The Nature of Cruelty (37 page)

“What? What happened? Are you okay?” he asks frantically.

“I’m fine, just a small chest pain. It’s gone now.”

He sits back, wiping his hand across his mouth. “Shit, I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

“No, just – just don’t make a big drama. Just accept that this is how it has to be,” I say past the tears. When I look him in the eye, I see that he’s crying, too, and it’s a strange feeling to have made a man like Robert cry.

“I’m going to prove to you that I can be what you need.”

“Don’t…”

“No. I’m going to,” he interrupts me adamantly, wiping at his eyes.

“It’s over, Robert,” I say, trying to make the words sound final. Dragging this out is only going to hurt the both of us.

“It will never be over between us, Lana. You’ll realise that soon enough.”

Unable to listen to him any longer, I climb out of bed, pull on some clothes, and go downstairs to make breakfast. He doesn’t follow me, but about fifteen minutes later I hear the front door open and shut, signalling his departure. Perhaps he decided to go into work today after all.

Sitting by the kitchen window and looking out into the large back garden, I wipe away another tear, hoping there won’t be too many more to follow.

The next couple of days are the most torturous of my life. Everything bad that came before pales in comparison. Robert, a man I once thought immune to emotion, looks at me like a kicked puppy every time we’re in the same room together. He has this thing he does where he laces his hands together, as though to keep from pulling me into his embrace.

At one point I feel like taking the coward’s way out and going home early, but I don’t want to waste my final weeks with Sasha. Once I return to Ireland, we won’t get to see each other for who knows how long. She’ll remain in London, and I’ll be in Dublin studying.

It’s agony still living in this house with Robert, but I’m determined to see out the next three weeks.

On Friday afternoon I’m making my way upstairs to my room and Robert is on his way down. As we pass by each other, he grabs my hand and squeezes it. I pause and close my eyes, taking deep breaths to keep from breaking down.

He draws our clasped fingers up to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “Do you know how it feels having to see such beauty and not be able to touch it?” he asks, staring intensely into my eyes.

“Stop this. You’re being foolish,” I say, trying to pull my hand from his.

“I’m a fool for you,” he counters.

“Robert, I have to go,” I whisper, my voice almost cracking.

His lips curve down in a frown as he drops his hand from mine and lets me pass, standing in place and watching as I walk away. I hardly leave my room for the rest of the evening, too scared I’ll bump into him again.

The next day Sasha gets an apology phone call from her dad. He tells her that he’s found it in himself to accept who she is and move on with things. She says that’s very magnanimous of him, her sarcasm wholly justified. In the end they tentatively agree not to fight anymore, but I have a feeling it’ll be a long time before they become close like Sasha is with her mum. If ever.

On Sunday it’s the day of the Olympics closing ceremony. I’ve always found big events stressful, so I make sure I’m well rested and able to take on the crowd. I’ve been keeping up my regime perfectly, and every day my body is getting healthier. However, nobody ever told me how badly a broken heart can affect you. How it constantly feels like there’s a knife stuck in the centre of your chest, how your lungs feel like they can’t get enough air to breathe.

I hope in vain that emotional distress won’t lead to physical sickness. The key is not to let it fester, but I’m still trying to figure out how to achieve that. I hope it will fade. It has to. When I was ten and my grandfather passed away, I didn’t think I’d ever heal from the pain. He’d been the closest thing to a dad in my life. But then, as the weeks passed and then months, the ache went away.

If I’m lucky, my love for Robert will go away, too.

Sasha finally took the plunge and asked out the barista girl, whose name is Poppy, and as it happens she said yes to the date. I was so happy to hear that. I’m glad Sasha’s bringing her to the closing ceremony, as it will pad out the numbers and not make things so agonising between Robert and me.

It’s almost like we’re both subconsciously torturing ourselves, knowing things are over between us, yet not being able to take the final step and ensure we don’t see one another every day. Robert could easily rent an apartment somewhere and I could easily go home early, but we don’t take those options. Perhaps because severing the ties completely will hurt more than the current liminal space we occupy.

I get home from the pharmacy, where I’d been collecting a prescription, and hurry to my room to get ready for the evening ahead. Upon opening the door I get a distinct case of
deja vu
, because Robert is sitting on the floor by the window again, reading my copy of Homer’s
Odyssey
.

“Something wrong with your room?” I ask casually, my heart thumping fast as I put my medicine away in a drawer and slip off my shoes.

His eyes flick to me briefly before returning to the book. “I like it in here.”

“O…kay.” An awkward silence ensues, so I try to fill it by asking, “Are you looking forward to tonight?”

He drags out a long sigh and tilts his head to look at me, his eyes not returning to the book this time. “What do you think?” he asks back, his words loaded with so much hidden meaning I don’t know where to begin in translating them.

“I think you should be excited?” I reply, my words rising at the end like a question.

“Well, there’s your answer, then,” he says, deadpan, placing the book down on the floor and rubbing his forehead with his fingertips.

I want to ask him if he’s okay, but just like me he clearly isn’t, and asking him will only lead to an argument, which is something I can’t handle right now.

Jesus Christ, did I make the right decision?

I’d thought so, but now it just feels like I’ve made everything worse.

Pulling myself together, I walk to my wardrobe and take out the skirt and blouse I plan on wearing. I need my toiletries bag, too. The problem is, it’s sitting atop the shelves just beyond Robert’s head.

“Could you pass me that blue bag?” I ask, pointing.

He looks to it, and then there’s a calculating gleam in his eye. “Get it yourself.”

Exasperated, I walk across the room to retrieve it. As I step over him to grab the bag, his warm hand suddenly clasps my ankle. I’m wearing shorts, thank God, because otherwise he’d be able to look right up my dress from this position. Still, his thumb brushes gently over a tender spot and I melt, closing my eyes for a moment and just…feeling it.

“Lana,” he whispers quietly. “Open your eyes.”

I turn my head a fraction to stare down at him. His mouth is open, and his chest is rising and falling heavily, mirroring my own. His other hand wraps around my other ankle and begins massaging.

“You look tense, baby,” he says in the low tone he only ever uses when we’re having sex or if he’s thinking about having sex with me. My entire body trembles.

“Don’t call me that,” I protest weakly.

Quick as a flash he’s brought his hands to the backs of my knees and is using pressure to push me down onto his lap. I straddle his thighs as his hands now move to the curve of my bottom. Between my legs I feel him instantly harden, and I can’t help but move a little to get some friction.

This is bad,
really
bad.

I feel my cheeks redden when he sighs and drops his face to the hollow of my neck. He takes a deep inhalation, breathing in my scent.

“Miss you,” he mumbles against my skin.

“Robert,” I start but don’t finish, not knowing what to say.

His fingers dig into my flesh, the pain agonisingly sweet. He pulls back to stare up at me, and our breaths mingle. A split second later rationality catches up with me, and I practically jump out of his lap.

“You should go,” I tell him sadly.

Rising to his feet, he stares at me, half tender, half fuming. “This is fucked up — you do know that, right? Are you trying to punish me for the past? Is that what this is?”

My brow furrows, confusion marking my features. “What? Of course not. I would never…”

“Forget it,” he snaps, striding past me and out the door. I stare after him for a long time before finally dragging myself into the shower.

Later on I feel bad for Sasha having to be the gooseberry between Robert and me as we sit side by side on the Tube. Her date Poppy is going to meet us at the stadium, so until then she has to put up with us both trying hard to ignore one another.

The walk to the stadium is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. There’s a buzz in the air, an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation among the crowds of people all moving in the same direction. Sasha spots Poppy standing by the entrance and runs over to greet her. She’s a really pretty girl, a natural blonde with big green eyes. Sasha gives her a short hug and a peck on the cheek, and my heart fills with emotion at seeing my best friend finally being her real self out in the open for the world to see.

“Lana.” I hear my name from Robert’s lips and turn from Sasha to look up at him.

“Things are going to be crazy in here. Promise you’ll stick by me and tell me if you’re feeling unwell.” There’s a pain in his eyes that almost makes me flinch. I hate what happened between us earlier.

“Okay, yeah. Thanks for looking out for me.”

He doesn’t reply, but the look on his face speaks volumes. Sasha and Poppy join us, and we exchange greetings before heading inside. The tickets happen to be for the standing area right by the stage. The place is already packed to the gills, and when we finally reach our section I notice we must be in some sort of VIP thingy, because it’s not as crowded and there are people all about wearing official-looking tracksuits — athletes from the games, no doubt.

This is one instance in life where I wish I could be taller. I can hear Emeli Sandé singing on the stage, but I can hardly see anything with the people standing in front of me. I crane my neck and instead watch the show play on the gigantic monitors overhead. Sasha and Poppy sway to the music, laughing and chatting with one another. When I glance at Robert, I see him smiling down at me. The amount of love in his eyes is something I have to try hard to ignore.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” he breathes. “We’re experiencing a moment of history right here, little red.”

“It is amazing, and overwhelming,” I agree, turning in a circle to take in the sheer size of the stadium and the thousands of people within it.

He laughs. “You’re too cute.”

I stick my tongue out at him and return my attention to the show. The exhilaration of being here lifts my spirits, and soon Robert and I are singing along and dancing to the music, for a time forgetting our differences. Madness are on stage performing “Our House,” and everybody’s chanting the lyrics. A moment later I feel two strong arms wrap around my middle.

Robert’s cologne fills my senses as his hard chest presses into my back. “I couldn’t help myself,” he says into my ear over the music. Not having enough willpower to pull away, I allow him to continue holding me, melting into his touch.

“You thirsty?” he asks.

“A little.”

“I’ll go get you some water, ’kay?”

“Okay.”

He leaves and returns with two plastic cups of ice water. I swallow a big mouthful, not realising how much I needed it. I’m vaguely aware of the Pet Shop Boys being on stage now, but I can’t for the life of me focus my attention on anything other than Robert as he gulps back his water, his throat moving and a trickle of liquid running down his neck. When he finishes, we stare at each other for a long time.

He has this look on his face like he’s remembering each and every one of our sexual encounters and letting them replay in his head. Quite frankly, it makes me blush. Bringing his hand to his neck, he wipes away the drop of water. I let my eyes fall to the ground and then avert them to the stage, hearing him chuckle.

“Can you even see up there?” he asks huskily.

I tilt my head and shrug. “Sort of.”

“Come here. You can sit up on my shoulders. That way you’ll have the best view in the house.”

I eye him dubiously. “Won’t that be kind of uncomfortable for you?”

He raises an eyebrow, giving me a cynical look. “Lana, I lift weights heavier than you at the gym. Come on, climb up.”

He bends down so his shoulders are low enough for me to throw my legs over. Bracing a hand on his right shoulder, I lift one leg, and before I know it he’s pulling me astride his neck and standing up straight again, lifting me into the air. I squeal nervously, my thighs clenching around him, afraid I might fall. I always knew Robert was tall, but being up here feels ridiculously high.

“You’d better not let me drop,” I say, my voice anxious.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he purrs, bringing his hands to the outsides of my thighs, holding me in place. For a while I get lost in the performances, in awe of how I’m able to see everything from my current position. Sometime later Robert moves his head to the side slightly, his stubbled jaw brushing the inside of my thigh. I can practically feel the scrape of each hair as they send tingles all the way to my sex. I quietly gasp when I see him inhale deeply.

“Sorry,” he apologises. “I had a little crick in my neck.”

Sure he did.

“I should get down now.”

“No,” he says, gripping my knees tightly. “Don’t move. I’ve never been happier to be between a woman’s legs as I am right now.”

His voice has dropped several notes, hitting me right in the pit of my belly. And then, like a punch to the gut, I realise how terribly I’m behaving, leading Robert on by allowing him close enough to touch me, when I know it can’t go anywhere. That at the end of the night it has to end. I’m being cruel to him without even realising it.

Before he can react, I scramble down off his shoulders. “I owe you an apology, Robert. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”