. Why would she be so anxious around her? It didn't make any damn sense.

"This may sound weird, but... I just couldn't stop thinking about you," Natalie exclaimed in a rush, speaking purely from emotion.

"I genuinely needed to know you. I think I—"

Samantha already knew what she was going to say. In her defiance, in her safe-space, she had built a wall of flames and sworn to burn any intruder who had the audacity to cross that border.

Jane's hair was being combed. She was a quiet girl—shy, to say the least.

Samantha kept combing, Jane's legs kicked happily while they were play-pretending; barber.

They had walked the same way home before parting at an intersection. One path led to the local park—Jane took that way—while Samantha continued down the street, passing an old bakery.

They switched from racing to holding hands, back to racing. Once Jane had hit her head on a pole of a street lamp while walking backwards; being immersed in their conversation.

The squeaking of a slide. First Jane, then Samantha. Samantha had needed a pep talk because she suffered from vertigo. Jane was laughing; proud to be of help.

For three years they grew closer, inseparable even. Samantha could feel the thick ink being washed away.

Skulls made space for smiling faces. Dark clouds faded into rainbows. Pentagrams shifted to merry-go-rounds.

Mrs. Fox was relieved about Samantha’s change in art.

Samantha finally found her happy-place and she wished it would have lasted forever.

"Where's your friend? It's five already," Samantha’s mom worried. It was the first time she could share a genuine smiles with Samantha.

Jane's influence was positively infectious. Jane's bond extended to her, it grew; so much so she could be considered a second daughter.

The cookies on the baking tray lost their steam, grew cold. Samantha took a single bite while watching out the window. It rained. Tiny pearls wobbled when a butterfly was caught in a spider's net; flapping its wings to no avail, unable to flee while the spider approached.

"She'll come. She always does," Samantha pouted. Her mother brought more cookies with a saddened expression.

One week later Samantha dropped a newspaper. Tears welling a miniscule pond over the latest article. The headline stated that Jane had last been seen with a hooded man holding her hand at the local park.

They never found her.

Mrs. Fox looked solemnly over to Samantha. She had no words for the loss of her student. It was her job to comfort her, to protect her students from harm and yet she couldn’t do anything as Samantha's almost lifeless eyes glared down her drawing.

Samantha stroke a black cross over her rainbow painting, ruining its initial intent.

Back at the apartment Samantha snapped out of her memories.

"Not interested," Samantha said preemptively.

*No, not like this,* Natalie thought.

She carefully placed her hands in Samantha's.

"I've been avoiding this for over a year. I didn't want your senior year to be miserable, and now I've screwed up my only chance to—"

Her hands were brushed aside.

"I don't need friends. I don't need you," Samantha interrupted, ready to turn away.

Natalie took one heavy breath, gathering all her courage. Her heart wrenched, twisted, and pulsed as if it had run a marathon.

"Not just friends," she confessed awkwardly.

Where had that come from? How could she say something like that right to Samantha’s face? This would only make things worse, wouldn't it?

"Augh, you don't even know me," Samantha reasoned annoyed, almost turning around.

Now or never. Natalie took the initiative, grabbed Samantha's hands once more, and placed them on her own neck, forcing Samantha to look her directly in the eye.

"That's all I need to know for now.”