The Nature of Cruelty (19 page)

“Well, maybe he wouldn’t be over the moon, but I don’t think he’d disown her or anything.”

Robert shakes his head. “You don’t get it. I think my father’s a great man in many ways, but he’s old-fashioned. He has no problem with gays, so long as his daughter isn’t one of them.

“Poor Sasha,” I whisper, and a moment of quiet ensues. “So she’s out right now with…with a girl or something?”

“More than likely.”

“Does she – does she have a girlfriend?”

“Not that I know of. Just one-off flings, I imagine.”

A tear leaks out of my eye involuntarily. It’s like the person I thought I knew most in the world is suddenly a stranger. Robert sees the tear and wipes it away.

“You’re upset because she kept it from you,” he says, guessing my thoughts. I nod.

“Don’t be. She’s never told anyone. I only know because I saw her with that girl and put two and two together.”

“I just…I feel like saying so many things to her, but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

Robert’s eyes widen. “You can’t tell her I told you.”

“I’m not going to,” I reassure him. “I just wish there was some way for me to make it so that she’d tell me herself.”

“Maybe she will, but these things take time.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, letting my head rest on his shoulder.

I close my eyes, and I can’t stop the memories from running through my head. Now I’m going through all my experiences with Sasha, trying to figure out if there were signs that I just didn’t pick up on. Robert runs his fingers back and forth over my spine, and before I know it, I’ve fallen asleep. I don’t wake up until the next morning, and that’s only because he moves me to get out of the bed.

I open my eyes blearily to the early morning light. His gaze is trained on me as he pulls off the T-shirt he slept in.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey, were you, uh, here the whole night?” I ask, embarrassed.

“Yeah, I drifted off not long after you. Sorry I woke you, but I have to get ready for work.”

“That’s okay,” I reply, already snuggling back into the duvet to return to sleep.

He leans forward and kisses the corner of my mouth. I jump a little.

“I’ll see you later,” he says with a smile, and leaves the room.

A minute later I can hear the shower in the main bathroom running, and after another minute I’ve forgotten my embarrassment about sharing a bed with Robert for a full night and have fallen back asleep.

Ten

“
H
ey, Sash,” I say as I peek my head into her room.

As it happens, she did end up staying out last night, where exactly and with whom I don’t know. She only got back from work twenty minutes ago, but already she’s taken a shower and crawled into bed.

“Hey, kid, come in and close the door. Oh, God, I’ve got the mother and father of a hangover,” she says, rubbing her forehead. “Work was a nightmare.”

“Poor you,” I say, sympathising. “Was it a fun night, then?”

She grins as she turns to face me. “The best. Very much worth my current decrepit state.”

“Well, that’s good at least.” I smile back.

My heart is beating fast, and anxiety is pitter-pattering through my chest. I feel like I’m looking at her all anew. Stepping back to take in the landscape, as Robert put it.

She switches on the flat-screen TV mounted to the wall, flicking through the stations.

“So, your dad’s birthday party is tomorrow night,” I say.

“Yeah, he mentioned he invited you,” she replies, glancing at me sideways. “You gonna come?”

“Of course! You know I’m no fan of your dad, but it sounds like it’s going to be very swanky. Plus, I want to see if there’s any famous people there.”

She laughs, still flicking back and forth between channels. “There’ll probably be a few. It’s not as exciting as you think, though. Celebrities are all just normal, boring people when it comes down to it. It’s the cameras and attention that make them seem so fascinating and unreachable.”

“Well, I suppose you are the expert on that,” I agree.

“Yep. Alistair and I are planning an after party at his place. That’s where all the fun will be happening.”

“Cool.”

Her phone buzzes, and she picks up it before reading her message. Her face instantly hardens as she bites out, “Bloody arsehole.”

“What’s up?” I ask, concerned.

She flings the phone onto her nightstand. “Ugh, there’s this senior editor at work who’s got it in for me. Total ball-buster. Every couple of articles I write, he’ll send one back to be completely rewritten, making up flaws that aren’t even there. I can’t stand him. It’s all basically because he asked me out a few months ago and I said no. His ego can’t take the bruising, so this is his form of revenge.”

“That’s awful. Is there anyone you can report him to?”

“There wouldn’t be a point. They’re all sexist pricks in there. One day soon I’m going to find a new job, and I can’t wait to hand in my resignation just to stick it to this arsehole.”

I shake my head, just thinking about the guy. “I don’t get how people can be so sensitive like that. I mean, saying no to a date is hardly the insult of the century. It happens all the time.”

She glances at me with a smile. “Yeah, well, that’s what people are like. You might be the only person I know who doesn’t play games and who isn’t driven by their own ego.”

I grin. “Yeah, I’m simple, but in a good way.”

Sasha chuckles. “A very good way.”

“Those kinds of games go on everywhere, though,” I tell her, considering. “I remember in my old waitressing job there was this girl who was obsessed with having the most tips at the end of the day. She’d always make me count my money out next to her so she could make a big deal about winning. Then she’d flounce off, delighted with herself.”

“Was that the girl with the brown hair and the huge…” Sasha makes a funny gesture with her hands for boobs.

“Knockers, yes.”

“Well, she always wore low-cut tops, so it’s obvious that’s why she got all the tips.”

“I know that, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make. My point is that no matter where you go, no matter what job you do, there’s always going to be some arsehole to ruin your day. The key is to like yourself and love your life enough not to give a shit either way.”

“But people who like themselves are wankers,” she jokes.

“No, that’s people who like themselves
too
much. You have to like yourself just enough, and not go overboard.”

She scratches at her head, grinning. “What has you giving me all the pep talks?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug, even though I do know. I want her to be comfortable enough in who she is so she can show the world her true self and not have to hide. I’m just going the roundabout way of doing it. Maybe if I keep reminding her of how great she is, she’ll finally come around.

“Well, thanks anyway. You’ve cheered me up. How are you feeling after yesterday?” she asks.

“Much better. I had a day of therapy. First a long bath, and then I used some of the stuff from that foot hamper you got me. I did some yoga, too, and watched a couple of movies.”

“Lucky. That sounds way nicer than my day.”

I frown and turn my attention to the comedy show playing on the television, hating whoever that editor is at Sasha’s work and hoping that she finds a way to come out to me, talk to me about her real worries and fears. I always thought she told me everything. I mean, she tells me so much that you wouldn’t think there was anything else left to tell. But there is. There’s a whole lot else.

I hear the front door open and shut, signalling Robert’s arrival home.

“Sasha,” he calls up the stairs.

“In my room, Rob,” she calls back.

His feet sound on the steps before he walks into the room. He’s got a massive pizza box in one arm and a large bottle of Coke in the other. I stare at them longingly, knowing they’re both items I have to avoid.

“I got your whining ‘I have a hangover’ text,” he says in amusement. “Thought I’d bring dinner home since I’m such a wonderful brother.”

Sasha’s eyes light up eagerly. “Is that ham and pineapple?”

Robert grins and sits on the bed beside me. “It is.”

Sasha grabs for the box, lifting out a slice dripping with melted cheese and taking a big bite. She sinks back into her pillow, a look of satisfaction on her face. Robert chuckles and grabs his own slice before nudging me with his elbow. “I take it this stuff is off the menu for you, huh?”

He seems slightly apologetic.

“Usually, yes. But I could probably have a small bit,” I say, as the scent of cheese and freshly baked dough hits my nose.

He smiles, picks out a slice, and hands it to me. I take it, rip off about a third of the slice, and put the rest back in the box. We sit and eat in companionable silence for a while. When we’re finished, we make ourselves comfortable in Sasha’s king-size bed to watch TV and comment bitchily about things. Like how one girl wears way too much fake tan, or how this or that actor has put on weight.

Somewhere in between Robert surreptitiously takes my hand and laces his fingers through mine. I look over to check if Sasha has noticed, but she’s fallen asleep.

The room is silent now except for the noise of the TV.

I try to pull my hand out of Robert’s, but he holds on tight. When I look up into his eyes, I get lost. I didn’t realise it could be so fascinating (or such a turn-on) just to stare at someone for endless minutes, but with Robert my attention is rapt. I can’t look away.

His breathing becomes heavy, and so does mine.

I don’t know how much time has passed when he cups my cheek in his other hand and slowly lowers his mouth to my own. My lips stay closed, but he soon coaxes them open with his tongue. The sensation of it makes me shiver against him, and the kiss grows hungrier.

He lets go of my hand to grip my waist. The next thing I know, he’s picked me up and settled me on his lap. He slips his hand under the hem of my top and caresses my stomach, then moves over my hip and around to cup my bottom. I break the kiss to catch my breath and suddenly realise how scummy I’m being, getting it on with Robert while Sasha’s lying beside us in her hangover-ridden slumber.

His chest is rising and falling erratically, and his eyes are dark with desire. I can’t find any words, so I simply shake my head, crawl from his lap, and leave the room on shaky legs.

“Lana,” he whispers, but I don’t turn back around.

He doesn’t try to come after me, and in a way I’m disappointed, but I know it’s for the best. If anything is going to happen between me and Robert, it’s going to have to happen slowly. I need to make certain he understands that I’m not another Kara. That he can’t go sleeping around if he wants there to be an “us.”

He also needs to know about the little detail of my virginity. More to the point, my irrational fear of losing it. God, just thinking about telling him makes me want to die. What will he think of me? He definitely knows I’m inexperienced, but I’m not sure if he’s aware of just how badly inexperienced I am.

And will he even want to be with a virgin? Do guys like that sort of thing, or do they prefer a girl who knows what she’s doing? Perhaps I should Google it.

No. Google never gives me the answer I want anyway.

I get defensive now. I mean, twenty-two isn’t
that
old, and it’s not like I’ve had the time for relationships. It was difficult enough trying to finish my degree and keep my health on track without the added stress of finding a boyfriend the past few years.

My mind wanders even further as I wonder whether Robert is the person I want to lose it to. We’ve known each other for a long time, but our interaction has hardly ever been what you’d call romantic, balanced, or anything else that’s conducive to a good first sexual experience. In the back of my mind I’ve always harboured notions of it being love/hate between us, rather than simply “hate.” His recent behaviour certainly points towards it being love/hate. But why the hate?

Oh, yeah, because I stole Sasha.

It just seems so trivial. Then again, when you’re a teenager trivialities make up your entire life. Little things that don’t matter can drive you to act in extreme ways. In Robert’s case, his extreme behaviour was bullying me to the point where I would practically have a panic attack whenever I saw him.

The next morning Sasha wakes me early to go dress shopping with her.

“Dress shopping?” I ask, acting like the idea is foreign to me. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear a dress before, Sasha. I
must
take a picture. This is an occasion to remember.”

She rolls her eyes. “And the sarcasm award goes to…”

“Fine, fine, give me twenty minutes to shower and wake up properly. Oh, and I’ll need to have some breakfast too before we go.”

“No probs, I’ve to call Dad about some stuff. See you in a bit.”

When I make my way downstairs, freshly showered, wearing chino shorts and a loose knitted top, I find Robert standing by the door, repeatedly throwing his car keys up in the air and then catching them. He’s got a grey shirt on and dark pants. My heart stops at how beautiful he looks. Masculine beauty is the deadliest of cocktails.

“Morning,” he says with a charming smile.

“What are you doing?”

“Didn’t Sasha tell you? I’m your chauffeur for the day. I also need to get a suit for tonight’s party.”

I shake my head. “You two are so alike, leaving everything until the last minute.”

“Oh, so I suppose you’ve got your outfit all sorted.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m sure I have a dress that will do the job.”

He smirks. “How very low maintenance of you.”

“I prefer to call it having better things to do with my time, but low maintenance works as well.”

“I can see that.” He takes a step forward and runs his hand over my top. “You do realise there are holes in this.”

I look down at myself. There are holes, but only the tiny ones you get in knitted clothing. “That’s the way it’s supposed to look, silly.”

He raises his hands. “Hey, I’m not complaining. In fact, I quite like it.”