The Nature of Cruelty (25 page)

“Good. He’d be doing me a favour, then,” I grumble.

Mum puts down her knife and fork with a clatter. “I don’t understand your problem with this man. He seemed very reasonable when I went to meet with him. He told me he’s done everything in his power to try and help you, but you just keep refusing him and disrupting the class.”

The teacher she’s referring to is Mr. Brennan. As if by some stroke of misfortune, I have him for both my English and French classes. What Mum doesn’t seem to understand is that the man is a fucking creep. I have a theory that he’s got some sort of latent homosexual crush on me.

Ever since I started at the school, he’s been particularly focused on me in class, selecting me to answer questions or discuss a book. A year ago he asked me to wait until everyone left for a “talk.” The talk entailed organising for private tutoring sessions with him, since English is my worst subject. I told him I wasn’t interested, and ever since he’s made it his mission in life to fuck with me. I mean, no ordinarily concerned teacher would set out on a personal vendetta after a student said no to a simple offer of tutoring. That’s how I know there’s something off about him.

Or perhaps I’m just paranoid.

Either way, the man just gives me a bad vibe. And let’s face it, if an emotional sadist is getting bad vibes off a person, then there must be something amiss.

This whole business with the essay started up because he wanted to “personally oversee” my work since I’m a “problem student” and seem to have trouble composing lengthy pieces of writing. In response I threw my book at him and said he and the essay could go fuck themselves.

As a result, I had to spend an afternoon sitting outside the principal’s office. The next day Mr. Brennan called my mum in and we made an agreement that they wouldn’t expel me for physically assaulting a teacher if I behaved from now on and completed the essay by the deadline.

Physically assaulting, my arse.

The book had sailed right past his head and thumped off the side of the blackboard.

Mum’s rubbing at the creases in her forehead now, looking the picture of a parent who’s at the end of her tether.

All of a sudden, Lana speaks up, her voice soft and inquisitive. “Who do you have for English?”

I’m so surprised she’s actually addressing me that I don’t know what to do for a second. Finally, I find my voice. “Arsehole Brennan.”

“Robert, language,” Mum scolds, lifting her fork back up.

“Oh, I have him, too,” says Lana, suppressing a smile at my nickname for him. “I’ve never liked him, either.”

“Thank you!” I exclaim, clapping my hands together. “Now do you see?” I ask Mum pointedly.

My head instinctively drifts toward Lana then, as I fight back the urge to kiss her like I did last Halloween.

“Don’t encourage him, love,” Mum interrupts, looking to Lana. “He doesn’t need any more excuses not to get along with the man.”

“Shush, Mother,” I say with glee, turning to face Lana properly. “Go on, tell us all why you don’t like him so that I can prove once and for all that I’m not being unreasonable.”

Mum shakes her head, exasperated.

“Well, my friend Ronan has a mild form of dyslexia, and Mr Brennan isn’t very understanding about it. Sometimes he shouts at him because he takes longer to do assignments than everyone else. Ronan gets very upset about it.”

Bloody Ronan. He better only be her friend like she said and not her boyfriend; otherwise, I feel I might have to interfere and scare him away. He’s not going to put his clammy little paws on Lana if I have anything to do with it. Still, I’m glad Lana brought him up so now Mum might believe me about Mr. Brennan.

“Well, Mum, what do you have to say about that, then?” I ask her smugly.

“Robert, you have three months left of school. The man might not be the best teacher, but can you please just tolerate him for the duration? It’s not like you’ve got years and years ahead of you.”

“True, but I’ve already suffered him for years and years, and quite frankly, I’ve had enough.”

 “Don’t you start in with the ‘quite franklys’, Robert. You’re not your father,” Mum scolds.

 “God, Mother, exactly what part of your psyche is so intent on making me suffer?”

“That’s enough now, Robert. I’m not getting into this with you.”

I smugly fold my arms across my chest. Sometimes I just can’t help myself but to rile Mum up. With a condescending tone, I say, “The rumours must be true about Freud saying that the Irish are the only race he knows who are impervious to psychoanalysis, because I really can’t understand you sometimes.”

“I’ll give you an impervious slap across the head in a minute if you don’t shut up.”

“Ah, there you go again, avoiding the issue.”

Wanting to have the last word, I stand from the table, leaving my food half eaten, and walk straight out of the house. I don’t come home until late when I know Mum will be asleep.

The next day at school it’s sunny out, so everybody’s sitting on the grass at lunch instead of staying in the canteen. As I’m making my way outside, I spy Lana and Ronan shading themselves under a tree. They’ve got several textbooks spread out around them. Now might be a good time to find out what the deal is with the two of them, and since I’m technically speaking to Lana again, it won’t seem too weird that I’m approaching her.

“Hello, neighbour,” I announce cheerfully, plopping down beside her on the grass. “How are you this fine afternoon?”

Her shoulders go tense, and Ronan eyes me curiously. He obviously knows who I am, because my reputation often precedes me at this school, but he’s probably wondering what I’m doing sitting with them instead of my usual group.

“Hi,” says Lana warily, giving Ronan a look that says,
I have no idea why he’s here but I really wish he’d leave.

There’s a silence, and I grab one of her sandwiches from her lunchbox.

“That’s mine,” she protests as I take a bite. It’s some sort of healthy chicken salad number, but it still tastes pretty good.

“I know,” I tell her with a wink. “Don’t you get the canteen lunches?”

“No, um, my mum prefers me to eat food from home. It’s healthier.”

“It also doesn’t taste like crap. Your mum makes good sandwiches. You’ll have to offer to share with me more often.”

“I never offered.”

“You should give that back,” says Ronan, finally summoning up the balls to speak to me.

I take my time putting the sandwich back down before leaning across Lana so I can look him straight in the eye.

“What was that, fucker?”

Ronan’s cheeks go bright red, and his eyes shy away from me. “Nothing,” he mumbles.

“Thought so,” I say, giving him a hard smile.

Lana pushes me back into my place. “Leave him alone. Leave us both alone. You’re not wanted here, Robert.”

“I like it here. It’s cosy,” I say with a big grin, showing her my teeth. I’ve fallen right back into my old ways. All those months of abstaining, and I break this easily.

“Fine,
we’ll
leave then. Come on, Ronan,” she says, gathering her books.

I put my hand on her arm to stop her. “Ronan can go, but not you,” I say, my words adamant.

Her eyes blink several times as she pulls her arm from my grip. “I’ll tell the principal about this,” she whispers, a weak threat.

“Go ahead. You’re still not leaving.”

Ronan coughs now, stuffing his things into his bag. “I, uh, I have to go get some stuff from my locker,” he says, giving Lana an apologetic look before scurrying away. Little coward.

“Ronan,” Lana hisses, but he doesn’t turn back

I let out a soft chuckle and pick the sandwich back up. “Seems like your knight in not so shining armour has fled,” I tell her with satisfaction.

She slumps back against the tree. “What do you want?”

“To have lunch together. It’s a beautiful day.” I gesture about the space.

“Mm-hmm.” She picks up the other sandwich and takes a bite, resigned to my presence now. We eat in quiet for a minute or two. She doesn’t look at me, but I’m staring at her like a lunatic, remembering my little self-love sesh last night in which she reserved the starring role. She’s taken her woolly uniform jumper off, wearing only the thin shirt beneath, and I can make out the edge of her bra.

“You were very rude to your mum yesterday at dinner,” she says, breaking the quiet. “She was upset after you left.”

Her words give me pause, but I pretend to ignore them by saying, “I can see down your shirt, you know.” I can’t see nearly enough, but that’s beside the point. She tugs the edges together and buttons it up, letting out a sigh.

I shift closer and give her a slow smile.

“If Sasha wasn’t gone to the dentist today, you wouldn’t even be talking to me,” she says.

“What do you mean? Of course I would be.”

“You know she’d give you an earful if she caught you stealing my lunch. You do realise you’re being such a bully stereotype right now, don’t you?”

I place my hand above my heart. “I’m not a bully. I’m sharing lunch with my friend.”

“You’re not my friend. You haven’t spoken to me in forever. What happened, are you bored or something?”

I’m never bored around you
, I feel like saying, but I keep it locked inside. At this very moment some girls walk by, glancing over at me, whispering to each other and then giggling. The most confident of the bunch calls over, “Hey, Rob, are you going to the over-16s disco this weekend?”

I feel Lana’s attention on me, like she actually cares what my answer will be. Unable to help myself, I call back, “Yeah, don’t wear any knickers, and I might save you a dance.”

Wouldn’t you know, the girl actually preens and grins at that sleazy line.

“I’ll think about it,” she calls back, winking and then sauntering away.

When I turn back to Lana, I see her staring at the sandwich in her hand, focused intently on not looking at me.

“I suppose you’re too young to go,” I say, nudging her with my arm.

She nods. “Sasha’s going with some of the girls from her class. Discos aren’t really my thing anyway.”

“I could get you in,” I tell her in a considering voice.

“I don’t doubt that. But I wouldn’t want to go even if I was old enough.”

“Oh, are you too good for such base activities as discos?” I ask.

She is too good, way too good. Girls turn into total sluts at these things, wearing tiny skirts and drinking from Coke bottles laced with vodka. They also have competitions to see how many boys they can get with in one night.

“That’s not what I meant,” she protests.

“Sure it wasn’t,” I say sarcastically, finishing off the sandwich. “What else have you got in here?” I rummage through her lunchbox, pulling out a carton of juice and an apple. I take the liberty of punching a hole through the top of the juice with the straw and take a long slug. “Ah, refreshing. Here you go.”

I hand her the carton and she pulls out the straw, setting it down on the grass, before sipping directly from the hole.

I laugh. “I’m not diseased.”

Her eyes travel in the direction of the girls who just passed by. “I definitely don’t know that.”

“My, oh my, did you just infer that some slutty girl gave me an STD?”

“No,” she says, then smiles. “I implied it.”

I put on an offended expression. “Don’t tease me. You know I’m shit at English.”

Her smile falters. “That’s not…that’s not what I meant.” She shakes her head, knowing she’s repeating herself.

“Sure it’s not. There’s a cruel soul behind those innocent eyes. I knew it all along,” I tease.

She purses her lips and drinks some more of her juice. “You should really tell the principal about Mr. Brennan. He can’t be allowed to treat students the way he does. I see him being mean to Ronan all the time. He’s horrible.”

“There’s no point. The man’s worked here for like a hundred years. It’s not like they’re going to sack him. And anyway, it’s not like I don’t deserve the shit he gives me. I’m a prick. You know that better than most people.” My words come out unexpectedly honest, full of the self-hate that I usually hide behind exaggerated confidence.

Lana’s eyes get real big, in the way that always manages to entrance me. Her voice is barely audible when she says, “I don’t get how you can know you behave cruelly, yet you do nothing to try and change it.”

Her meaning hits me, but I don’t know how to respond. Without even trying she’s managed to burrow right under my skin and pull out all the mess that’s inside. I’ve never felt so exposed. This is why I need to stay away from her. This whole encounter started with me forcing my company on her, with me being the one in control, and with only a few softly spoken words she’s turned the whole thing around on me. She doesn’t even know it, but she might as well be clutching my beating heart in her gentle hands.

I can’t handle this. I need to get back in the driver’s seat. I need to be the one holding the cards, and the only way to do that is to shut down and pretend again. Pretend I’m the person I’ve constructed around her for years.

Taking a deep breath, I stand and dust off my pants. Staring down at her from my full height, I say, “I do nothing because I don’t
care
enough to change.”

Her eyes flutter in surprise as I walk away. One day all these lies are going to eat me alive.

And the problem is that the opposite is true, because when it comes to Lana, I care too much.

Part Four

Cruelty Births an Offspring Called Regret

Thirteen

R
ushing down two flights of stairs, I race my way out of the house and into the front garden, breathing heavily, my heart beating fast. I take a moment to gasp in air before I walk out onto the street. A group of men and women are just emerging from a taxi, and, without thinking, I slip in after them, telling the driver to bring me home to Sasha’s.

I’m not sure why I’m running away. It’s not like there was anything wrong with what she’d been doing. It’s just that catching her like that was mortifying for both of us, and now I can barely even remember why I’d been looking for her to begin with. I let myself into the house with the spare key and go straight up to my room, stripping off my clothes and stepping under the hot blast of the shower.