Love Consequences (Season 2 of Nata & Phillip's Romance)

7: These can't be right

Phillip

In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face and adjust my clothes to give my erection time to subside. The pulsing below the belt and in my temples slows. Throwing feathers on Nata shouldn't have turned me on, but her proximity alone is enough to make my blood boil. Her happiness is a stronger aphrodisiac than I could've ever imagined. I want her to be happy.

Always.

I rifle through the drawer and locate my comb. It'll do the job untangling her hair, but that's not what I'm after. I want to make this day more pleasant, not painful. I sneak into my closet and pull out a box that still smells like sweet flowery perfume Dad says Mom favored.

Moving aside one of the smaller matching photo albums Dad made for him and me, I uncover a rectangular box padded with pink silk. I unlatch the decorative lock and life the silver brush out. The beats of my heart boom in my chest. This is either exceedingly creepy or over-the-top sweet, but I don't really care. It's a brush and with how long Nata's hair is, I don't want to tear chunks of it out with my comb.

Right now, I crave a happy Nata, with more smiles and laughter, even if I need to make a fool of myself. No. No making required, because I am a fool when it comes to her. I crave to see more hidden parts of her, those she cements behind the high wall of the emotional damage she's been constructing probably her entire life. Before destroying my pillows, she was so, so angry. I clench my fist and exhale. Brick of despair followed by a boulder of grief, I felt her defenses every step of the way and let happiness in.

It's as if she left ajar the door that leads into her soul, a place she doesn't let many people in, and I now had a chance to spend a day there. But visiting once would never be enough. I want to be a season tickets holder of Club Nata, or better—a permanent member.

I want the wall between us not to exist, so we need no more doors.

Back in the bedroom with a brush and a comb, I climb behind Nata, who sits legs crisscrossed in the center of the bed. I lean against the headboard and remove the rubber band off the end of her braid. Her long, almost black hair streams silky and smooth between my fingers. I've tucked the short strands behind her ear and felt it tickle my skin, but I've never had the privilege of this full-on contact. I unwind the three parts and relish the weight of her braid in my palms.

"I've wanted to play with your hair since I saw you on the rooftop at the reunion party." The truth comes out easier with her back to me. "You used to have it cut so short I barely recognized you behind that mane. Why did you decide to grow it out?"

My fingers make quick work untangling the next part of the braid and removing the feathers.

Nata gives a slow shrug. "I've always been utilitarian about hair. A thing to get out of my face, so short haircuts worked best."

She takes the strand near her face that has already come out loose. "Mom wasn't around much to deal with my hair." Nata twirls it around her finger.

I'm on the doorstep of the room where she keeps her secrets tucked in out of sight, waiting for her to tell me more. I slowly unravel the next knot and listen.

She reclines on my knees. "When I yet again had a giant tangle at the back of my head from fidgeting in my sleep, Dad took me to his barber who had to cut the back of my hair off to get rid of the tangle. So he chopped it short." Nata closes her eyes as my fingers get closer to her scalp. "I went to Dad's barber with him every time and kept my hair short."