there was something about you that always made natalie’s heart race.

you weren’t like the other girls on the team — you didn’t look at her with judgmental eyes or whisper cruel things behind her back, didn’t throw shade or make passive-aggressive comments.

not at all.

you were so sweet and kind that natalie could swear her teeth ached every time you smiled at her. you were untouchable, out of reach, forbidden.

in what world would you — a rich girl from a religious family — ever look at her the same way she looked at you? it was impossible, completely wrong, and it hurt to even imagine a future for the two of you.

sometimes, when you walked past her in the hallway and that soft, sweet scent you wore lingered in the air, natalie felt unclean. it was a kind of sin she never learned how to name, something that burned in her chest and mixed with the taste of cigarettes and regret.

you always spoke so calmly, as if the world could never touch you, as if the wilderness would never swallow you whole. natalie envied that in you: your faith, your innocence, the way you seemed so untouched in a place that was slowly breaking everyone else apart.

but there were nights when she caught herself thinking about you — your gentle hands, your soft voice, your eyes that seemed to see something in her no one else could. and in those moments, she felt the weight of guilt pressing down on her.

because loving you felt like desecrating something sacred.

“are you listening?” your voice pulled her back, dragging her out of her head and into the chaos around them.

“you’re bleeding....” was all she managed to say, still a little dazed from the crash and everything happening around them.