Chapter 56: Woody or Casper

*Natalia's POV*

The one thing I told myself I wouldn't do, I did. But even though my rash decision by going with my gut of making it official with Joe was verbalized, all my valid excuses never vanished in the logical part of my brain. I didn't have the energy to give someone that was expected in a relationship. It was too soon to jump into one, especially with the trauma I still had yet to work through. And I made sure to remind him of that.

Then he reminded me I wasn't working through it alone. That those expectations I put on myself was only on my end, not his. He expected nothing from me besides an equal level of trust and honesty. No more toying around with his emotions. No being stuck in a grey area of wondering where my heart was—if it was with him just for a short window of distraction because it was easy, or because it was truly something I wanted.

That was something I could give him. He was what I wanted. With him, everything was just...easy.

My eyelids fluttered open at the sound of my phone buzzing on the wooden nightstand. It could've gone off a hundred times, and I wouldn't have woken up. Unless it was from Joe. For some reason, I just knew when it was him. That was the strength of our connection, even thousands of miles apart across oceans.

With no sunlight blazing through the tinted glass I forgot to fully cover with the curtains, it dawned on me that a text from him at this hour was odd even with the time difference. His message didn't help his case once I read it three times to fully comprehend within my grogginess: Good morning, babe. I was debating on sending you a text later in hopes to not wake you up, but I didn't want you to freak out in case you saw my location in the middle of the ocean before my flight landed. I'm sorry you had a bad day yesterday. You know I would've tried to cheer you up, yeah? But I get you probably wanted your space to clear your head. Oh shit. Sorry. Speaking of clearing heads and the whole flight thing...There's been some change of plans. Switched to an earlier flight to Miami. Mikey's DJing at a club tonight. Figured I'd make a side quest and celebrate Halloween one more night. It's one of my favorite holidays after all. I'll send you a picture of my costume then.

I glanced at the time, half past three in the morning, with furrowed eyebrows as I typed out my reply, hoping he was able to have a small amount of time for a conversation before the plane took off: You did wake my ass up, but you're forgiven because you're you. You're leaving London early? And why do I have to wait to see your costume? Can't you show me pictures of it from yesterday?

Almost immediately I saw the three dots appear, then a vague response: Like I said, it's my favorite holiday. There's no rule it has to end at midnight.

I stared at our messages, waiting for another incoming text that remotely answered any of my questions. I quickly figured out I wouldn't get it, instinctively calling him instead. He couldn't ignore me then.

Voicemail. I was wrong. He could still ignore me by choosing not to pick up.

Sitting up, my fingers rapidly texted him, seeing that was the only way he wanted to communicate: Why're you leaving London early?

I waited for at least ten minutes, laying back down with my phone resting on my stomach with my hands still attached to it loosely. Nothing but a notification that he publicly posted a funny meme on his Instagram story. I guess he wanted no communication at all at the moment.

It was hard to go back to sleep. All I could think about was our nightly escapade in the busiest part of Boston, no matter the time of day. Joe's spontaneous life lesson and vulnerable admission. Something had to have happened for him to decide to jump on a flight to Miami to party instead of using up all his time he had in London with his daughters. 

A few hours went by with me lying on my back, staring straight up at the ceiling until sunlight started to shine in. I dragged myself to the kitchen, making myself a bowl of bland cereal. I didn't have the energy to wash and cut up fruit to add to it. To enhance the dryness, we were also out of milk.

"Natalia?" I turned my head to my mom's voice breaking the silence as she walked out from her bedroom and into the kitchen to brew herself a cup of coffee, "Why are you up so early?"

I forced down a scoff. Early. If Joe could choose not to forthrightly answer, so could I, "Why waste time sleeping when I could update my resume and desperately send it to every part-time job that's currently hiring remotely? I've gotta start somewhere instead of moping around in boredom, right?"

She walked where I was sitting at the dining table and leaned down, cupping my face to plant a kiss in the middle of my forehead, "That's my strong girl. Please take it easy though, okay? You heard Brett yesterday. We need to schedule an appointment with your orthopedic surgeon to see if—"

"Yeah, I know. I heard him," I cut her off with an abrupt and sharp tone, letting my spoon clang against the side of my bowl as I let it go and slouched in my chair, "Do you have plans today?"

"I have a bunch of clients today. Then we're planning on going out for some drinks afterwards," she replied, picking up my discretion on changing the subject, "You should see if Jules is free considering she's in town this week for her baby shower."

My breath got caught in my throat as I inhaled, cutting it short with the sudden pain in my heart. The last time I heard from Jules was in Miami, which was ironic seeing as that's where Joe's whereabouts would soon be until tomorrow morning. I had no knowledge of a baby shower. Even from Maddy, someone I unintentionally pulled away from. Joe was the only person I hadn't isolated myself from, and I highly doubt he knew anything about Jules' baby shower.

"Yeah," I muttered, carefully standing up to toss the rest of my bowl out in the trash, "Maybe."

That was a straight-up lie. There was no 'maybe' when it came to reaching out to Jules. She never reached out to see how I was doing, especially after everything that happened with Noah was no longer a secret.

Once my mom left for work, I spent my free day from physical therapy to update my resume and look at part-time jobs that didn't require a college degree and was remote. My options were limited. At this point, I didn't care if the pay wouldn't support me to move out of my mom's house. I just needed something to fill the void of feeling useless.

Within job searching, I managed to finally fall asleep on the couch with my laptop open on my lap. It was light without ever reaching the REM stage, as if only five minutes had passed. It wasn't until my phone went off did I jolt up with wide eyes, catching my laptop from falling in the process and setting it down on the coffee table, and realize hours went by. The sunset reflected dull yellow and orange hues from out the windows.  

It was from Joe, of course.

Clicking it open to full view, my eyebrows raised with a slight smirk. It was a picture of him in his Halloween costume. Woody from Toy Story. It was by no means innocent, opting for a mustard yellow tank top that showed off all his arm tattoos instead of the long-sleeved shirt we all were familiar with growing up.

My smirk stayed as I wittily replied: Damn. Save a horse, ride a cowboy. That's the saying, right?

Again, nothing. No text or any form of a call.

The more I thought about it, the more it didn't make sense that that's the costume he wore around the neighborhoods trick-or-treating with kids all around. His included.

Instead of outright asking, I weaved around it in hopes he'd give me some answer that gave me some sort of insight of what was going on: Do I not get to see your other costume from yesterday?

Radio silent. 

I tossed my phone next to my laptop on the table and lowered back down on the couch after waiting for ten minutes. This was just a repeat of this morning.

Then, my phone vibrated as the screen lit up automatically. I frantically reached for it, praying it was Joe.

Oh, it was, alright.

I couldn't hold back my audible scoff as I stared at the notification completely baffled. He had time to post not one, but two public video posts of him showing off his Halloween costume, but couldn't send me a simple text back? 

The many comments he was already receiving were most definitely stroking his ego. He knew what he was doing posting videos grinding his hips in a sexual manner while sporting a cowboy fit. My teasing text no longer felt appreciated or original, a few fans of his commenting the same phrase on his posts.

I shut my laptop harder than anticipated before getting up, only grabbing my phone with me to my bedroom. And a medium-sized container of mixed nuts that I'd been snacking on for the past week and a half as I passed by the kitchen, a full dinner meal seemingly unimportant. Clearly, today wasn't my day to seize either.

My phone kept on going off, but I fought the urge to merely even glance at it. It would only beat me down further and give Joe the satisfaction of seeing my name be one of the first few people to view any stories he posted.

Was I what he wanted? Because he damn well had a shitty way of showing it as soon as he achieved on gaining me.

In the spur of the moment, my emotions getting the better of me, I grabbed my vibrating phone to send him a text. This time though, I wasn't holding myself back: Okay. What the fuck is going on? Did I do something? Because it feels like you're punishing me like I'm

Before I could finish my text, an incoming call took over the whole screen. Surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, it was Joe. My ghost of the whole day.

After a brief hesitation, I hit the accept button and put it on speaker, "Wow. Didn't know Casper could use a phone. Actually, I take that back. You clearly can since you've been posting all damn day on social media. Is it me? It's me, isn't it? Look, Joe, if you've changed your mind, the least you could do is—"

"So, you want to ride me, huh?" his words slurred, heavily, within the noisy background of blaring club music and people chatting amongst themselves, "Prove it. Or do I have to call you later when I get back to my house? Do you remember my house? We had so much sex there."

I bit my tongue in the inside of my mouth before speaking, "Joe, you're drunk. And we never had sex in Miami."

"Oh yeah. You're right," he giggled, "It was just in my head. Vivid imagination. So are you going to prove it or not?"

I breathed deeply in before audibly exhaling, staring at the reality show I had been watching on my TV, having absolutely no idea what drama was unfolding as two women were embarrassingly screaming at each other, "Are you alone?"

"Mm," he paused, "Pretty much. I can find a place more private though."

"Joe, I'm not—" I stumbled on my words, his drunken state rubbing off on me, "No. We're not sexting while you're plastered. What is going on? Did I do something for you to ghost me multiple times today?"

"No, no," his voice shifted to a remorseful tone, "I wouldn't be asking you if you want to ride me if you did something wrong. I'm sorry. I just need you and, um, yeah."

My gaze left the TV screen, blurring as it focused on nothing in particular in the thick air, "What's wrong? Why are you really in Miami?"

"I told you already. I'm celebrating Halloween," voices of strangers around him grew louder, "I'm gonna go dance with some friends, but I'll call you when I get back to my house, okay? Hey! Hey, wait up!"

"Okay, but—" the call ended, unable for me to finish my final thought.

He never called that night, but I didn't hold it against him. He was drunk, most likely not going to ever remember our phone call. The one thing I made sure to do before falling asleep was make sure he did arrive back to his Miami home safe. Interrogating him could wait a little longer.