A/N: A little something that's been sitting on my laptop for a while. Unfinished. Will be slow to complete. TRIGGER WARNING for relatively explicit description of sexual harassment, sexual assault, and bruising.
I began this story like a year ago. Haven't really worked on it since. Figure you guys may enjoy it anyway -boots
Disclaimer: I don't own Monk. If I did, there would've been a lot more Natalie and a lot more talk about Mitch.
…
I knew my luck was running too strong. I had found money on the street thrice this week. The landlord hadn't harassed me since the previous Thursday. Mr. Monk had even given me a raise- a small raise, but a raise still; he had realized that after tax cuts, my paycheck was slightly uneven. Then Julie actually gave me a hug on Sunday without even asking for something- she was going through a moody phase lately and avoided me like the plague.
It was all putting me on edge. At first, I was so jolly and cheerful- luck at last! Then I found money a fourth time- a hundred-dollar bill stuck to my shoe- and it all seemed a bit too much. It felt like the universe was apologizing in advance. Needless to say, the jolliness began to fade.
I was right too; my luck withered, and the universe reared back before charging.
First, Julie went back to her 'whatever' phase. Then, Mr. Monk's wedding anniversary came up and Trudy's death began to take its toll on his attitude. Mr. Levington went back to waiting by my car in the mornings and flashing bright red eviction notices and even brighter condoms on my evening walks home from the parking lot. The final nail in my coffin came in the form of a dead woman whose name I had long forgotten.
I didn't remember Mitch's anniversary. I didn't think it was possible to forget. But today I awoke, and I had forgotten. There was no smeared ink circle on the calendar and there was no false dentist appointment that would cover my visit to the cemetery. My chest felt hollow.
Mr. Monk or the Captain never noticed when it was Mitch's anniversary. Mostly because I never told them, and partly because I always purposefully act the same.
Julie had stopped mourning the day years ago.
I still remember the day we fought over Mitch's death. Julie found the report of her dad's desertion and believed them over me. She threw every doubt I had in my face over and over again. But I couldn't give in- someone had to believe in Mitch and if that person had to be me then that's who I would be.
"Stop being so naïve, Mom! Mitch was a deserter- a traitor!" The words had frozen the room for a millisecond before I raised my hand.
I am not an abusive mother. But I can no longer say I've never struck my daughter. The stinging in my hand and that tiny gasp that escaped my little girl were testament to that. I'm not sure why I did it. Perhaps it was the way Julie had spit out his name or the way she had said those words that his surviving crewman and the near-widows and the actual widows had spit at me all those years ago.
We don't talk about it anymore. Neither does Julie circle the date on her calendar anymore, nor make a special cake with little homemade flags anymore. But then again, neither do I.
So, I got up. I made my Julie breakfast. I showered as quickly as possible. I allowed a ten second glance at the wedding ring on the dressing table and the folded flag on the shelf. But I didn't let myself glance at any of the few pictures of him that were around the house- the few Julie hadn't kept removing until I gave up. I didn't allow myself to remember him and his hair and his smile and his squeaky laugh.
There was no time for that.
It isn't raining. The day is dry and slightly crisp with heat. Nevertheless, Mr. Monk has nine umbrellas. Not good- not good at all.
"Natalie! Natalie this is not a laughing matter!"
Mr. Monk is probably too distressed to notice how hard it is for me to laugh. He's probably preoccupied with the umbrellas and thought his assistant's problems to be unimportant in this time of crisis. And, usually, I would take comfort from this obliviousness and latch onto to it as a much-needed distraction. But today I am tired and hollow. I want to hole up in my house until the storm has passed. Julie's presence usually shakes me out of this sort of funk, but she's older and more independent now, and she very rarely needs me desperately to take her somewhere or get her something or talk to her about someone.
So, I spent longer than one usually would to decide whether it was worth it to leave the house and dive into the storm of the real world. But in the end, I had to go out- someone's got to pay the bills and drive away the loan vultures. Besides, a sick day would gain too much attention.
"I just kicked out Mr. Auswami the other day. He was behind on his payment, almost as much as you are. But you're a single mother so I'm trying to be lenient on you."
The regret at stepping out of the house was instant. I should've looked through the window first. But it was too late, my unshaven and over-cologned landlord dived straight for me. "I know, Mr. Levington, and I thank you so much for your consideration. I will pay you as soon as possible."
Red-rimmed eyes wandered over my body. "You must get awfully lonely, Nat."
I could feel my spine stiffen. "That's not my name. Don'tcall me that!" My voice was thick with tears.
His eyebrows rose up in surprise, but he still moved closer. "My bad, honey."
The morning air went up more than a few degrees. "Please, Mr. Lev-"
"Now, now. You can call me Devin, sugar." His alcohol-soaked breath blew over my face and rustled my short hair. "As for your payment plan…I figured with your financial situation," his hand grazed my cheek, "you might want some alternative paths of payment available to you."
"Please, I-" Inside I was begging, not today not today, I was too tired for this today.
"I know, sugar. There's no need to thank me." His lips were less than an inch from mine, but I was frozen. He tightly gripped my arms and pushed me against the door. My hands shook and all I could think of was Mitch and his soft hands covering mine, stilling them, and soothing my nerves.
"I- I'm- I'm not-"
I don't remember when Mr. Levington pulling me in by the hair and kissing me. I just remember his lips sucking at my face and biting my skin and tongue, smearing the light lip gloss I had taken time to put on. His hands were gripping my wrists above me, tighter and tighter until I thought they would break.
"Mom!" Julie's scream ripped him off me. I don't remember when I had started crying, but there were tears staining my cheeks and mixing with the lip gloss.
"Miss Teeger!" The bastard had the gall to look embarrassed. "I'm afraid you've caught me and your mother at a rather bad time!" He chuckled.
Julie glanced from him to me, and then wandered to my smeared lips and reddened wrists. "Mom?"
"Did you need something, Julie?" I flashed her a small smile, flinching slightly as Mr. Levington ran his fingers through my hair as he turned and left, whistling as went.
"I just… I missed the bus."
"We should get going then- don't want my little girl to be late for school!" I ushered her into my car, quickly wiping at my lips when Julie turned away.
…
