The Problem With Crazy (30 page)

W
HEN
I woke up, the sun beamed through the window. My lids were heavy, stuck to my cheeks like glue. I stretched my legs and arms as far up and down as they could go, rolling over to hide my eyes from the sun.

That’s when I heard the gentle rhythm of breathing, saw the hulk of the quilt, his delicate neck, and remembered.

Lachlan was here.

In. My. Bed.

My eyes widened, and I ran my hands through my hair, smoothing it down, running my fingers under my eyes to try and rub away any mascara that had no doubt caked there after my crying the night before.

I was a mess. Why had Dave written that stupid song? Why did I flip out? Especially when there was a good-looking boy in my room, who was now next to me in my bed?

I jerked my hand over to him and stopped an inch away from his back. Could I do it? Could I just put my arm around him?

I gently placed my hand on his shoulder and pulled my body closer to him, marvelling at how smooth his skin was, how it felt against my mostly naked body. The sun was dancing in his dark-brown hair, and I reached my other hand up to touch it. It was just as soft as I’d imagined. I trailed my finger down the nape of his neck, past the shorter hairs, over to his broad shoulders that rippled with muscle.

There was a boy in my bed!

I leant forward and gently kissed the part where his shoulder met his neck, a soft kiss, almost to prove that he was real.

“Morning.” His muffled voice sounded, causing me to clasp my hand back to my chest in shock.

“Morning.” I spoke into the folds of the blanket. I was fairly certain I had morning breath, and that was not how I wanted him to think of me.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice was small and sleepy. Sexy.

“Stop?”

“You were kissing me.”

My heart thudded,
bang, bang,
against my rib cage.

“Oh.”

I moved forward again and gently started to kiss his neck, moving up to his ear where I took his lobe in my mouth, rolling it gently against my teeth. My hands wrapped under his arms and felt his bare chest, his abs, firm and tense under my grip. I wrapped one leg around his, aching to be as close to him as I possibly could.

“Kate,” his voice croaked and he grabbed my hips, pulling them over his while he slid underneath me till I was no longer behind but straddled on top of him, my legs wrapped around his muscular thighs.

I looked down, really taking him in: the sculpted lines of his chest, the strength in his arms, and the sheer, naked desire in his eyes. I swallowed. I could feel him hard against me—and in nothing but lingerie, it didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“You are amazing.” Lachlan emphasised each syllable as his eyes raked up and down my body. It didn’t make me nervous, or uncomfortable. I felt special. Even after my freak out he was still interested in me. In
us
.

I’d never felt more turned on.

I leaned down to kiss his neck again, pressing my hips against his thighs as I went which elicited a groan of pleasure from him. I chalked it up in my head, a devious smile on my face. I was going to enjoy this. And then we would face the ups and downs of the world together.

“Kate, we need to—oh, God, Kate.” Lachlan placed his hands on my shoulders and tried to push me away, but I didn’t want to be pushed. I couldn’t. I needed this.

“Kate?”

I froze.

“Kate? Are you home?” Mum’s voice rang through the stairwell.

My heart quickened. Mum couldn’t know I had a boy in my bed.

“Get in the wardrobe,” I hissed, jabbing my thumb toward the opposite side of the room.

“Wha—”

“Are you still in bed?” Mum’s tone was upbeat. I heard her footsteps on the stairs.

“Now!” My eyes almost popped out of my head as I watched him scramble back from the covers, his body naked in front of me, barring a pair of tight-fitting jocks. Even though we were in emergency status, I took the time to check out his arm definition, that tattoo I’d seen creeping the night before, and his chest, even better in full view, with his flat stomach ending in a well-defined V that pointed down and disappeared inside his pants.

“Honey, are you awake?” This time Mum’s voice was quieter as she knocked gently on my door. I forced my eyes away from Lachlan’s retreating body and dived under the covers, hoping she wouldn’t have heard the noise he made. I pulled the quilt up to my chin to hide my almost naked state.

After a few moments of silence, the door creaked open. Mum poked her head into the room, her eyes first going to the mess on the floor then to me on the bed.

“Hi, Mum.” I tried to muster up a croaky, small-mouthed I’m-just-waking-up voice. I’m not sure that it worked.

“Hi, dear.” Mum narrowed her eyes at me. “What happened in here? Are they marks—did you throw something at the wall?” Her mouth turned into a small
O
of horror.

“Accidental,” I said into the sheets.

“I know you’re upset and angry, but you really need to stop hiding and start dealing with this.” Mum opened the door and cleared a space at the foot of my bed, right near my feet. I was careful not to prop myself up too far, in case she noticed my non-pyjamas. Oh God; his clothes! Where were Lachlan’s clothes?

“I agree.” It seemed like the easiest, quickest route to getting Mum out of the bedroom pronto.

“I know you missed your counselling appointment two days ago. Leslie told me,” she continued.

“It was a mistake. I’ll make sure I’m on time in future.” I looked down at the quilt.

“And she mentioned your neurologist appointment went well, and said you’re off to the psychiatrist today.”

Insert sense of impending doom here.
My shoulders went heavy, my eyes hooded. How could I forget good ol’ Huntington’s test number three?

“I know you don’t find out your results till next week, but I was thinking maybe the three of us should have a nice dinner out somewhere.”

“What?”

“A nice dinner,” Mum repeated.

“Not—not now.”

“Well, then, maybe we could have a girly spa day tomorrow.”

“Mum! It’s not a celebration.”

“I’m just trying to—”

“To make this a special occasion? ‘Oh, Kate, you’re probably going to have Huntington’s, your ex-boyfriend wrote a song about it, but at least we can have a goddamned
mani-pedi
?’”

“Kate, that’s not what I meant. And Dave wrote a song?”

“Well what
did
you mean?”

Silence filled the room. I ran my hand through my hair, pulling it back till it hurt.

“I was just trying to make things … easier.” Mum stood, and smoothed down her skirt. “I’ll be at the hospital with your father when you get back this afternoon. And—for what it’s worth—I’m sorry.”

She left the room, without another word.

It only took about twenty seconds for the guilt to set in. Why had I been so angry? She was only trying to help. It wasn’t her fault. I’d attacked her when she’d been trying to make things easier for me.

They needed a guidebook on this, not just for the symptoms, but how to deal emotionally with everyone suffering from it.

“Kate?” Lachlan poked his head out of the wardrobe.

“I know.” I sunk back onto my bed, my hands clasping either side of my forehead. “I’m a complete bitch.”

“Kate.” Lachlan’s voice was soft. “It’s okay.”

“God, I just—I just get so caught up in it all, you know? It’s not fair! And then I remember it’s not just me, then I feel things again and—sometimes, I wish I didn’t feel.”

Sometimes, I wish I were dead.

No.

No I don’t.

Do I?

“Feeling is good. It means you’re still experiencing life.” Lachlan smiled.

“Is this the part where you give the ‘try new things’ speech?” I mustered a wry smile.

“I believe it would be a crime not to.”

“How do you do it?” I sighed, resting my head back against the pillows and studying the ceiling above.

“You just … you just do.” Lachlan walked over and carefully lay next to me. He knew exactly what I was talking about, without me having to form the words. “It’s hard; I’ve had days where I think it’s unfair, days when I can’t handle it all.”

I reached out my hand and wrapped his in it, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“That’s why it’s the little things, Kate.” His voice was choked. I turned to see him blink back a tear. “If you don’t celebrate the little things, the … the biggest thing will get you down.”

His words resonated within me. The little things, versus death.

“Are you afraid to die?” I gulped.

“No more than I am to live.”

Silence coated the room, marred only by the sounds of life I heard from the kitchen downstairs. I stared at the stark white ceiling above my bed and counted to ten, trying to gain some perspective on the situation.

My ex-boyfriend released a song about me being crazy.
But was I really that in love with him in the first place?

Lachlan knew every one of my dirty, selfish secrets.
But he was still here.

I had an appointment with a psychiatrist later today, then a blood test to see if I had Huntington’s.
But there was still a chance it would be negative.

There was a half-naked boy in my bed.
There was a half-naked boy in my bed!

“Lachlan, will you …” I bit my lip. Nerves washed over my body.

“Will I?”

“Will you have dinner with me, and my family tonight? It might be in Sydney; I don’t know if Dad will be out. After my test.” I rushed the words. I just wanted him to be a part of my life, to help me through—and I wanted to help him through, too.

Huntington’s or not.

“I’d love that.” Lachlan smiled, those damned dimples lighting up again, and I couldn’t help but smile back. This beautiful boy—how did he break through my walls?

“Katie, Breakfast,” Mum called from downstairs.

“Go,” I whispered to Lachlan, my eyes darting toward the window.

“Kate!” His eyes were harrowed.

“What?”

“My clothes.”

Oh.

I flipped up my quilt and found his shirt and jeans under the sheets. I felt the square imprint of his art notepad in his jeans pocket as I rushed them over to him, and then turned my back to him while he changed. Somehow, even though I’d seen him walking around in a pair of jocks, it seemed polite.

Seconds later, his warm hands laced around my waist, linking in front of my stomach.

“Good luck today,” he whispered, and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks.” I smiled. We stood there like that, bodies close, all smiles for a few minutes, till eventually he unlocked his hands and turned to the window.

“Message me after your appointment?” he asked, one hand on the window frame.

“Done.” I nodded. I ran to the window, even though it was sappy as hell, and watched as he climbed down the tree, anxious to make sure he didn’t fall. When he got to the lawn, he looked back up at me and gave me a wink, those dimples highlighted as he darted to his motorbike, parked just down the street.

I felt tingles rush through my body, replaced by a sense of—of nothing. No stress, no impending doom, no worry about what everybody else would think—just nothing.

Was this what it felt like to be normal again?

A
FTER
L
ACHLAN
left, I couldn’t stop smiling. I ate breakfast with Mum at the kitchen counter, a grin plastered over my face.

Next, I threw myself into the planning of the art launch to compensate, determined to make the night perfect. I’d gotten most of the RSVPs back and, to my surprise and delight, most of them had said yes, even the local media and art buyers I’d invited. I was excited, looking forward to everything about the event—and that was the weirdest part. It had been so long since I’d actually looked forward to something, been excited about having an event in the future that was important, that I felt a renewed sense of energy.