The Nature of Cruelty (13 page)

“Really? What did Rob do?” I ask with interest.

“He told her it wasn’t happening. I know, big shock for Robert to turn down a good-looking girl who’s offering herself up to him on a plate. I suppose he could see that getting with Michelle would be more trouble than it’s worth. She’d only end up telling Kara and causing a drama. It’s not as obvious as it was when we were younger, but there’s always been a big competition between the girls to see who would snag Robert. I don’t get it myself, but then again, he is my brother.”

Sasha might not get it, but it makes perfect sense to me. Robert’s one of those guys who will always be the one the girls want most. I guess it’s a mixture of his beauty, his charm, and the way you can just tell he’s going to be a wanker. Nice guys are all well and good, but there is something in the female brain that will always makes us swoon for a wanker. They have that bad-boy swagger about them.

Yeah, I just used the phrase “bad boy swagger.” Kill me now.

“I’m going to have to go find somewhere to take my insulin soon,” I say to Sasha. “What are we doing for lunch?”

“We’ll find a restaurant somewhere in town, I suppose. I can get the keys for Rob’s car and you can go take it in there, what do you think?”

“Sounds good,” I reply as we wade our way out of the water.

When we reach the group, Robert and Kara aren’t arguing any longer, thank God. Robert is lying on the sand, his muscled chest gleaming with sweat under the summer sun. He looks magnificent, and I wish it wasn’t something that affects me, but it does.

“Rob,” Sasha calls. “Lana left something in the back of your car. Can she have the keys to go get it?”

He opens his eyes, shading them with his hand. “Sure she can.”

Reaching for his discarded pants, he digs the keys out of the back pocket. I pick up my towel and wrap it around myself, patting dry the wet ends of my hair, which have gone all curly.

“Here you go, little red,” he says, holding the keys out to me. I take them, just as Kara’s eyes shoot open and she makes a face of disgust.

“Little red?” she asks.

“I’m sorry, did I say something to you?” Robert bites back, his voice clipped.

“Uh, no. I was just wondering why you called her that,” she answers, snotty.

Victor and Jacob open their eyes to take in the new spat. They eye each other, amused, before focusing back on Robert and Kara. God, high school doesn’t ever end, does it?

Since their attention has been grabbed, I take the chance to shove what they said about me earlier back in their faces. What can I say, I don’t like them thinking I’m dumb and oblivious to their male bitchiness.

I’m looking at them while I answer Kara’s question. “It’s because I have a little hairy red bush that I use my granny’s old swimsuit to cover up. Like I’ve never heard that one before. And the swimsuit’s vintage. Get it right,” I snap.

This single moment defines my personality as defiantly shy. Every word was like swallowing glass, but it had to be said.

Kara snickers. Clearly she heard what they said earlier. Robert quickly catches on.

“You’re a right pair of bastards. Is that what you said about her?” he questions.

“It was only a joke. We didn’t mean any offence,” Jacob explains.

“Oh, of course not,” I mutter to myself, disgruntled.

“Just don’t let it happen again,” Robert warns them, standing up from his sitting position.

Sasha eyes her brother suspiciously. Pulling him aside, she asks, “Why are you acting like Lana’s knight in shining armour all of a sudden?”

He looks at her, feigning incomprehension. “What are you on about?”

“You’re up to something. Not too long ago you’d have been the one saying insulting shit to Lana. Now suddenly you’re defending her. Sorry, bro, but that just doesn’t sit right with me.”

I dry myself with my towel before holding it up to take off my soaking-wet bathing suit. All the while I’m listening intently to Sasha and Robert’s conversation.

Robert turns to me. “Tell her, Lana. We made a deal to get along, didn’t we?”

I nod. “Yep. Robert promised to be respectful if I agreed not to kick up a fuss about him staying at your place for the summer.”

Robert doesn’t takes his eyes off me as I do some pretty impressive under-the-towel manoeuvres to get clean, dry underwear on without showing any skin. I let the towel drop for a split second, and his eager eyes get a glimpse of the top of my boob.

He cranes his neck to see better, but I quickly cover myself again. His gaze smoulders.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense, then,” says Sasha, looking between the two of us.

“Um, could you both turn around for a sec?” I ask. “I’m trying to get changed here.”

Sasha gives me a look of annoyance, as if to say
it’s nothing I haven’t seen a million times before
, but she turns around nonetheless. Robert, on the other hand, stays facing me.

“Oh, I don’t mind watching,” he leers.

“Just turn around, Rob,” I say, exasperated.

He does, and I clip my bra on and pull my dress over my head as quickly as I can manage.

“Okay, you can turn back now,” I tell them. “I’m going to go get that thing I left in the car.”

I shove my stuff into my bag and hitch it over my shoulder.

“You want me to come with you?” Sasha asks.

“No, I can remember the way. I’ll call you if I get lost.”

“Okay, see you in a bit.”

Robert watches me leave silently as I meander my way through the crowds of other people on the beach. A few minutes later I reach the car. I get in the back and zip open my bag to take out my insulin pack. Catching sight of myself in the overhead mirror, I grimace. My hair is wavy and damp from the sea, and the sun has made the sprinkling of freckles over my nose and cheeks stand out. It strikes me that how young and fresh-faced I look contrasts starkly with how tired I feel.

Keeping up with this routine day in day out can take its toll on a person. Sometimes I wish I could get randomly cured, like those old ladies who go on pilgrimages to Lourdes with massive tumours on their bodies that miraculously disappear. That way I could act young and reckless. Live life freely without worrying about the consequences of missing a meal or misjudging a dosage.

Making sure that nobody’s hanging around the car, I pull my dress up past my stomach and lean back in the seat, breathing out an exhausted sigh. It’s odd how the absence of one little hormone can mean the difference between living and dying for someone like me.

A couple of minutes later, I’m packing everything back up in my bag when suddenly there’s a knock on the window. I jump in fright and turn to see Robert standing there, gazing down at me. My heart hammers as he walks around to the other side, opens the door, and slides right in.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him nervously.

“You were taking a while, so I came to make sure you were okay,” he answers, his voice soft.

“How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough.”

“So you saw.” Trust Robert to stay and watch instead of knocking on the window the moment he reached the car.

“I did. What were you injecting yourself with?” he asks. All of a sudden he seems upset, concerned even.

“Heroin,” I deadpan.

“Be serious, Lana. What was it?”

“It’s just medicine, Robert,” I answer on a sigh, letting my head fall back against the seat. For a few moments there my body was as rigid as a board.

“Are you sick?”

I smile sadly. “I’ve got diabetes.”

All of a sudden, he relaxes. “Diabetes, that’s no big deal, right? Lots of people have that.”

“Well, yeah, lots of people have Type 2. Unfortunately for me, I have Type 1, which means my body can’t produce its own insulin, so I need my injections daily.”

His breathing quickens as he moves his body closer to mine. “Would you die if you didn’t get it?”

I nod solemnly. “Yes, I take it three times a day.”

“How long?” he asks urgently.

“How long what?”

“How long have you had it?”

Even though I’m the sick one, I place my hand comfortingly on his wrist. “Seems like forever, really. I was diagnosed when I was seven.”

“Seven? So ever since I first met you, you’ve been sick, and you never even told me.”

“Why are you upset? Of course I didn’t tell you. We’ve never been close, never really been friends at all until now.”

His eyes stay on my hand touching his wrist. “But if I’d have known I never would have…” He trails off.

“Never would have what? Been an arsehole to me? Well, forgive me if I’d rather be treated cruelly than treated like an invalid. You’re overreacting here. I haven’t got cancer, Robert. If I’m careful I can live as full a life as anybody else.”

“I’m not overreacting, Lana. You’re sugarcoating it. You just said yourself that you could die if you didn’t get your medicine. And don’t people with diabetes die really young?”

My shoulders sag. He’s depressing me now. “I’ll die a couple of years before other people my age. That is, unless I get knocked down by a car, or murdered, or caught up in a tsunami or something else equally lethal. It’s not that bad.”

“It’s bad,” he grits out, his jaw tight. “I don’t want you to be sick.”

“Why not? Seems like when we were kids, you wanted me gone from the face of the planet.”

“That’s not true.”

“What’s true, then?” I ask, just before I notice a single tear falling down his cheek. I gasp audibly, and after several seconds pass I reach out hesitantly to wipe it away. Our faces are a breath apart when I say in awe, “You’re crying for me?”

My heart feels like somebody’s lit a match and set it on fire. Hell, it feels like they threw a gallon of petrol on it before setting it alight. Robert’s crying for me? Am I living in an alternate universe? Unless he’s got a talent for faking tears, this has to be real.

A millisecond after I’ve spoken, he grabs my face in both his hands, stares into my eyes, and breathes, “This is true,” before softly pressing his lips to mine.

In this moment my eyes drift closed, and I feel whole for the first time in my life. This isn’t just a kiss, it’s a communication, the culmination of years of repression and feigned hatred.

Sometimes you can be so deeply wrapped up in a person that the only way to deal with it is to use cruelty to push them away.

His lips explore mine, my lips meld into his. He’s drinking me in, his fingers moving over my face reverently. With one hard sweep of his tongue he infiltrates my mouth, but a second later it’s gone. He’s gone. And with that the feeling of wholeness disappears. It’s like I never knew what I needed in life until this exact moment, and what I need is Robert. My childhood tormentor. My best friend’s brother. Someone I’m supposed to despise.

I realise why he stopped once I’ve finally gathered my senses from that earth-shattering kiss. His phone is buzzing with a text message. His chest rises and falls erratically as he taps on the screen, and his eyes scan the message.

“It’s Sasha,” he explains, his voice gravelly. “I didn’t tell her I was going after you. She wants to know where I am. She and the others have gone to look for a restaurant for lunch.”

“Oh,” I say, my eyes straying to his jeans, where I can see how, uh, excited that short kiss made him. My head is cloudy with confusion. What just happened? Has Robert always wanted me this badly? Or is it just a recent development?

He drapes his arm over the top of the seat. “You smell like the beach,” he comments, his voice low.

“Mm-hmm,” I say, distracting myself from his stare by bending down to fix the buckle on one of my sandals. I feel his hand move along my back, down my spine, before curling around my waist.

“So, where were we?” he asks, pulling me to his side and planting his lips on my neck.

I make a low moaning noise as the sensation of his lips on my neck travels through my nerve endings to the base of my spine.

“Shit,” I mutter, torn between wanting to stay here and continue this with him and needing space to contemplate things.

“Fuck, I want you,” he hisses as his hand moves up under my dress, softly grazing my inner thigh.

The combination of his touch and his declaration makes me melt, but I pull myself away slightly. I can’t stay here — I need to go eat.

“We’d better catch up with Sasha and the others,” I tell him hoarsely.

“Later,” he murmurs, his lips still moving on my neck.

Thinking he’s been at it long enough that it could leave an embarrassing red mark, I put my hands to his chest and push him away.

“I’m being serious, Rob. I have to have lunch within the next half hour, or I won’t feel well for the rest of the day.”

He looks at me gravely. “You’re right. Come on, we’ll go find Sasha, then.”

He helps me from the car, and as we make our way toward the street I notice him looking at my hand every once in a while, as though considering whether or not to take hold of it. In the end he must decide against it, or perhaps he’s too shy to make such a bold move. Then again, “shy” was never a word I would associate with Robert.

We find the group sitting at a large window table in a nice bistro-style restaurant. Robert takes the seat next to me as a waiter comes and hands us some extra menus. I order a caprese salad and some sweet potato wedges, and Robert gets the lasagna.

“Where were you two?” Sasha asks, eyeing her brother curiously.

“I went to find Lana. She was still at the car when I got there.”

Sasha’s eyes widen as she moves her attention to me. It’s clear what she’s wondering. Did Robert see me taking my insulin? Now that it’s out in the open, I feel ridiculous for being so adamant about keeping it a secret from him. If anything, his finding out opened up a whole new aspect to our relationship. I can still smell his kisses on my skin, still feel the memory of his lips pressed into mine.

The waiter is working his way through the table, taking down orders. When he reaches Kara, my attention perks up at how much food she asks for. She’s the kind of girl who you’d always expect to order a garden salad, or something equally tasteless, but she doesn’t. She asks for the mushroom soup, the steak, chicken wings, and a large portion of chips. I catch sight of Michelle and Sandra eyeing one another as Michelle mouths what is unquestionably the word “bulimia” at Sandra.