Perfectly Dysfunctional

“No,” I fought against him as I wasn’t able to wipe the tears that were flowing. I hated being hormonal. As I struggled, his grip tightened around my wrist as he tried to get me to listen, “I don’t want to fucking hear it anymore Nathan, what’s the point? If you’re so reluctant to tell me, then just don’t fucking bother,” I rushed the last few words out so I could raise my voice, “You’re hurting me Nathan!” My voice cracked, and his grip – which had been tightening to a strength I’d expect from Tom, not Nathan – suddenly was gone. I wrenched my hand away and saw it was extremely red around the wrist and it would probably swell up a little, if not bruise. People who had been passing by at that point gave us funny looks, and I swear I saw a father draw Nathan dirty looks and usher his daughters who looked about ten and fourteen ahead and into the hotel.

My attention turned back to the phone where I heard Emma freaking out and asking me if I was okay, and not taking breaths, “Emma, Emma, I’m fine, look, I’m so sorry, I’ll call you back though, okay? I love you,” I said quickly then hung up.

“So...” Nathan started but I walked swiftly passed him.

I turned around and walked backwards a little bit, “You wanted to talk? So talk,” I said, and turned again so I was walking into the Hotel lobby, pulling my hood down in the process. He would follow.

Sure enough, someone soon walked by me and grabbed the sleeve of my hoodie, and started pulling me towards the elevator, “Not here,” he growled, his face and eyes angry but his eyes also showing fear and shame. Good.

When the elevator made a small ‘bing’ to signal our arrival on the floor we both stormed out at the same time, just leaving enough space at either end for the both of us to get through the doors at the same time. He jumped ahead of me and slotted his key card in the door, and soon after entering the room I noticed my stuff. “We’re sharing,” he grunted and closed the door with a little too much force.

“Oh,” I said, “Goody.” Sarcasm was leaking from my voice. “May I ask why?”

“No, you may not ‘ask why’,” he mimicked me as he turned round to face me.

I shook my head at him, “So talk, then. Go on!”

“Don’t make it any more difficult than it already is.” He said, and then pointed at the bed, “Sit.” I made to protest, to say something along the lines of ‘I’m not a dog’, but he grimaced and cut over me, “Please.”

“Manners cost nothing,” I muttered under my breath as I sat on the edge of the bed. “This better be good.”

He glared at me then turned his back taking deep breaths. I felt like telling him to spit it out already, but thought better of it. Eventually, he turned back around to face me, and his expression had softened a little. There was no longer anger in his eyes or expressed in any way through his facial expression or body language, but it looked as though there was sympathy there. Now why in the Hell...?

“Hear me out, okay? Until the very end, because I know you won’t like this.” He sat down opposite me on the bed. I nodded. “Okay well... I don’t even know where to start with this,” he said, dragging his hands down his face then running them through his hair at the back.

“Maybe the start would be a good place? The night we met, start there,” I suggested. I noticed that all the hostility had gone, and that I was being genuine.

“Right... The night we met...” He took a deep breath then just threw himself into the story, “So, we’d played the gig, blah, went outside and you were the only person there-”

“Dave was there,” I cut in.

He squeezed his eyes shut and I assumed it was because I had cut in, so quickly apologized and fell silent again. “So, you and Dave were the only people there,” he spat Dave’s name like it was poison. I refrained from asking why, “And what, Max and Tom were first out?” I nodded, but he looked like he was confusing himself.

"Nathan?"

“...This isn’t going to work.”