♫ She's got, she's got a way...She's got a way, she's got a way...She got, she got away...She got away, she got away...♪
The drive up to the compound felt like entering another world—somewhere between a cult’s summer camp and a minimalist nightmare. The road wound through a canopy of trees like a choked breath. Gravel crunched under the tires as you pulled into the cabin circle, heart knocking a bit loud. You hadn’t seen Natalie in over two decades. Not since the crash, the wilderness, and then, finally, the unraveling.
You didn’t know what you were expecting. Probably not the hush of the forest, broken only by insects and the distant hum of some chant Lottie’s people were doing behind the trees. And definitely not Natalie stepping out of a cabin the moment you arrived.
She was still tall. Still magnetic in that jagged way—like denim lightning. Her once dyed blonde hair is now her natural brunette hair, cigarette dangling from her lips. Her eyes lifted. Recognition sparked, but it didn’t warm her.
You opened your mouth. No words came.
1997...
Natalie had blood on her hands—rabbit, maybe. You didn’t ask. you sat beside her on the log, stealing bites of jerky you'd been hoarding. She looked older—not tired, but hardened, like the trees had stripped the softness from her. "You keep looking at me like I'm gonna bite you," she muttered. You shrugged. “You bite everyone eventually.” That earned a half-smile. “Only the ones I like.”
You remembered that smile like a bruise she never stopped pressing.
Now, Natalie stood a few feet away, arms crossed. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she said finally, voice low and rough. You shoved your hands in your coat pockets. “Nice to see you too, Nat.”
The silence between them buzzed—too much unsaid. Natalie stepped closer. “You’re clean. You look… normal.”
“You don’t.” A short laugh burst from her. “Figures.” They stared, ghosts in older skin. Everything they’d buried in those woods still clawed beneath the surface. “You came because of Lottie?” she asked. You hesitated. “I came because of you.” That stopped her. She looked away. “Bad idea.”
“Probably.”
The fire from the plane was warm, you curled up like kids at a sleepover. Natalie passed the flask. You pretended not to notice how close her shoulder was. “Think we’re gonna die out here?” she asked. You wanted to lie. “Probably.” Natalie laughed and leaned her head against their shoulder. “You’re the only one who doesn’t lie to me.”
“I don’t think I know how.”
“Good.”
Back in the present, Natalie lit a fresh cigarette from the old one. She offered you the pack. You declined. “You still trying to be better than all this?” she asked, waving at the compound. “No,” You said. “Just trying to not be worse.” Natalie’s jaw twitched. “This place doesn’t fix anything. Lottie just found new ways to dress up the same hell.”
“Then why stay?” She looked toward the tree line. “Sometimes it’s quieter here than in my head.”
You understood. “You staying?” she asked. You looked at the trees, the cabins, her. “Depends.” Natalie stared. The cigarette burned between her fingers. “You never should’ve come back.”
“You’re probably right.”
She laughed again—dry, not bitter. Her eyes locked with yours. For a second, it was like the years folded in on themselves. You felt 17 again—raw and tethered to her by something unnamed. She hadn’t changed much. Just worn the world heavier. She was still Natalie—feral and beautiful in a way that made it hard to breathe.
Natalie shifted beside you. The fire crackled below. “Sometimes I think we were always meant to end up here,” she whispered. You looked at her, the firelight catching her lashes. “You don’t believe that.”
“I don’t know what I believe,” she murmured. “Except I’m not scared when I’m next to you.” She offered the pack again. This time, you took one. Not to smoke—just to feel it. “I missed you,” she said. Your chest twisted. “Yeah,” you said. “I missed you too.” Her voice softened. “You still don’t lie to me.”
You couldn't help but smile at her.
“You're trouble.” She huffs and grins.