The Nature of Cruelty

by L.H. Cosway

  Robert stares at me, his expression agonised, but I can’t find it in myself to feel sorry for him. Not after what he just told me. How can he seriously believe that keeping a copy of Kara’s sex tape after she’d broken into his house like a lunatic is a good idea? Finally, his face loses some of its hardness and his posture slumps as he slowly opens the door and leaves the room.

  An hour or so later a doctor comes to talk to me, reiterating what Robert already told me, that I went into a diabetic coma after suffering from hypoglycaemic shock. We talk for a while, and he arranges an aftercare regime for me.

  I get to leave the following evening. When I’m walking through the lobby, thumbing through my phone to call Sasha, I notice that she and Robert are already there, waiting on me. Robert pulls me into a tender hug and apologises for his behaviour yesterday, kissing me all over and telling me how panicked he was for me. I remain stiff, not knowing how to handle him.

  Sasha squeezes my hand, a solitary tear running down her cheek, portraying the fear she’d felt when I’d been unconscious. She says Robert told her all about the sex tape debacle, giving her brother evil looks all the while. He at least appears a touch shame-faced.

  I think about the factors that caused me to go into shock, and the little things that have been accumulating over the last few weeks. Like how I never get as much sleep when Robert’s in my bed, or how I’m so wrapped up in him that I don’t give enough care or time to my health or my sugar levels, or anything else for that matter.

  I’ve said it so many times before, but he makes me forget myself, and it’s not all his fault. It’s not his fault I’m so in love with him that it makes me careless. That all I can think about is being with him, to hell with important stuff that could mean the difference between life and death.

  Worst-case scenario, I could have died yesterday. My short life could have come to an abrupt end between one second and the next.

  As Robert’s helping me inside the car and buckling in my seatbelt, I come to the stark realisation that even though he makes me feel amazing, he’s also entirely detrimental to my health. That even though I said people sometimes have to follow their emotions where they want to go, for me that’s not really an option. I understand that now.

  And then, quite tragically, I know that I have to break my own heart if I want to survive.

  And his, too.

  Robert is and always has been a tornado, swooping into my life, sometimes making it better, but most of the time making it worse.

  Oh, God, am I thinking clearly? I’m too exhausted to tell. All I know is that in this moment my fear of dying young far outweighs my fear of being sad and alone. I’ve been in a coma at only twenty-two years of age, and that’s certainly not normal.

  I need to talk to my Gran. She’s the only person I know who’s wise enough to give me advice and who can remain impartial, unlike my mother.

  Robert is all quiet and loving when we get back to the house. He carries me up the stairs to bed and a few minutes later returns to my room, presenting me with a DVD broken in half, the copy he’d made.

  He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. By breaking the DVD he’s showing me that I was right, that keeping it would come back to haunt him at some stage. Still, doubts remain in my mind. He tucks me in, kisses me on the forehead, and leaves. I pick up my phone and dial my home number.

  “Helloooo,” my sister Alison answers, sounding cheerful as ever.

  “Hey, Ally, it’s Lana. Is Gran around?”

  “Yep. She’s out in the garden. You want me to call her in?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “’Kay, be right back.” She hesitates. “You don’t sound so good, sis. Is everything all right with you?”

  I’ve already made my mind up that I’m not going to tell my family about the coma. It would only cause a big drama, and I have every intention of ensuring that it doesn’t happen again.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Now go get Gran.”

  A minute or two later Gran’s voice comes on the line, the familiar cadence soothing me like nothing else ever could.

  “Lana, honey, it’s so good to hear from you,” she says, sounding rested and full of health, despite being the ripe old age of seventy-two.

  We make small talk, and then gradually I tell her about my time with Robert this summer and how we fell in love, how we were probably already in love with one another before any of this even began. She listens quietly, letting me get it all out.

  The only parts I don’t talk about are the sex and the coma, deciding the sex is definitely too explicit for my grandmother’s old-fashioned ears and the coma could quite ironically send her into one.

  “Well, there’s no doubting the two of you love each other,” says Gran, once I’ve finished talking.

  “Yeah, but is it worth keeping a love that’s killing you in the process?” I ask.

  “Honey, you’re being a tad melodramatic,” Gran chides me.

  It’s so hard to get her to understand when I can’t tell her everything. “I’m not, Gran, believe me. When I’m with him it’s hard to breathe, let alone take care of my health.”

  “Why don’t you explain it to him, then, let him know that if he doesn’t want you to become sick he needs to be just as involved in caring for you as you are yourself?”

  Well, there is that, and I have no doubt that Robert would go out of his way to help me as best he could. The only issue is that it’s in his personality to be wild and unpredictable, and when I’m with him I’m inevitably going to be swept up in that.

  “You’re right, Gran. Listen, I’m feeling tired, but thanks for letting me talk to you. It really helped.”

  Hanging up, I rest my head on my pillow, close my eyes, and allow mental and physical exhaustion to take me over.

  The next day Robert insists on staying home from work to be with me. The moment I wake up he comes into my room, retrieving my insulin case from my drawer and asking if I’ll show him how to use it so I don’t have to do it myself.

  I brush him off, telling him I’m not an invalid just yet.

  He looks at me like I’m overreacting, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he sits beside me, taking in every step of the procedure. Once I’m finished, I sit back against the pillows, my thoughts scrambling. Somehow, last night I came to a resolution, and it’s not going to be easy communicating that resolution to Robert.

  “You’re amazing,” he says, marvelling at me. “Do you want some breakfast? I’ll make anything you like.”

  “You don’t have to treat me like a newborn baby, Robert,” I snap at him unnecessarily. My own conscience is eating me up over what I’m about to do. On one level I feel extremely selfish, choosing my own welfare over his, but on another level I feel validated. I’m not built to live in Robert’s whirlwind, and I never have been.

  His brow furrows as he reaches forward to rub my arm. “Lana, you’ve just been in a coma. I love you, and I want to take care of you.”

  Swallowing hard and sucking back tears, I pull my arm out of his reach. “But that’s just the thing, Rob, you don’t take care of me. In fact, you do just the opposite.”

  The look in his eyes makes my stomach twist. In their depths I see each piece of regret he feels for every wrong he’s done me over the years. Finally, he says, “Do you think I don’t feel guilty for what Kara did? For the fact that she did it because of me and that you were the one to get hurt? I told myself I’d never do anything to hurt you ever again, but I did anyway. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

  I reach over and squeeze his wrist, unable to resist comforting him despite being the one causing the discomfort. “I’m not saying you did it purposefully. What I’m saying is that it can’t be helped that these things happen to the people in your life. You cause trouble and take risks — it’s in your nature. It’s also what makes you such an addictive person to be around, but more often than not it’s other people who bear the consequences of those risks. Being in
this coma has made me realise that I’m far more fragile than I thought, and that I can’t afford the luxury of being with you.”

  Robert runs both hands through his dark hair, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “What are you saying here, Lana?”

  “I think you know what I’m saying,” I whisper.

  “No, I fucking don’t. Don’t you dare think about taking this peace away from me. I’ve felt more whole this summer than I ever have before. You can’t just click your fingers and stop loving someone.”

  “I’ll always love you, perhaps to my own detriment, but I can’t be with you anymore,” I say, my voice barely audible.

  He grabs my chin, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again. “I’m not letting you do this. I love you too much.”

  “Robert, please.” My eyes fill up with liquid, and I feel a pang of pain in my chest. I gasp and push my hand to the spot, trying to rub away the ache.

  “What? What happened? Are you okay?” he asks frantically.

  “I’m fine, just a small chest pain. It’s gone now.”

  He sits back, wiping his hand across his mouth. “Shit, I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

  “No, just – just don’t make a big drama. Just accept that this is how it has to be,” I say past the tears. When I look him in the eye, I see that he’s crying, too, and it’s a strange feeling to have made a man like Robert cry.

  “I’m going to prove to you that I can be what you need.”

  “Don’t…”

  “No. I’m going to,” he interrupts me adamantly, wiping at his eyes.

  “It’s over, Robert,” I say, trying to make the words sound final. Dragging this out is only going to hurt the both of us.

  “It will never be over between us, Lana. You’ll realise that soon enough.”

  Unable to listen to him any longer, I climb out of bed, pull on some clothes, and go downstairs to make breakfast. He doesn’t follow me, but about fifteen minutes later I hear the front door open and shut, signalling his departure. Perhaps he decided to go into work today after all.

  Sitting by the kitchen window and looking out into the large back garden, I wipe away another tear, hoping there won’t be too many more to follow.

  The next couple of days are the most torturous of my life. Everything bad that came before pales in comparison. Robert, a man I once thought immune to emotion, looks at me like a kicked puppy every time we’re in the same room together. He has this thing he does where he laces his hands together, as though to keep from pulling me into his embrace.

  At one point I feel like taking the coward’s way out and going home early, but I don’t want to waste my final weeks with Sasha. Once I return to Ireland, we won’t get to see each other for who knows how long. She’ll remain in London, and I’ll be in Dublin studying.

  It’s agony still living in this house with Robert, but I’m determined to see out the next three weeks.

  On Friday afternoon I’m making my way upstairs to my room and Robert is on his way down. As we pass by each other, he grabs my hand and squeezes it. I pause and close my eyes, taking deep breaths to keep from breaking down.

  He draws our clasped fingers up to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “Do you know how it feels having to see such beauty and not be able to touch it?” he asks, staring intensely into my eyes.

  “Stop this. You’re being foolish,” I say, trying to pull my hand from his.

  “I’m a fool for you,” he counters.

  “Robert, I have to go,” I whisper, my voice almost cracking.

  His lips curve down in a frown as he drops his hand from mine and lets me pass, standing in place and watching as I walk away. I hardly leave my room for the rest of the evening, too scared I’ll bump into him again.

  The next day Sasha gets an apology phone call from her dad. He tells her that he’s found it in himself to accept who she is and move on with things. She says that’s very magnanimous of him, her sarcasm wholly justified. In the end they tentatively agree not to fight anymore, but I have a feeling it’ll be a long time before they become close like Sasha is with her mum. If ever.

  On Sunday it’s the day of the Olympics closing ceremony. I’ve always found big events stressful, so I make sure I’m well rested and able to take on the crowd. I’ve been keeping up my regime perfectly, and every day my body is getting healthier. However, nobody ever told me how badly a broken heart can affect you. How it constantly feels like there’s a knife stuck in the centre of your chest, how your lungs feel like they can’t get enough air to breathe.

  I hope in vain that emotional distress won’t lead to physical sickness. The key is not to let it fester, but I’m still trying to figure out how to achieve that. I hope it will fade. It has to. When I was ten and my grandfather passed away, I didn’t think I’d ever heal from the pain. He’d been the closest thing to a dad in my life. But then, as the weeks passed and then months, the ache went away.

  If I’m lucky, my love for Robert will go away, too.

  Sasha finally took the plunge and asked out the barista girl, whose name is Poppy, and as it happens she said yes to the date. I was so happy to hear that. I’m glad Sasha’s bringing her to the closing ceremony, as it will pad out the numbers and not make things so agonising between Robert and me.

  It’s almost like we’re both subconsciously torturing ourselves, knowing things are over between us, yet not being able to take the final step and ensure we don’t see one another every day. Robert could easily rent an apartment somewhere and I could easily go home early, but we don’t take those options. Perhaps because severing the ties completely will hurt more than the current liminal space we occupy.

  I get home from the pharmacy, where I’d been collecting a prescription, and hurry to my room to get ready for the evening ahead. Upon opening the door I get a distinct case of deja vu, because Robert is sitting on the floor by the window again, reading my copy of Homer’s Odyssey.

  “Something wrong with your room?” I ask casually, my heart thumping fast as I put my medicine away in a drawer and slip off my shoes.

  His eyes flick to me briefly before returning to the book. “I like it in here.”

  “O…kay.” An awkward silence ensues, so I try to fill it by asking, “Are you looking forward to tonight?”

  He drags out a long sigh and tilts his head to look at me, his eyes not returning to the book this time. “What do you think?” he asks back, his words loaded with so much hidden meaning I don’t know where to begin in translating them.

  “I think you should be excited?” I reply, my words rising at the end like a question.

  “Well, there’s your answer, then,” he says, deadpan, placing the book down on the floor and rubbing his forehead with his fingertips.

  I want to ask him if he’s okay, but just like me he clearly isn’t, and asking him will only lead to an argument, which is something I can’t handle right now.

  Jesus Christ, did I make the right decision?

  I’d thought so, but now it just feels like I’ve made everything worse.

  Pulling myself together, I walk to my wardrobe and take out the skirt and blouse I plan on wearing. I need my toiletries bag, too. The problem is, it’s sitting atop the shelves just beyond Robert’s head.

  “Could you pass me that blue bag?” I ask, pointing.

  He looks to it, and then there’s a calculating gleam in his eye. “Get it yourself.”

  Exasperated, I walk across the room to retrieve it. As I step over him to grab the bag, his warm hand suddenly clasps my ankle. I’m wearing shorts, thank God, because otherwise he’d be able to look right up my dress from this position. Still, his thumb brushes gently over a tender spot and I melt, closing my eyes for a moment and just…feeling it.

  “Lana,” he whispers quietly. “Open your eyes.”

  I turn my head a fraction to stare down at him. His mouth is open, and his chest is rising and falling heavily, mirroring my own. His other hand wraps around my othe
r ankle and begins massaging.

  “You look tense, baby,” he says in the low tone he only ever uses when we’re having sex or if he’s thinking about having sex with me. My entire body trembles.

  “Don’t call me that,” I protest weakly.

  Quick as a flash he’s brought his hands to the backs of my knees and is using pressure to push me down onto his lap. I straddle his thighs as his hands now move to the curve of my bottom. Between my legs I feel him instantly harden, and I can’t help but move a little to get some friction.

  This is bad, really bad.

  I feel my cheeks redden when he sighs and drops his face to the hollow of my neck. He takes a deep inhalation, breathing in my scent.

  “Miss you,” he mumbles against my skin.

  “Robert,” I start but don’t finish, not knowing what to say.

  His fingers dig into my flesh, the pain agonisingly sweet. He pulls back to stare up at me, and our breaths mingle. A split second later rationality catches up with me, and I practically jump out of his lap.

  “You should go,” I tell him sadly.

  Rising to his feet, he stares at me, half tender, half fuming. “This is fucked up — you do know that, right? Are you trying to punish me for the past? Is that what this is?”

  My brow furrows, confusion marking my features. “What? Of course not. I would never…”

  “Forget it,” he snaps, striding past me and out the door. I stare after him for a long time before finally dragging myself into the shower.

  Later on I feel bad for Sasha having to be the gooseberry between Robert and me as we sit side by side on the Tube. Her date Poppy is going to meet us at the stadium, so until then she has to put up with us both trying hard to ignore one another.

  The walk to the stadium is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. There’s a buzz in the air, an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation among the crowds of people all moving in the same direction. Sasha spots Poppy standing by the entrance and runs over to greet her. She’s a really pretty girl, a natural blonde with big green eyes. Sasha gives her a short hug and a peck on the cheek, and my heart fills with emotion at seeing my best friend finally being her real self out in the open for the world to see.