After the Storm (All I've Ever Needed)(15)

Her face had still ached from his punch the previous night and with her scalp tingling in places where he had gripped her hair so tightly he’d pulled several strands out by the root, she had felt as thought she was living a nightmare. She’d kept willing herself to wake up.

She’d always wanted to marry the first man she made love with, although she hadn’t expected to be a virgin on her wedding night. She had shared something with Michael that she would never share with another man and she wanted them to at least remain friends. He had been struggling to complete coursework even with her help, she knew he would fail on his own, unless he could find someone willing to do most of the work for him as she’d done.

He didn’t attend lectures for the next two days.

Natalie waited apprehensively for his return, hoping that he would be in a better mood so they would be able to sit down and talk rationally.

She badly wanted to tell someone in her family, but she was too embarrassed to explain the full nature of the abuse. Her mother worked with victims of abuse and would have insisted that Natalie pressed charges. And even after all he had done, Natalie couldn’t have borne the thought of Michael locked away in a prison cell. Her father or Nathan, both almost a foot taller, wouldn’t have hesitated beating Michael to a pulp. The thought of either of them ending up in the very cell she wanted Michael to avoid was even more harrowing. And she couldn’t have ruled out the possibility of her fiery mother picking up the nearest available object and bashing Michael’s brains out if she found out about the abuse and he was in proximity.

The swelling on Natalie’s face was less visible but still very painful when Michael rapped on her door that Friday evening. She peeked through the spy hole in the door at him before letting him in. He looked calm as he entered, taking off his Nike trainers at the door as she’d always requested before asking her for a copy of her notes. He’d acted as though nothing had happened, for the first time not apologizing for hitting her.

Not wanting to antagonize him, she hadn’t brought the subject, deciding if he didn’t have the decency to at least offer an apology, she didn’t want his friendship. The next time he could find someone else to borrow the notes from because she would wash her hands of him.

When he’d said that he had to leave but needed a blowjob first, she’d thought she’d misheard him. He repeated the request saying that Melissa didn’t believe in going down on a man and he needed it done badly.

Something inside Natalie had finally snapped and she had slapped him as hard as she could.

He had thrown three punches in quick succession, one to the left of her face, close enough to the previous blow to make her see stars and another to her right jaw before driving a last hard blow into her stomach, forcing the air out of her body. For several moments he’d stood watching as she gaped like a fish out of water, trying to catch her breath. Finally she collapsed onto the floor, instinctively rolling into a ball as he’d then started to kick her and call her every derogatory name he could think of. She had been so grateful when she had examined the painful but superficial bruises later, that he hadn’t been wearing his trainers and had had to be mindful of his toes. Finally his anger had abated and he’d made a dismissive sound and left, carrying his footwear in his hand.

Natalie had lain there curled up in a fetal position for over an hour, too shocked to move and feeling so worthless she’d wanted to die. The kicks had been less painful than the punches, but somehow they made her feel a thousand times worse. She’d felt strangely like she had disappeared, had become so empty she was nothing. Only the pain of her numerous injuries had reminded her that she was alive.

She had regretted hitting Michael, but his words had been verbal slap. The fury she had unleashed had been startling. It had been as if his rage lived just beneath his skin waiting for an opportunity to unfurl. She had known then that Michael was beyond her help. The rapid escalation of violence had been too great—he’d seemed capable of killing her the next time.

She had known that he’d needed to be made accountable for his actions, but each time she thought of the unhappy boy he must have been, her resolve had wavered.

Finally she had made her way to the bathroom, holding on to the walls to keep herself upright. She had cleaned her teeth and washed her face gingerly, avoiding her own reflection—knowing then that she wouldn’t report Michael and had been too disgusted and ashamed to meet her own gaze.

She had stayed in bed the next day, just lying on her back staring up at the ceiling, too distraught to eat.

She might have stayed in the same position indefinitely if Nathan hadn’t called her at four the next morning to say that he was on his way over to crash on her sofa. He had gone to a nightclub to celebrate one of his friend’s nineteenth birthday and had drunk too many beers. Natalie’s place was nearer to the nightclub, but she had tried to persuade him to go home instead. He had pleaded with her, saying that he didn’t want their parents to see him in his inebriated state and she had given in.