After the Storm (All I've Ever Needed) (7 page)

Like Natalie, he had been one of the sixteen students in the large undergraduate class starting the four year Master’s program.
 
He’d no interest in her except as a sort of walking encyclopedia and someone to borrow a missed lesson notes from when he slept in late and didn’t make an early morning class, until a group conversation about first-time sex changed everything.
 
Natalie had attempted nonchalance, trying to give the impression that she had no wish to discuss her sex life, but the attempt had failed miserably as she had stammered out the words.
 
Michael had sat up and looked at her as though seeing her for the first time.

She’d laughed off his sudden interest at first, never having considered dating a shorter man.
 
But he had an abundance of charm and before long she found herself lying on her sofa one evening exchanging soft kisses with him.

Sex had been good and nowhere as painful as people claimed first times could be.
 
Michael had patiently used his tongue to arouse her, making her come before he took her virginity.

From the very next time they’d made love Michael had spent less time pleasing her.
 
He hadn’t gone down on her as he’d done the first time, though he had made her perform on him.
 
The pattern continued and since he always rushed to leave after sex, she chalked it up to him having a lack of time and hadn’t been overly worried.

She hadn’t told her family that she was dating him, partly because she was embarrassed by the fact he was shorter but more because he categorically refused to meet them.
 
When she had pressed him, he’d slapped her and said that he didn’t want to meet another ‘Trini bastard’, meaning her father.
 
She’d been offended, but he’d been so apologetic afterwards, she’d felt compelled to forgive him.
 
He had cried bitterly as he’d told her about the constant physical abuse he had suffered at his stepfather’s hand as a child.
 
When he talked about going hungry most nights and being so malnourished it stunted his growth, Natalie let go of her lingering resentment and made a secret vow to shower him with enough love to make up for all he had lacked in his early life.

He didn’t strike her in the following weeks and she forgot the incident, chalking it up to a one-time thing.
 
As a student she knew that he didn’t have much funds, but she had anticipated that they would do something special for Valentine’s Day.

She’d bought a short, sexy red dress and a gorgeous pair of kitten-heeled shoes and waited patiently for him to tell her what plans he’d made.
 
When he’d come over after lectures and prepared to leave after they had made love, she’d asked what time he would be back that evening.

He had looked at her blandly and she’d reminded him that it was Valentine’s Day.

That’s when he’d explained the reality of their relationship.

“I thought you understood how it is.”

“Understood how what is?” she’d asked bewildered.

“I thought you understood that a guy like me can’t be seen with a girl like you.”

He’d said enough for her to get the picture, but she’d needed him to be more explicit.
 
“I don’t understand what you mean?”

“You’re my side dish, okay,” he’d said dismissively.
 
“Melissa is my main dish.”

“I thought you broke up with her months ago.”

“A man says what he needs to say when he wants some pussy.”

The horror of it must have shown on her face and his next words were an attempt to soften the blow, but they made her feel worse.
 
“Look, you’re a pretty girl, prettier than Melissa, but you’re too tall, you’re too dark and your hair’s too picky.”

“You’re such a bastard!” she’d yelled at him.

The punch had come so quickly, she was on the floor wondering how she had gotten there a few seconds later.

“Don’t you
ever
call me a bastard again!”

“I’m sorry.”
 
She’d apologized, not calling him the unflattering word, but for reminding him of the truth of his birth, something he’d said his stepfather had taunted him about daily.

Michael had walked out of her flat, leaving her lying on the floor holding the injured side of her face.
 
It had been slightly swollen the next day, but she’d avoided speaking to anyone face to face and thankfully no one at the university had noticed.

He had come around an hour after she got home and apologized for hitting her.
 
He’d said that calling him a bastard was the cruelest thing she could have said to him.
 
And again he’d seemed so vulnerable and remorseful, she had forgiven him.

When he’d tried to make love to her she’d refused, reminding him that he’d admitted he and Melissa were still together.

With the speed of a striking snake, he had grabbed her by her hair and forced her down in front of him, opened his fly and made her go down on him, holding her in place while he’d emptied himself.
 
Then he’d left the bathroom door open and let her watch as he’d moistened and lathered a wash rag and cleaned himself.
 
It was then she’d realized that he wasn’t fastidious as she’d always thought him, just diligent in erasing all traces of their sexual activity before going home to his girlfriend.

She’d stumbled to the bathroom and thrown up as soon as the front door closed behind him.

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.

He had enveloped her in a half-drunken bear hug on his arrival and she’d barely stopped herself from crying out in agony.
 
Thankfully, he had kicked off his shoes and immediately gone to sleep, his feet dangling over the arm of the chair.

He hadn’t awoken until after midday.

Natalie had avoided his gaze as she had made him brunch and finally he had demanded playfully, “What’s the matter with you?
 
Did I fart in my sleep or something?”

Natalie had been forced to look him in the eye and when he saw her face, he’d sworn violently.

“Who did this to you?”
 
He’d cupped her jaw gently as he turned her face up to the light and it had brought tears to her eyes.
 
Not knowing about Michael, Nathan assumed the worst.
 
“My God, Natalie, did someone rape you?”

“No.
 
It was Michael…my boyfriend.”

“Where is he?”
 
Nathan had looked around the flat, as if hoping that Michael was hiding somewhere, so he could drag him out and beat him senseless.