"Don't you fucking touch me, you asshole!" she shrieks, taking a step back.
Almost as if forgetting me and going back to what she was doing, she walks into the closet and emerges in a few seconds with more blouses and dresses. She brings these to the bed and hastily stuffs them into a duffel bag.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I ask. "Besides creasing your fucking dresses. That dry cleaning bill isn't going to be cheap."
She looks at me with eyes smoldering with fire.
"Don't worry, I'd rather pay any dry cleaning bill than take up any more of your precious time or lead you astray, Your Highness," she says with a cold edge to her voice.
Something is definitely not right here.
"What are you so upset about?" I ask her, looking around. "And why the fuck does it look like you're moving your shit out?"
Natalie looks at me like she's about to laugh through some tears.
"Are you fucking serious?" she asks me. "After everything we went through and everything we did you're wondering why today I'm moving my shit out? And yes, I'm getting everything out of here. I won't be troubling you anymore."
But that can't be why, can it?
Was it her birthday?
Was it our anniversary?
"Listen, babe," I say, trying to figure what the most expedient thing will be to say. "I'm sorry."
She pauses.
Bingo.
Maybe I got something.
"I really am sorry, Natalie."
But whatever it was, it wasn't good enough for her.
She zips up her duffel bag with the last of her clothes and turns to me.
"I'm really sorry too, Connor," she says.
I watch her, still puzzled and a bit concerned as she grabs her iHome and the other bag, and walks out the door.
Jesus.
Maybe I should've told her I love her a lot earlier instead of waiting.
123
Connor
"I swear to all that is fucking holy I have no fucking idea what you're talking about," I say, not without a little fucking exasperation to Christine.
Fuck, I don't even know if Christine is the best person to contact. All I know is that after last night, this morning I went to the first of Natalie's friends that I could find. All I know is that I remember her from some party at the United Nations and over the last month or so she's been out with us half a dozen times.
Always seemed pretty solid. Maybe a bit immature, but then again this is coming from the man who calls himself Prince Pleasure, right, love?
"You have to have known something, Your Highness," Christine says to me, leaning back on her bench.
Christine is a young graduate student at NYU and when I came looking for her she was sitting on an outside picnic table reading something for class.