Homesick

When Tatum Morgan leaves Holland Private after classes in her plaid uniform skirt and itchy, gray sweater, her eyes quickly glance at the front gates, where Nick Marshall is waiting in his black and white Bradford Private uniform, hands in his pockets. Natalie York gives Tatum a soft elbow to her arm while whispering, glossy mouth barely moving, "he waits for you almost every day, doesn't he?" Tatum says nothing, only tucks some reddening hair behind a small, curved ear and watches as Nick's sharp jaw moves when he chews on a piece of gum, long-lashed blues staring thoughtfully as girls pass by him.

Nick Marshall is an attractive young man with his broad shoulders and sport-firmed body - even Tatum can see this - but it's that peculiar, roaming gaze, those curious hands, that constant, youthful urge that Tatum can see to press her against a wall and slip his fingers up her skirt and down her panties that makes Tatum turn the opposite direction. Nick is a little too wild, too crude, and too full of himself for Tatum to genuinely accept her fate as his 6-month girlfriend; she can't bare the thought having to give herself up to him, so the most she can manage are few and brief kisses, and even then Tatum has to encourage herself to be more of a girlfriend to him.

When he notices her and pulls the corner of his thin lips up into somewhat of a cocky greeting, Natalie York ditches Tatum's side and leaves her, vulnerable and exposed, to her prince. "Hey, Tate," he says coolly. "How were your classes?" Tatum fixes the straps of her European side bag while he reaches out and slips a hand around her shoulders, and then down, where it plays with the fabric of the sweater at the curve of her waist.

"Fine," she manages, feeling too forced and wondering if anyone else can see it, too. Nodding in a dead response, Nick guides her with his arm towards the direction of her nearby neighborhood, eyes forever glancing around as if he wonders if people can't believe they're together - a perfect couple with perfect lives. Tatum can tell that he wants others to feel envious and hungry, dying to know more about their meeting, their conversations, and the future of their quickly-faltering relationship. Its been long enough.

"I'll see you this weekend, by the way," Nick starts, actually looking down at top angle of her face. She's frowning a little, but there's this awkward, pleasant smile forced on her pink lips, trying to make sure she looks natural if her friends or classmates are still watching. The square, thick fingers of his free hand brushes the straight cut of her bangs from her dark blonde eyelashes and he smirks, annoyingly, too, and once again glances around to gauge reactions. He looks as he speaks: "There's dinner at your house Saturday. Did your father tell you?"

Tatum flinches at the brushing of his fingers and shakes her head sharply, both to get him away from her face and to show that she didn't actually know. "Is there?" She can feel her voice dancing in a mocking way at the edges, but she's a little too upset about the sudden notice to care. Nick nods at her, pulls her a little closer when some male from his private school rushes by them, and releases her grip on her some again. "Is it a my-family thing again, or is it just going to be you and my family?"

"Everyone," Nick clarifies. "He said we haven't had a group dinner in a while now and he, quote-unquote, 'wants to catch up'."

Tatum is baffled. She finally looks up into Nick's blue eyes and scoffs. "It's been only two weeks. 'A while now'?" Her eyes stare off ahead, sending mental daggers at the houses in the near distance. "My father's insane." Nick laughs his agreement, and Tatum feels it's one of those moments that they can actually agree on something and have a mutual, genuine conversation about it with no sarcasm or anger or frustration. They turn down her street when his laughter falters off, giving way to the sound of a cold, fall breeze, and then there's brief silence. "I can't believe this."

Nick finally lets go of her waist, to Tatum's relief, but he stays close to her, shoving his hands in his pockets and flipping his floppy, dark brown bangs out of his face. "But it isn't that bad, is it? We're just gonna eat and talk and then I'll go back home in an hour or two." He glances at the side of her white face and grins when he sees her frown hasn't wavered off.

"I still hate dinners," she mutters, trying to hold herself back from saying all of the things she really wants to say. "I have to play nice." Nick laughs again, but this time it annoys her more than anything else. Her head slightly shakes in disbelief. "You know I hate these stupid family dinners," she huffs before finishing with, "I'm tired of - of - acting like I actually care what they have to say about me; I'm tired of all this stupid - this stupid shit." Her last word is full of disdain, and this makes Nick take a shocked pause, having never heard Tatum cuss in so long.

"Wow," Nick smiles incredulously. "You hate me so bad?" His hand finds her waist again, and Tatum stiffens in his hold. Lips leaning towards her ear, his breath hits the side of her face as he mutters, "Don't pretend, Tate - you don't hate it." When Tatum says nothing for a few seconds, he quips, "you don't hate it, do you? You like to play hard, huh?"

Tatum is so fucking glad when they get to her house. Despite her squirming, Nick holds her up until they get to her front steps and watches her fish silently, bitterly, for her keys. "Let go of me, Nicholas," she says, low, using his given name to purposely piss him off. "Let go of me before I knee you in the dick."

"What?" He asks playfully. "Your waiting almost 7 months now’s making you really hormonal, huh?" She fumbles to get her key in the lock as he stays close to her flushed cheek. "Can you really wait much longer for me?"

"You're a monster," she gasps.

"So what are you, then?"

Tatum unlocks the front door and pushes it open as fast as she can, stepping away from his grinning mouth. Not even giving him another glance, she hisses, "I wish you'd leave me alone," before stepping into the house and trying to close the door, but Nick grabs the doorknob and forces it in, using his free hand to grab her by her thin arm and pulling her out. She squeaks, startled, but it's not loud enough to alarm anyone in her family, and he drags her back onto the door step and pulls the front door closed. He presses her back against the door, forces his knee between her legs, and slams his mouth to hers, cramming his tongue into her mouth.

Tatum, eyes screwed shut, brings her shoulders up and tenses when she feels him deepening the kiss almost immediately. One hand threads through her hair and grips a little too tightly, holding her head in place; the other grips her waist and feels the bone through her uniform skirt. It's only a few seconds into the forced kiss and she's already feeling lightheaded, knees wobbling, but his knee holds her up and the fist in her red locks keeps her proper and straight; she gasps into his mouth when his teeth softly bite down onto the tip of her tongue, keeping her alert.

Nick finally pulls back, breath heavy on her face, and remains close to her mouth, a lusty and almost evil glint in his deep, dark blue eyes. Her gaze shifts from one eye to another, face scrunched but not exactly in either hate or consent, and inhales and exhales quickly through her parted lips, chest visibly rising and falling. "See?" His voice has lowered nearly three octaves, husky and with a raspy edge. "You're a liar, Tatum."

Their breaths are the only thing to fill the space around them; he watches as she watches back, wondering what one another's next move will be. Tatum finally looks off, over his broad shoulder, and let her eyes fall some. "I can get you arrested for sexual harassment," she breaths. "You know that, right?"

Her boyfriend looks so amused that Tatum wants to slam her knuckles in his glowing, handsome face. "Then do it, Tate. Call the cops and let's see what they say."

She looks him in the eyes, armed and ready to spit insults at him, but the front door suddenly jiggles and she swears her heart almost jumps out of her throat. "Tatum?" A voice calls curiously from inside the house. Nick's grip falters on her and this is how she manages to squirm herself away from him; she hurriedly finger-combs her hair, smooths down her uniform, and rehooks the straps of her bag on her shoulder as Nick cockily backs up and places his hands back in his pockets, getting on the second step. "Tatum - are you home?"

Tatum takes a deep breath before she answers, loudly, "Yeah, I'm home." Her eyes are still on Nick; he's grinning, amused.

"I'll see you Saturday, Tate." Nick salutes her and then turns and walks away, back down the path leading to the neighborhood sidewalk. "Love you, babe!"

"Fuck off," she mutters before opening the door and slipping inside, closing the door behind her. She looks up to see Wyatt standing there in his school uniform, looking worried and wide-eyed, all green-gazed and red-faced. Tatum takes a pause to examine him, smiles a greeting, and walks towards the kitchen. "What's up?" She tries to sound as casual as she can manage, but she's still a little unsettled.

Wyatt follows his sister and watches by the doorway as she drops her bag in the stool chair and scavenges through the fridge. "You look pissed," he offers softly. "Was it Nick again? I saw him walking down the road." Tatum only hums thoughtfully and picks up a container of their mother's homemade lemonade, sloshing it around and watching the free seeds of the lemons bobbing on the surface. "Tatum."

"Being Nick," she quips vaguely, smiling stupidly to herself as it it was actually funny. Wyatt takes an audible exhale while she pours herself a generous glass and examines it before taking a gentle sip.

Wyatt sits down in a stool next to the one with her bag and watches her. He pulls his overgrown fringe back from his pale forehead, lets it flop back down, and then pulls it back again. "Dad knows he's not right. He knows." He continues playing with his fringe until Tatum puts her glass in the dishwasher, closes it, and turns to look at him, finally. A smile spreads across her bruising lips, and this is when Wyatt notices what really happened outdoors. "Tatum," he huffs angrily. "Don't tell me -"

"Don't worry, Wy - Nicholas is . . ." she pauses to think, and then grins at him playfully. "He's a douchebag. All bark and no bite."

Wyatt gets up from his seat and steps around the island to reach Tatum, brushing a loose strand of hair from her eyelashes. Tatum watches, still and curious, when he lets out a soft exhale and runs the back of his fingers down her left cheekbone, and then sharply across her plush bottom lip. It's red and turning a light shade of purple; the creases between Wyatt's eyebrows deepen. "Jeez, Tate. He both barks and bites."

She very slightly shakes her head. "I'll get him back and you know it." Her voice lowers and it's dangerously sultry. "Let me handle it, okay?"

"It's hard." Wyatt lets his fingers on her lip drop back down by his side. "I don't know how much longer I can stand of him."

Tatum laughs and, slipping past him, asks, "What? Jealous?"

She can tell he gets flabbergasted as he, stammering, responds hesitantly, "No." His attempt at coming off incredulous is an inflection short of sounding genuine. Tatum only laughs a response as she climbs the staircase to the upstairs hallway and makes it to her bedroom, leaving the door open a crack. When she drops down onto her bed and sighs, tense muscles immediately relaxing, she hears Wyatt shout up to her, "You know we're having dinner Saturday, right?"

"Yeah," Tatum shout back, letting her eyelids flutter closed. "It's gonna be fun, huh?"

"Super fun," Wyatt says sarcastically, and Tatum has to laugh a little.