Lottie Matthews x Natalie Scattorccio
Charlotte matthew’s finds herself to be the community’s golden girl. Not only is she preacher Matthew’s daughter, the community's leader, but she also seems to heal people with just a touch of her finger.
When she meets Natalie, the new girl who came here through the rehabilitation program, she finds everything to go wrong.
[cw] Sh, mentions of self-harm, blood, religious themes.
[a/n.] in no way, shape, or form is this meant to harm any religion (mainly Catholicism) I’m using my own experiences and my struggle with religious trauma. It is simply my own perspective on Catholicism and does not represent Catholicism/Christianity.
[a/n] This is only part 1 of this series! I worked so hard on this and with the help and support of my lovely girlfriend, i got this far! I have her and a lot of people to thank for! I'm really happy with how this turned out, and I'm always looking for inspo and feedback! I hope you enjoy this first part, as I'm working on some art and the rest of the chapters! Please lmk if you find any mistakes! Ill also be posting this on ao3, and a spotify playlist <33
The power lines sag low out back by the church off Amber Street. Although it was too dark to see just how close they really were to touching the ground. A product of numerous failed upkeep and severe negligence towards constant maintenance. The overhead porch light flickers once, twice, before finally illuminating each girl's expressions.
Natalie begins to flick her lighter open; two flicks were all it took before using her hand as a shield to prevent the breeze from snuffing out the delicate flame. The cigarette was safely secured between Natalie’s lips—delicately balancing on her lower lip. Lottie watches her for a moment with a heavy sense of dread that can only be described as unease before she pushes herself off the stairs, the wood creaking in her absence.
Her pacing, the crunching of the gravel beneath her, was quaint but loud enough to capture and hold Natalie’s attention for a single moment before breaking it off.
The foul, heavy scent of tobacco hits Lottie’s face.
But it wasn’t anything compared to the forcible smell of human blood.
“Are we just going to ignore this?” Natalie questions her, breaking the heavy and tense silence between them.
The distant sound of the cicadas and the nearby river flowing was somehow quieter than the silence around them. She hadn't realized how much she blocked out the surrounding noise until now, when she was forced to hear nothing but that.
Natalie’s tone had come out too blunt, but Lottie caught onto the slight hitch in her voice when she spoke. How her voice went the tiniest bit deeper, and she knew instantly that Natalie was afraid.
All Lottie could think of was settling down in front of her. Taking her hands in her own to ease the crease in her eyebrows, to tell her—no, to reassure her—that they’re going to be fine. They have to be. Lottie can’t let her fall apart—not now.
Natalie’s gaze chased the other girl's figure, trying to understand what she was thinking.
Lottie pauses her pacing for a brief moment. Like she has come to terms with something she was telling herself. And Lottie knows because of her lack of response, it could only get worse from here.
She turns herself towards Natalie; there are so many things she wants to say, and she can feel it clawing its way out of her, and for a moment, she is about to speak, but the only words that she manages to let fall out are a lousy, “I thought you quit.”
This time, it was Natalie’s turn not to respond. Lottie’s turn to feel the heavy burden of waiting for a response. To talk to her.
Lottie watches the girl push herself up, dragging her hand through her dyed blonde hair. The same hair Lottie had pushed back numerous times, away from Natalie's face. She could almost feel the softness of Natalie's hair in her fingertips. But her hands are clenched at her side. It’s odd. They could be in the worst situation of their lives, and all Lottie could think about was her.
Natalie makes sure Lottie's watching as she lets the cigarette fall from her hands, landing on the gravel beneath her as she uses her boots to put out the cigarette—but in the manner she did it, there was harshness. Lottie thinks it was with a purpose of intimidation.
Lottie watches every move now. Would she step closer to her? Would she tell her everything is fine? Just as Lottie wants to tell her? Are they on the same page? Were they ever on the same page?
“I did,” Natalie asserts, her gaze piercing towards Lottie's. Making sure that her words are getting through to her.
Natalie had just challenged her—Lottie, the only person who could help her. Get her out of here. She could read Natalie more than anyone. She can tell when Natalie’s angry by the way she goes quiet. She could tell when Natalie’s upset by the same way she always seeks Lottie out. She can also tell when Natalie's afraid. She gets defensive and fidgety, like she’s waiting for something to happen.
All those endless conversations of Natalie telling her what the outside world was like. Showing her what music sounds like, what chocolate tasted like—what falling in love feels like.
Everything Natalie had shown her ended in Natalie’s gaze towards her. For a heavy moment, Lottie understood now. But she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to be left with this.
"But we just murdered somebody."
( Play I Lost Something in the Hills - Sibylle Baier)
On hot summer days like these, when the wind barely danced and time moved on ever slowly, Charlotte would find herself sitting on the edge of the river, her fingertips barely skimming the surface of the water. Feeling the soft movement of the river, trying to pull her hand downwards along with the fallen leaves and flowers that gracefully landed in the stream up north.
Where the tall grass lies and flowers bloom in every sight, she takes a moment to breathe in the fresh summer breeze. Though it has no specific scent, she finds the air down here to be a lot fresher and cooler than uphill.
It quite possibly could be the fact that she has her hair down for once—letting the wind brush through her wavy black hair—or the fact that she can feel the sun kissing her arms and shoulders. But she decides to settle on the fact that the air is much cooler down here mainly because it’s closer towards the river down south.
Her gaze falls further on the rocks underneath, pushing her vision through the water and leaves, each rock wearing and fashioning a different color and shape. So vaguely different from each other, but in some weird, peculiar way, they all got washed here together. They stay together.
She immerses her hand into the cold, biting water as she picks up a rock she had her attention on. She holds it above the surface, shaking off the excess water before she holds it upwards towards the sun to get a better look at it. It was ordained a pearly white coat, fashioned with nature-made sparkles with sharp yet soft edges from its journey. She’d be mistaken if she were to think it was somehow a crystal. Nothing but a dirty old rock posing as a crystal, and yet, some better part of her wants to believe it was.
She pushes herself to stand up now that her objective is complete, dusting off the dirt and grass from the white fabric of her dress that was gently hugging her body. She assures herself the rock is dry enough for her to tuck it into the crevice of her bra. She pauses for a moment, her foot extending out towards the river. Her bare foot taps on a larger dried-out rock, checking its stability before she finds herself across the river.
Through the thicket of trees and nature everlasting, her hand runs along each tree she passes. Bits of sunlight find their way through gaps and slivers of space between the leaves, making it appear like showers and spotlights of the sun’s gentle rays of light. Gracing each and every flower with giving them love and light, in return, they must forever be in a state of devotion towards it. The dirt was cool enough under her bare feet, and the grass swayed gently enough to grace her ankles.
She can hear the nearby fluttering and chirps of a family of birds up above. The scratching and clawing of nearby squirrels skittering on the branches in trees nearby. Climbing tree trunks and munching on nuts and leaves.
Small animals, rabbits and maybe mice, she guesses, scampered on the floor at the sound of her footsteps. Tugging her attention downwards as she watches mice dart across her. Burrowing themselves in a tunnel they had presumably made last week.
She crouches down, pulling her bag open, taking her strap off around her as she rummages through it. It wasn't hard to find when she felt napkins of food and snacks she had stolen from dinner and breakfast. Crumbs of cookies or crusts of bread. She gathered just enough for today.
She dumps the napkins open, watching the crumbs and pieces fall onto the floor.
“It’s not much,” she says aloud to any spirit or animal that is willing to listen to her speak. “But it should feed you for today.”
Though she makes it a daily journey to share her blood, it all brings her back to when she was first asked if she was willing to save everybody and why the animals did not count. Though, thinking back on it, it was probably a joke. A silly question, and yet, it’s something Lottie holds onto, because it was the first time she felt seen.
She sprinkles a bit more food as her own way of making up for it. A small bird takes notice up above. hopping down onto a nearby branch. Tilting its small head as its black, beady eyes focus on the food beneath but never daring to get closer as long as she remains there. The wind begins to subtly pick up before daring to settle, leaving the heat to conquer once again.
Wiping the sweat off her forehead, she pulls out a small switchblade as she flicks it open. A small exhale leaving without her permission as she prepares herself.
Dragging the blade across the palm of her hand, she watches it begin to pool and spill, dripping downwards as she extends it over the pieces of food she placed on the floor and watches as her blood drips onto the food in small taps. Closing her eyes, she feels the wind dance past her, and she takes it as confirmation.
She clenches her hand, letting the sharp throbbing pain forever remind her of the weight of her guilt crushing down on her each day and each passing hour that stomps by with or without her. The pain wasn’t the same anymore. Where it once felt good and fulfilling, it now left her with an emptiness she could only describe as shame.
No amount of counseling or community volunteering could ever begin to even help her now.
The small bird chirps, demanding her attention as it ruffles its grey-smoked feathers. All Charlotte could do was watch in some sort of fascination, but the throbbing and insistent nagging attention on her hand ruins the moment. But she’d tell herself that she’ll happily devout her blood to bless the food. Happily share the warmth and ever-loving light with these animals and guide them to true enlightenment. Just because she’s suffering doesn't mean everyone else has to.
She begins to find herself being guided back to the community now that the church bells are singing and the hand strikes four. She follows the gentle current of the wind and endures the coating of warmth as she wipes the beading sweat off her forehead once again.
Through the numerous and mundane daily trips through the upwards path past the clearing, the beat-up dirt path was nothing but muscle memory to her. A trail of her making is engraved in the dirt below her from how many times she had come to feed these animals.
Once she steps out into the clearing, she can hear the river a few feet away from her. The gentle rushing of water Filling her head with its subtle music, if she were to close her eyes and focus on the faint music, she could hear the impalpable sound of bells. Small tinkling bells easing the crease between her eyebrows
She tests her balance once more on the large rock in the river as she journeys to the other side.
Finding her wilted, creaky old basket sitting idly in the grass, waiting for her return. It was wicker with floral cloth sewn into it. Her grandmother had given it to her when she was still allowed to come back to the community. Now this basket is the only thing she has of her.
Next to her basket, crouched Laura Lee, squinting down at the lake a few miles south, where the river finally meets its end. Her hand was resting on her forehead, blocking out the sun that highlighted her bright blonde hair.
“It’s so wonderful, isn't it?" Laura Lee exhales, her tone pitching a hint higher in awe and fascination, and it almost makes Charlotte relive the moment she once saw back then.
“The way the water…sparkles from the sun. The breeze it carries. God really is wonderful.” Laura Lee prompts as she clasps her hands together in prayer.
“I heard there are lakes far bigger than this one.” Charlotte responds after Laura Lee has finished praying. Laura Lee glances over at Lottie in amazement. Her eyes were sparking just at the mention of something being even better than a rural lake in rural Texas.
Honestly, Charlotte was surprised Laura Lee had even come with her. She was so nervous and adamant about leaving past the gate. Never having been this far from the community—which was saying a lot because the community gate was only a mile out.
Laura Lee begins to stand up, fanning herself with her hand before she finally turns towards Charlotte. Despite the overwhelming heat, Laura Lee had fashioned herself in a long brown dress and a white cardigan, and in her hands was Charlotte’s own cardigan she had taken off before heading off to the woods.
She hands the cardigan back to Charlotte with expectant eyes. Charlotte reaches out for it before Laura Lee gasps.
“You’re hand!” Laura Lee inhales as she places Charlotte's cardigan off to the side before Laura Lee takes her hand in hers and inspects the palm of Charlotte’s hand. She had almost forgotten about the cut. The cut wasn't too deep, thankfully, and the blood had dried, but as Laura Lee glances up at her, she presses her lips together.
“You know you are supposed to bring a cloth with you, right?” Laura Lee reprimands as she goes through her own bag. Past her bible and switchblade, she brings out her own cloth before she brings it towards the water and begins to wash the cut.
Laura Lee had always been like a big sister to her. As close as one could be. She was older than her, and the mentors had always admired her faith and belief. She was lucky to be born here rather than join later in life, where the mentors decided you could already be irredeemable unless they devoted their lives to forgiveness.
As Charlotte and Laura Lee crouched by the river, Laura Lee had finished cleaning up the blood as she pulled out the cloth and gently began dabbing.
“Why’d you come with me today?” Charlotte asks, breaking the silence.
It prompts Laura Lee to hum in response as her eyes flicker upwards to her, back to Charlotte's hand—then back to her gaze when she realizes Charlotte is being serious. She pauses, clenching the cloth in her hands.
Laura Lee exhales before she begins to dab at her palm again, and Charlotte was pretty sure there wasn’t any blood left to dab away. Though, she remains silent.
“You seemed lonely.” Laura Lee responds before she begins to wrap her hand in the cloth. Tying it gently with precise and gentle movement.
“I mean, you don’t really talk to anyone anymore.” She pauses. “But you always come out here, and…I guess I was just curious… that there was something so beautiful out there that…was worth leaving.” She utters quietly.
"And…" she begins to speak again. Charlotte suspects Laura Lee was purposefully tying her palm slower to keep her attention.
“When you and…” Laura Lee had paused. Wondering if she should continue. When her and Shauna...
“...had snuck out that one time," she continues slowly. “I saw the way you looked.”
“It’s like you saw something so beautiful and… I…” Laura Lee had cut herself off. Shaking her head like what she was going to say sounded silly. She recovers and checks over the makeshift bandage before she exhales slowly.
A beat of silence passes them, being accompanied by the mirage sounds of the river flowing diligently and the birds fluttering up above. The bees are collecting their honey, and even the wind held its own sound.
"I'm glad you didn’t leave when you had the chance.” Laura Lee says abruptly, and she begins to stand up. She glances back at the lake for a brief moment, admiring it like she’ll never see this sight again.
“I was worried you’d stray as well.”
Laura Lee leaves it at that.
Charlotte doesn’t bother to reply. Instead, she puts her brown cardigan back on and buttons it up. Her hot, clammy skin brushes against the fabric, making the heat even more unbearable, but she endures. She picks up the wicker basket—double-checking all of the mail is safely tucked inside—but what catches her attention is how askew it is. Out of place.
“Did you go through the mail?” Charlotte asks, turning towards Laura Lee as she responds with a sheepish smile.
"I was curious," Laura Lee settles on. Lottie couldn’t blame her; her job was consistently getting the mail from the train station. That involved leaving the community’s gate. The only place to get to the city from here. She’d seen countless letters to anyone in the community, and yet she's never once seen them around, and no one speaks about them.
The walk back was a quiet one, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The sun was barely beginning to set, and the wind had graciously started to pick up once more. Blowing off her ease and worries along with the wind.
They were welcomed by one of the older mentors—a gruff old man wearing whatever the male version of a dress is. He plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and exhales. Not bothering to turn his face.
“Arms.” He grunts, stepping further as she obediently raises her arms. The mentor—Lottie remembered his name now—was Mentor Luke. It also helped that he had a name tag on. After a few moments of what Luke calls an 'inspection.’
He settled for whatever he deemed satisfactory before she was able to walk through the gate. At that moment, she remembers the rock tucked into her boots. She had done this numerous times to know that they never check her shoes. She waits for Laura Lee to step through before Laura Lee hooks her arm with Lottie's, gently guiding her as the familiar grounds enlarge around them.
“Remind me why you wanted to become a mentor again?" Charlotte quips to break the awkward silence between them. Laura Lee laughs, her hand coming to clasp around the rosary around her neck.
“Not all mentors are like that.” Laura Lee debates, though she’s trying to hide her smile horribly.
"Charlotte—Hey!" A girl’s soft voice—Akilah's—calls over towards Lottie, who, a second ago, was helping one of the younger girls bless the food for the chickens. Over the constant clucking of the chickens and the younger girls' small, wary cries surrounding her, Akilah’s voice cleared all of it out.
From a distance away, Akilah held a baby lamb in her arms with a brown knitted blanket surrounding its small, limp body, and Lottie knew immediately what she was being asked.
She begins to stand, patting the small girl's shoulder as a small comfort before she makes her way over towards Akilah.
“He won’t eat—I tried everything. The mom—"Akilah stutters nervously as Lottie steps forward. She gently places her hand over Akilah’s—the comforting gesture easing Akilah’s tension even if just a little.
“It’s okay. It happens.” Lottie’s voice is gentler now. Soothing and reassuring, but she doesn’t know if it's towards the lamb, Akilah, or her. She focuses her gaze onto the small lamb instead. It's sickly, and she almost feels pity towards it. Almost.
She presses her hand into the soft wool; under her fingertips she could feel the racing heat beating, a bit to the right, and she could feel its ribs. It probably hasn’t eaten in a while.
“The mother must've rejected him.” She diagnoses quietly, brushing her fingers against the soft yet matted white wool.
“We can get him some milk from the hall,” Lottie advises, her gaze still glued onto the lamb before she finally snaps her gaze away. “When he gets stronger, we'll let him back in with the others.”
Akilah starts to smile. Grateful and ever thankful—she breathes out a sigh of relief, and then she begins to smile. Tilting her head as she readjusts the lamb in her arms.
"You're so good with animals. I wish I were like you," Akilah praises, but when Lottie doesn't respond, Akilah continues to talk. “You have that…special touch.”
Lottie inhales quietly. It’s one thing to tell yourself you’re special, but when it comes from someone else, well, that could mean the world. Lottie’s always been in tune with the spiritual side—as a matter of fact, everyone always comes to her for many sorts of things. Healing, prayer, anything in that spectrum.
“I’ll do that. Thank you.” Akilah finishes, and before Lottie could begin to respond, Akilah holds the lamb closer to her and begins to walk off towards the main building, whispering sweet nothing’s to the lamb.
Charlotte watches her leave.
The rest of the morning consisted of leading the morning prayer for the elderly around eight. Then setting up for group therapy for the younger kids once the elderly had all left. The rec room was used for many things and activities, and though the elderly members could walk further up the hill to make it to the old church, Charlotte had prompted that she’d be willing to preach for them somewhere closer to the rooms.
As much as her father distasts it, there are not a lot of people that you’d suspect. Her father calls it a tight-knit community. A place for healing those who fell under sin and evil. But they offer more than that. They offer homes and community for those who have nowhere to go. Turn to God with the help of the mentors and preacher Matthew's.
The topic of leaving was never considered by Charlotte. She’d never once thought to want to ride the train into the city. Never attempted to ask about the outside world. Never dreamt of anything outside of the community. These people needed her here—they needed her healing.
How could she leave that?
(Play Love Songs on the Radio—Mojave 3)
Charlotte was kneeling in one of the back pews. A rosary clasped in her hands.
The church was small but much bigger in comparison to the old church. Dark brown pews all faced towards a giant cross with a makeshift statue of Christ nailed upon it. His eyes are falling down on anyone standing in front of it, like he's casting judgement on anyone who walks in.
Lottie used to think that it was a bit gruesome. If she looked hard enough and stood there longer than she had to, she could see the half-attempted paint strokes and the paint starting to peel. She could see the exact spots for the makeshift blood. The way the nails were real nails. But what really got her were the eyes. The way the artist captured the exact moment of his death before resurrection. She swears sometimes that no matter where she was in the church, she could feel his eyes on her. So she resided in the section in the back. The only place where she could feel at some sort of ease. Where the statues’ gaze couldn’t reach. The only place she could breathe.
The windows were painted glass murals, all showing scenes of how Christ carried the cross on his back. Resurrecting. Him dying in his poor mother's arms. Lottie remembers staring at it each time she entered this church. She feels some sort of twisted comfort in it. How disturbed it made her feel. But she did like how the light reflected off the windows, casting a small rainbow on the floor.
The wooden door creaks open, catching Charlotte's fading attention. Her gaze fell onto one of the mentors—Mentor Abigail with a girl around her age with thin blonde hair. Her hair is like nothing she’s ever seen before. It wasn’t long, but it wasn’t short either. Choppy layers, but it fit her facial shape nicely—and her eyes. Her eyes that were meeting hers—that once looked so stormy—now settled into a nice calm breeze. She can’t tell if they're green or not. Maybe even a nice blue. But the girl stared at her like she was waiting for something to happen.
She felt something akin to the beautiful and fleeting moment of adrenaline.
“Oh, Charlotte!” Abigail smiles warmly as she clasps her hands together. "I'm so sorry. I truly didn't mean to interrupt. I was showing our new friend around.” Abigail's voice was all too nice in feigned kindness. Her smile never reached her eyes, the way she kept her distance from the other girl, and how she didn’t even bother to learn the girl’s name.
She steps forward now, shaking her head in a mock apology.
“I was just finishing up.” Lottie responds, but her gaze is set on the other girl now. In the instance her gaze meets hers again, the feeling in her chest felt surreal. But Lottie turns away now, in a small crouch, as she signs the cross.
“She just came in today. I thought I’d show her around, but…” Abigail trails off, and Lottie now understands that Abigail was now dumpling the girl onto her. Lottie didn’t mind, really; she felt this odd sense that she and this girl were going to be talking a lot more after this. What she did mind, however, was that Abigail had so carelessly dismissed this girl.
Abigail presses her lips together as she fidgets with her hands for a brief moment from the sudden silence before she herds Lottie off to the side. Charlotte was enveloped in Abigail's scent of perfume. Jasmine and honey…
"Charlotte, this girl—she's so…” Abigail pauses, trying to find the right word before she settles onto something else. “She needs your ‘special’ touch.”
“You should’ve seen the way she talked to her father when he dropped her off. Cursing here, swearing there. She…needs ‘your’ help, and I…well… I don't have what you have.” Abigail presses on.
“I’ll see what I can do, Abby.” Lottie interrupts her, though if she had to admit, it came out a bit too soon and prejudiced before she began to walk around her. In the silence of the church, her footsteps were but small thuds on the carpet as she walked to the girl who had busied herself at staring at one of the stained glass windows. The light hit her in a way that made it look somewhat like a spotlight. She had looked so different—something she had never seen before.
The colors gently reflected off of her face: blue, green, yellow, and even purple. The glass was a painting of Christ's death, but the girl standing under it, bathing in its light, was something far more profound than that.
She looked completely out of place here, and for some reason it wanted to draw her closer. Her clothes were like nothing she's ever seen, fashioning ...shorts, Lottie would guess, but depending on how short they are, she assumes the girl didn't see a problem with it. A dark cotton? No, the lace tangtop and resting on top of it were assortments of necklaces. But what Lottie was really fascinated by was her lip piercings. Two hoops, hugging the plush, soft lip, and as lotties gaze, finally decides to look elsewhere, it lands on the girl's eyes . She follows it.
“I made that when I was younger," Lottie says, finding herself bathed under the same light as the girl. She wanted to find some common ground, some middle where she could get to her, but as she watches as the girl tenses, Lottie guesses she wasn’t expecting that. Lottie wasn’t completely lying; she did make it… along with some help, of course, but for some odd reason she wanted to take the full credit.
She wanted her attention on her.
“Save your holier–than–thou speech," the girl utters. “Not religious.”
Charlotte doesn’t respond for a quiet moment. Finding herself at a loss for words. She feels…taken aback, but more so...disappointed. Another non-believer. This girl… she was so... blunt? She doesn’t quite know how to explain it. There are many things she's feeling, thinking, and seeing, and yet she's so used to the friendly conversations, the hello’s and thank yous, and never really telling what the other person was feeling because why would she?
Her hand unwillingly clenched the rosary tighter, a small habit she picked up, since she was younger. But, when the girl turns her head to meet her gaze, Lottie finds herself speaking.
“That’s alright," Lottie responds. “I just want to help.”
germansingergirl
vaporwave
2087
