MEETING HIM

Chapter eleven: The Unraveling

Natacha’s POV

Life at her father’s house was not the haven Natacha had imagined it would be when she left her mother’s place. While it felt good to escape her mother’s sharp tongue and constant judgment, her father’s version of parenting was suffocating in a different way. He was there, physically, but never emotionally. His overprotectiveness manifested in rules rather than reassurance. He asked where she was going but didn’t really listen to the answer. He imposed curfews but didn’t stay up to see if she made it home on time. It was as though his attempts at parenting were driven more by guilt than genuine concern.

And yet, Natacha couldn’t bring herself to resent him. She had spent so long yearning for his attention that even these surface-level gestures felt like a step forward. But the novelty of it had begun to wear thin.

Mr. Delacroix was another story. He seemed to be around more often than her father, showing up for dinners, working late in her father’s home office, or lingering in the living room to talk. At first, Natacha found his presence comforting. He had a calming energy about him—a way of listening that made her feel seen. But lately, she had started to notice things. The way he and her father exchanged glances that lingered just a second too long. The way he seemed to know more about her father’s schedule than she did. There was a familiarity between them that went beyond friendship, and it left her with an uneasy feeling she couldn’t quite shake.

One evening, as she sat in her room pretending to study, she heard Mr. Delacroix’s laugh echo from downstairs. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it—it was rich and full, a sound that could light up a room. But tonight, it grated on her nerves. She closed her textbook with a snap and headed downstairs, her bare feet padding softly on the carpeted stairs.

In the living room, her father and Mr. Delacroix were sitting on the couch, laughing at something on TV. A bottle of wine sat open on the coffee table between them. They looked so at ease, so comfortable, that for a moment, she felt like an outsider in her own home.

“Hey, Dad,” she said, leaning against the doorway.

Her father turned, his expression softening into something that almost resembled a smile. “Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she said, crossing her arms. “Just wanted to say hi.”

“Come join us,” Mr. Delacroix said, patting the empty space on the couch beside him.

Natacha hesitated. There was something about the way he said it that felt too familiar, too inviting. But she forced herself to smile and took a seat.

“What are you watching?” she asked.

“Some old comedy,” her father said, his voice distant.

Natacha nodded, her eyes flicking between the two of them. She tried to focus on the TV, but her mind was racing. Was she imagining things? Was she reading too much into their interactions? Or was there really something more between them?

As the evening wore on, she found herself watching them more than the TV. The way her father leaned closer to Mr. Delacroix when he spoke. The way Mr. Delacroix’s hand brushed her father’s arm when he laughed. By the time she went back upstairs, her suspicions had solidified into something she couldn’t ignore.

---

The next day, she skipped school. She wasn’t in the mood to sit through lectures or deal with Eric’s increasingly concerned texts. Instead, she spent the day wandering around town, her thoughts a tangled mess.

Her relationship with Eric was another problem she didn’t know how to handle. She had been avoiding him ever since that night with Alex. The guilt was eating away at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth. Every time she saw him, every time he smiled at her like she was the center of his world, she felt like she was suffocating.

And then there was Alex. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. About the way he had looked at her, the way he had made her feel. She hated herself for it, hated the way her heart raced whenever his name crossed her mind. He was dangerous, controlling, everything she should stay away from—and yet, a part of her craved the chaos he brought into her life.

She ended up at a coffee shop, sitting in a corner booth with her notebook open in front of her. She was supposed to be working on an essay for her English class, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she doodled aimlessly in the margins, her mind drifting back to the night she had spent with Alex.

“Skipping school again?”

She looked up to see Eric standing in front of her, his arms crossed. He didn’t look angry, but there was a tightness in his jaw that told her he wasn’t happy.

“Eric,” she said, her voice wavering. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, sliding into the seat across from her. “I tried calling you this morning. You didn’t answer.”

“I wasn’t feeling well,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“Bullshit,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks now, Natacha. What’s going on?”

Her chest tightened. She wanted to tell him, to get it all out in the open, but the words caught in her throat.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “I just… I need some space.”

“Space?” he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. “Natacha, I’ve been nothing but patient with you. I’ve tried to be understanding, but you’re shutting me out completely. If there’s something going on, just tell me.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She wanted to tell him, but how could she? How could she explain what had happened with Alex without destroying everything they had?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just… I can’t do this right now.”

Eric stared at her for a long moment, his expression a mix of hurt and frustration. Finally, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor.

“Fine,” he said. “If you need space, take all the space you want. But don’t expect me to wait around forever.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her guilt.

---

That evening, when she got home, her father was waiting for her in the living room.

“Where were you?” he demanded, his tone sharper than usual.

“I went out,” she said, kicking off her shoes.

“You were supposed to be at school,” he said, standing up from the couch. “Do you have any idea how irresponsible that is?”

“Like you care,” she shot back, crossing her arms.

“Of course I care,” he said, his voice rising. “You’re my daughter, Natacha. I have a responsibility to make sure you’re safe.”

She laughed bitterly. “Oh, now you care? Where was this concern when I was growing up? Where was this concern when Mom was making my life hell?”

Her father flinched, and for a moment, she thought he might actually apologize. But instead, he just sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“I’m trying, Natacha,” he said quietly. “I know I haven’t been the best father, but I’m trying.”

“Well, try harder,” she snapped, storming up the stairs to her room.

She slammed the door shut and collapsed onto her bed, tears streaming down her face. She hated the way her life was falling apart. Hated the way she felt so lost, so out of control. She needed something to hold onto, something to make sense of all the chaos.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she picked it up without thinking. It was a text from an unknown number.

I miss you. Let’s talk. – Alex.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she stared at the screen for a long time, her thumb hovering over the reply button.

She knew she should delete the message. She knew she should block his number and move on with her life.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she typed a single word and hit send.

Okay.