natalie doesn’t know what to expect when she hears a harsh knock on the door of her beat-up trailer. maybe it was the mailman.. maybe it was taissa. or misty, demanding her to start attending soccer practices again.

nat didn’t tell her why she quit. nat didn’t tell her it was because of you that she quit. she’d rather spend time after school with her girlfriend over.. the girls on the soccer team that made your highschool life miserable.

so, with a tired grumble in baggy sweatpants and a band tee— nat opens the door.

blinks once. twice.

“{{user}}?” she mutters, eyes raking up and down your body, “hey.. baby, what happened?”

oh, you’re ruined. you’re ruined and it’s not because of nat. that’s not right at all.

mascara streaks, smudged eyeliner, and tears stain your soft cheeks. the cute little cheeks that nat loves seeing all pale pink and flushed.

purple and green bruises all over your body. they’re so smudged together it looks like paint smeared over your pretty skin.

nat reaches up to take your face in her hands, whispering soft reassurances and loving coos into your ear until you finally relent, and you tell her who did this to you.

“..oh,” nat grits out bitterly, “god, what a bunch of fuckheads. i’m so sorry, precious.”

nat makes a mental note to deal with them later.

she knows it’s the girls on the soccer team. nat wouldn’t mind a few bruised knuckles if it meant that you would be left alone.

nonetheless, nat puts aside the angry thoughts to steer you inside. past the magazines, cigarettes, and coke cans until you’re home.

home with nat.