The Nature of Cruelty (34 page)

Sasha lets out a long sigh and then just comes straight out with it. “I’m gay.”

Liz sputters a surprised cough. “What was that, love?”

Sasha starts rambling, fidgeting with the hem of her T-shirt. “I’m trying to be normal and just tell people, so I’m telling you now, Mum. I’m gay, a lesbian, like, I like girls.”

“Oh,” says Liz, wide-eyed, nodding her head. “Right.” Then a tiny smile splits her mouth, and she laughs. “For the love of God, Sash, I thought you were going to tell me you’re being convicted for armed robbery. This is wonderful. I’m happy you told me. To be honest, I always had an inkling that you were.”

Sasha throws her hands out, an exasperated look on her face, and I burst out laughing. “Fucking hell, does everyone already know?!”

“Sasha, less of the fuckings, please,” says Liz, pursing her lips with distaste.

“Oh, come on, you can’t scold me for saying a curse word and then go and say it yourself,” says Sasha with humour. “Adding on an ‘s’ doesn’t suddenly make it all right.”

And just like that, everything is normal again. We chat with Liz for another hour or so. When the subject of telling her dad pops up, I expect Sasha to brush it off, but surprisingly she doesn’t. She sits up straight and informs us that she’s going to tell him next Sunday when she goes to his house for dinner. She also makes me promise that I’ll come along for moral support, and I tell her I’d be glad to.

We say our goodbyes to Liz and then sit back on Sasha’s bed, relaxing.

“So, how do you feel now that you’re out to your mum? I think I should go bake you a cake or something to celebrate.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “No cakes, please. It does feel good, though, like I’m being a mature adult at last. Who’d have thought I actually had it in me, eh?” she says, picking up her phone and flicking through her messages.

I nod and smile, happy that she’s happy.

“I have a long way to go yet, though,” she continues, her mood darkening slightly. “There’s this barista girl I like at the place where I get my coffee before work in the mornings. Blonde hair, really pretty, but whenever I try and talk to her, I just feel like this big creepy lesbian, perving on the straight girl.”

“How do you know she’s straight?” I ask, curious.

Sasha tilts her head to me. “Well, she wears these really tight flower-print dresses all the time.”

I slap her on the arm. “Sash! That doesn’t mean she’s straight. Just look at Portia de Rossi. And anyway, you’re the kind of lesbian who could turn even straight girls bi. You’ve got that way about you.”

She smirks and leans a little closer to me, asking breathily, “Oh, really. Are you trying to tell me something, Lana?”

She reminds me way too much of Robert in this moment that it’s actually spooky. “Shut up! You know what I mean.” I giggle, pushing her away.

Chuckling, she returns to tapping on her phone. “I don’t know. You
are
going out with my twin brother. Maybe that’s just because you secretly want me and he’s the next best thing.”

Robert isn’t the next best anything, he’s the
only
thing, but I don’t tell her that. I don’t want to bore people with my newfound warm and fuzzy feelings for him.

I gape at her for a long time until she looks up from her phone.

“Hey! I was just teasing — take a chill pill. We both know I was the one with the inappropriate crush on
you
. It feels like I’m going to spend the rest of my life having inappropriate crushes on my friends, secretly dying inside.”

I try not to think too much about that last bit. Was she dying inside when we were teenagers? Instead, I tuck my legs underneath me and sit up straight.

“You can’t let that happen. And the only way to do it is to be upfront if you like someone. For crying out, Sasha, you’re living in London. There are gay girls around every corner. You should be getting out there and meeting some of them.”

“Fine, fine,” she says, holding up her hands. “I’ll ask the barista girl out and see what she says. The worst that could happen would be for her to say she’s sorry but she doesn’t swing that way.”

“Exactly!” I say enthusiastically, giving her a high-five. She returns it, though at the same time gives me a look informing me I’m a massive nerd.

The night before we’re supposed to go to Alan’s house in Hampstead Heath for Sasha’s big “coming out” dinner, I’m standing in my bedroom folding some clean clothes that I just took out of the tumble dryer. It’s been a busy day, and I’ve hardly gotten to see Robert at all.

A moment later, I feel strong arms coming around me and smell what I have now come to recognise as Robert’s signature cologne: Armani Code. Sometimes I like to spray some on myself just so I can be reminded of him when he’s not with me. I promise it isn’t as weird as it sounds.

With one arm around my waist, he pushes me forward so I’m bent over, my hands hitting the surface of the bed. He reaches down between my legs and spreads them, his fingers whispering over my knickers beneath the skirt I’m wearing. Next, he slides the zipper down and pulls the skirt off me. I don’t even bother to ask what he’s doing, because I already know. I’ve missed him today, too.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, giving my bottom a tender slap. He pulls my knickers to the side so he can slip a finger into me. “Already wet,” he goes on, sucking air in through his teeth. He dips in one more finger and I sigh, so he puts in a third, filling me up completely.

“Please,” I whimper.

He continues to pump in and out until I’m heaving and begging to have him inside me. He grips my waist, his large hands feeling like they could easily span its entire width.

“You’ve got the most perfect arse I’ve ever seen,” he tells me, his voice dripping with seduction. Pressing his erection hard against my bottom, he lets his hand slip between my cheeks, tracing over a place he hasn’t touched before. I jerk in response, but he brings his other hand forward to rub soothingly at my stomach, calming me like I’m a jittery horse or something.

“Robert, don’t,” I beg nervously.

“Shush,” he says, his voice husky. “Just let me…”

The next thing I hear is him unzipping his pants. “I got the results back yesterday,” he whispers, licking the back of my neck.

I don’t even have the brain capacity to respond to what he’s saying; all I know is that I’m going to burst if he doesn’t do something to quell this achy need in me soon.

He positions himself and then he’s easing into me, his fingers still circling my back entrance. I’m immediately aware of the difference, the feeling of him in me without a condom, and how much better it is. How right it feels.

“Jesus Christ, that’s fucking heavenly,” he groans.

With one hand on my neck, he pulls me back to him, pounding against me fast and grunting. I get lost in the rhythm, not realising that his thumb is putting pressure on my anus, circling it and then edging inside the tiniest bit.

“Fuck,” I swear. “That’s…that’s…”

“Unexpected, but good,” Robert suggests breathlessly. “I want to claim every part of you.”

“Yes!”

“You like that, beautiful?” he asks, nipping at my earlobe.

“Oh, God.”

“Just feel it,” he tells me, and it’s like he’s everywhere, his voice, his body, covering every inch of me entirely. With each movement of his thumb he ventures deeper, and I never knew that something so forbidden could feel so good, especially combined with the pounding of his cock inside me.

Robert’s face sinks into the hollow of my neck as he comes, biting down into my skin. I try to muffle my cries, but they come out loud and shaky anyway. He draws himself out and clutches me tightly to him, my back crushed hard against his front. Then he begins circling my clit, and I come within seconds.

Throwing back the covers, he lifts me into the bed and brings my head to rest against his sternum. In the dark, silent house, I feel sated and whole. I spend a long time reliving what we just did, only to find I’ve fallen asleep and my thoughts have melded with my dreams.

The following morning I’m not feeling so great. There’s a weakness in my body, and I just want to stay in bed and rest, but I know Sasha needs me today, so I put on a brave face and soldier through. On the drive to Alan’s she bites frantically at her nails while sitting in the back seat of Robert’s car. I turn to the side, reaching out to her from the front and clasping her hand in mine.

“Hey, we’re going to the Olympics closing ceremony this day next week,” I say to her. “It’s going to be amazing. Why don’t you just think on that, look forward to it, and quit worrying about how your dad’s going to react?”

She clutches my fingers and lets out a joyless laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have Alan Phillips, professional disappointment distributor, for a dad.”

I don’t have any dad at all, but now’s not the time to talk about me.

“Okay, well, how about this? If your dad says anything to hurt you, I’ll give him a kick in the balls.”

She smiles at me fondly as Robert warns jokingly, “You won’t do anything of the sort. Dad’s never been shy about a lawsuit or two. Oh, and speaking of the Olympics,” he says, arching a brow at Sasha through his overhead mirror, “have you decided who you’re giving those extra tickets to yet?”

Sasha rolls her eyes, sighing. “Fine, you can have one. What kind of sister would I be if I denied you, eh?”

Robert pumps his fist in the air in victory while replying, “A very, very bad sister indeed.”

When we reach the house, Melanie answers the door in a stunning peach contour dress. When she sees Robert’s arm around my shoulder, I notice a subtle pout of irritation on her lips. You’d think she was only with Alan to get to his son or something. Well, that and the money.

She welcomes us in and we sit in an expansive living room, while what can only be described as a butler brings us drinks. I feel like I’ve just stepped onto the set of
Downton Abbey
.

Alan lounges in an armchair, sipping from a glass of sherry. We all make polite conversation until the butler returns, announcing that dinner is ready to be served. In the dining room Robert pulls out my chair for me, and I have a momentary thought of him being the perfect gentleman just before his fingers whisper over my bottom. Okay, so maybe not
perfect
.

“So, Sasha, honey, tell me what’s going on at work? I saw you had another article in the paper last week, very well done!” Alan exclaims proudly.

The article he’s referring to was again about Molly Willis and how all the backlash from the press over her miscarriage has caused her to fall into a depression. She tried taking a whole bottle of prescription meds, an obvious suicide attempt or cry for help, and has now been admitted to The Priory rehab centre for treatment.

I know she’s just another young celebrity among the dozens who get eaten alive by the press these days, but for some reason I can’t stop thinking about her story. Perhaps because I’ve been following it since the beginning of the summer. I can’t get my mind past the cutting nature of the cruelty dispensed to her, how she was lifted up so high and adored and then thrown to the depths where the sharks could eat her alive.

Not only that, but nobody actually
cares
. Not really. People read the stories about her, and their reaction is little more than a shrug and a “meh, she had it coming.”

What sort of world are we living in where people’s empathy levels have run so low?

Are we so jaded and desensitised to everything that we no longer hold the actual ability to care anymore?

These thoughts occupy my brain, and the theories that arise from them seem important in some way, like I’m on the precipice of a “eureka!” moment where I’ll suddenly realise exactly why I’ve been so preoccupied.

When I return my attention to the conversation, I find that Sasha’s still filling her dad in on work stuff. Robert, who’s sitting beside me, quite obviously throws his leg out under the table and gives Sasha a kick. She glares at him while he widens his eyes, as if to say, “
Tell
him!”

She coughs, and her cheeks colour. “Uh, I actually have something else I wanted to tell you.”

Alan grins, spreading a napkin out over his lap. “Oh, really, what is it? Have you been put up for a promotion?”

“No. It’s something more personal.”

Suddenly, Alan’s grin disappears, and his shoulders straighten. “Sasha, you know I don’t like talking about that kind of thing over dinner. Tell me later,” he says, brushing her off.

I see Sasha’s eyes get watery and immediately feel like throwing my arms around her and dragging her away from here. She swallows hard, pushing back the tears.

“No, Dad,” she says sternly. “I want to tell you now.”

“Sasha,” Alan warns her, his dark brow furrowing.

Melanie, clueless as ever, interrupts, “Let her speak, Alan. Come on, I want to hear her news.”

Sasha’s eyes cut to Melanie, and if looks could kill she’d be six feet under. Then she draws her gaze back to her dad and inhales sharply before letting the air back out. “What I wanted to tell you, Dad, and what I already told Mum last week, is that I’m gay.”

“Sasha!” Alan exclaims, standing in outrage. He walks over to her. “Come to my study with me. Now.”

Melanie mouths the letters “OMG” to herself, looking stunned and wide-eyed.

“No, Dad. I’m not letting you ruin this. I’ve come out to you. It’s done. Now you can either accept it or not. I’m past caring at this point.”

“Well, in that case, you should probably leave.”

“Dad!” Robert bursts out, rising and slamming his hands down onto the table. “Are you fucking serious?”

The butler comes in carrying plates of hot food, realises there’s a domestic under way, turns on his heel, and walks straight back out. I’d applaud his professionalism if I weren’t so concerned about Sasha.

“Oh, I’m deadly serious. Your sister knows I don’t allow this kind of thing. She’s doing it just to spite me.”

Robert laughs in disbelief. “You think she’s telling you she’s gay to spite you? Dad, now you’re being delusional.”

“Don’t you start getting involved, Robert. You’re in no position to speak.”