The Nature of Cruelty

by L.H. Cosway

  “Liz.”

  “What?”

  “Robert’s been telling you stuff, hasn’t he?”

  “He might have.”

  I let out a long sigh. “So you know about us?”

  She squeezes my hand and wiggles in her seat excitedly. “Yes. And just so you know, I’ve got my fingers crossed that you take him back. He’s really turned over a new leaf, and I didn’t think it was possible, but my boy is head over heels in love with you.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Mum asks, turning off the tap and wiping her hands on a dish cloth.

  I glance at Liz, shaking my head ever so slightly as an indication for her not to breathe a word of this to Mum.

  “Oh, let me tell her, Lana, please!”

  “Liz!” I squeal, appalled by her lack of self-restraint.

  “Tell me what?” Mum questions, all business.

  Before I can prevent her, Liz spills the beans. “Robert and Lana have been seeing one another.”

  Mum’s hands immediately fall to her hips. “Say again?”

  “Your daughter and my son are in love.”

  “Were in love, Liz. Past tense. It’s over now,” I lie.

  I swallow hard and look at Mum, seeing a vein practically pop in her forehead.

  “Lana, please tell me it isn’t true.”

  “Oh, come now,” says Liz. “My boy isn’t the brat he used to be. He’s a grown man. Think about it, Fiona. Our kids could get married — how perfect would that be? We’d practically be sisters.”

  Mum’s stern expression softens a touch as she takes in Liz’s enthusiasm. Pulling out a chair, she sits down and gives me a curious look.

  “You said it’s over. What happened?”

  “Nothing huge,” I lie again. “It just wasn’t working out.”

  “Yes, well, maybe that’s for the best.” She folds her arms, satisfied.

  “Fiona!”

  “Shush, Liz. I’ve nothing against your son, not anymore, but my Lana’s a delicate girl. She’s not made for the likes of Robert. He’d eat her alive.”

  My mouth hangs open as I realise how similar her words are to my own. How I’d told Robert we couldn’t be together because of my illness, my fragility. Jesus, had I just been parroting my mother the whole time? All of a sudden, I’m questioning my motives for ending things and wondering if it had simply been my mother’s morals seeping through. Are they so ingrained in me that I didn’t even realise they were there to begin with?

  “Ugh, I can’t listen to this,” I say, rising from my seat and leaving the room.

  “Lana, I didn’t mean any offence,” Mum calls after me, worry in her tone.

  I don’t bother answering her.

  A couple of hours later there’s a knock on my bedroom door. I sigh and call for whoever it is to come in. Mum appears and comes to perch by the end of my bed. I sit up, wearing my comfortable pink pyjamas, momentarily feeling like a little kid.

  “I know I can come across a touch harsh sometimes,” she says, wringing her hands. “It’s not my intention, I promise. I’m sorry for how I spoke to you earlier.”

  I sit up and hug my knees to my chest. “That’s okay, Mum. I know you have my best interests at heart.”

  A silence elapses.

  “I’ve noticed a difference in you since you’ve come home. You seem sad a lot of the time.”

  I make eye contact with her now, surprised that she could tell I’m sad.

  “Yeah, I guess I kind of am,” I whisper.

  “Is it because of the breakup?”

  I nod and glance out the window at the starry night, unable to bring myself to elaborate.

  “Well, stop me if I’m wrong, but Liz seems to think that the main reason Robert’s back here is because he wants to be closer to you. If that’s the case, and knowing all of the glitz and glamour he’s given up, I can admit that’s an admirable thing to do.”

  I cringe at her and laugh. “Glitz and glamour, Mum, really?”

  She waves her hands. “Oh, you know what I mean. The flashy London life his father leads. It seems his move here was meant to show you that all that isn’t as important to him as you are.”

  Christ, Mum’s certainly changed her tune. Liz must have given her what-for after I stormed out of the kitchen. And if that’s the case, then the stuff Liz told Mum must be what Robert told her during one of their heart-to-hearts. The thought makes me want to rush from my room, run across the field to Liz’s house, and throw myself at him, beg him to forgive me for being such a coward and ending things. But I don’t, because, as I just said, I’m a coward.

  “Is this you giving me your blessing?” I ask her, arching an eyebrow.

  “This isn’t me giving you anything, Lana. You’re old enough to make your own decisions. I just wanted us to have a talk. It was long overdue.”

  At this she stands, pats me softly on the head, and leaves the room.

  The next morning Mum, Gran, and Alison are headed out for a family fun day that’s being held down in the village. I’m in no mood for going with them, so I stay home. Mum asks if I’ll answer the door to Liz when she comes to collect the apple pies Gran left for her. Gran is a seasonal baker. Every couple of months she’ll go through a phase of baking dozens of apple and rhubarb pies and giving them to all our neighbours. She puts cinnamon in them, and they’re a huge favourite throughout the village.

  I had planned on having a long soak in the tub, so I leave the front door on the latch so Liz can come in herself and collect the pies. We practically live in the middle of nowhere, so there isn’t much chance of being burgled. Twenty minutes into my bath, there’s a knock at the door.

  “It’s open, Liz, come on in,” I call, dipping my head down into the water to rinse the suds from my hair.

  Footsteps sound down the hallway. “Uh, Lana?” I hear Robert’s voice call, unsure. “Mum sent me over to collect your Gran’s pies.”

  Oh, my God. I leap into the air and slam shut the bathroom door before he can make the mistake of venturing inside.

  “Right, yeah, they’re just in the kitchen,” I call, wrapping myself up in a towel. It’s not nearly big enough and only covers as far as my upper thighs.

  Robert’s voice seems a mixture of amusement and curiosity as he asks, “Where are you?”

  I emerge from the bathroom, which, since I live in a bungalow, is in direct view of the kitchen doorway. I’m about to make a quick dash for my bedroom but find Robert standing there. His eyes eats me up from my head all the way down to my toes.

  “Shit,” he whispers.

  I clutch the edge of the towel for fear it might fall off from the sheer force of his heated gaze.

  “Yeah, um, I didn’t know…” I can’t find any other words for practically a whole minute. All I can think about is how he told his mum he gave up his old life to be closer to me. “Close the front door on your way out,” I blurt, and hurry to my room.

  Leaning back against the wall, I bang my head into the plaster in utter embarrassment. That couldn’t have been any more awkward…or sexually frustrating. My door handle moves and opens a fraction.

  “Can I come in?” Robert asks in a gravelly voice.

  “You probably shouldn’t,” I breathe heavily.

  He peeks his head inside, a cheeky smile on his face. “I promise I didn’t know you’d be bathing. Can’t say I regret it, though.”

  Unable to stop myself, I let out a quick laugh, shaking my head at him. “You’re too much.”

  “Really?” His tone is flirty now. “I thought I was just enough for you, baby.”

  “Robert!” I exclaim.

  “What?” His grin is sexy as hell.

  The next second I’m in front of him, shoving him down the hall and telling him to get his pies and leave. Unfortunately, I don’t fail to notice the erection straining in his pants. I actually brush my hand over it by mistake when I’m ushering him out of the house. He groans softly, which I do my best to ignore. Once he�
�s gone, I return to my room and lie down on my bed, letting my hand fall between my legs in an effort to ease some of the need he instilled in me.

  Twenty-One

  Over the next fortnight Robert keeps his distance while breaking down my barriers bit by bit. Every second or third day he’ll be waiting outside the library at college with coffee for both of us, sometimes fruit smoothies or bubble tea (which is becoming a new favourite of mine.) I take them all gratefully, not wanting to be rude, but also secretly pleased he’s persevering. We have walks around the campus and chat. It feels different now that we’re home, not so urgent and all-consuming as it had been with him in London.

  Often I’ll be making my way out of the college gates to go to the train station, and he’ll be sitting in his car with the windows drawn down, looking cool as shit and offering me a ride home. I always say no, too frightened of being confined in such a small space with him. I’m not sure I’d be able to hold onto my self-control if I said yes.

  We mostly talk about Sasha and how she’s faring in her new job, which she’s enjoying immensely. Common ground. She’s also moved out of her dad’s house in Finchley and gotten an apartment of her own. He tells me about his search for a place to live closer to the city, since he doesn’t want to be getting under his mum’s feet. He found an apartment in Donnybrook that he’s going to be moving into soon. Inside I feel mournful that he won’t be living next door to me for much longer.

  He also talks about how his dad was pissed he upped and left his job, but that they’re talking again now. All in all, he seems to be making a concerted effort not to broach the topic of our relationship, perhaps in fear that he’ll scare me away.

  That all comes to an end one Thursday evening when I’m hard at work in the library, jotting down a passage in ancient Greek that I need to translate. I hear a chair move and look up to see Robert taking the seat beside me.

  I continue writing as he leans his elbow on the desk, resting his chin on his fist, watching me.

  “You’ve got pretty handwriting,” he observes as I scribble down the Greek letters.

  Giving a soft smile, I reply, “Thanks.”

  He sucks in a long breath and lets it out.

  I pause my writing. “What are you doing here, Rob? You looked bored.”

  “I’m far from bored,” he says, right before I feel his hand slide softly across my thigh. Trembling, I put down my pen but can’t bring myself to look at him. Nobody has touched me in weeks, and the mere pressure of his hand causes tingles to radiate through my body. His fingers move higher, and my cheeks go red as my breathing quickens.

  “Ah, look at that,” he purrs. “You feeling a little needy, baby?”

  I close my eyes and try to gather my wits. He shouldn’t have this much power over me.

  “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  I silently nod, my eyes still shut.

  “I miss being inside you so fucking badly, Lana. It’s been agony not to touch you. Every night I dream about your tight little pussy squeezing me when you come.”

  “Robert! You can’t talk like that in here,” I whisper at him, appalled but entirely turned on.

  “Nobody heard me,” he says, chuckling low, his fingers dancing between my legs now.

  “That’s not the point,” I snap, needing to get away from him before I break. I stand and pick up the pile of books I’m finished with. Walking over to the re-shelving unit, I place them with the others, then go to search for the book I need next.

  As I’m standing by a shelf, nobody else around, I feel Robert step in behind me. He’s so close that his breath hits the back of my neck, provoking goosebumps. Before he even touches me, I whimper. Then, quick as a flash, he pulls me into him and just holds me, his muscled arms crowding me in, one across my chest, the other around my hips. My back meshes with his front and my head falls to my shoulder, my body telling me this is what it wants, to hell with what my brain might be saying.

  We stay like that for a long time. It feels so perfect that I can’t bring myself to move. God, how I’ve missed the physical connection between us. How I’ve resented myself for pushing him away all these weeks. I mean, what man would quit a great job and move to another country for a girl? Take on the life of a student, so far removed from the wealthy lifestyle he’d been accustomed to for so many years. If a life away from the people you love, however flawed, is no life at all, then why am I still torturing myself like this?

  “I love you,” he whispers, taking my earlobe into his mouth and sucking on it slowly.

  “Somebody’s going to see,” I tell him, worried but still unable to break away.

  I turn in his arms to hug him from the front, my breasts straining against his chest. When I rest my head next to his heart, he sighs softly.

  “Let’s get out of here. I want to take you to dinner.”

  “Dinner sounds good,” I say, breathing in his scent.

  His fingers press into my ribs with need just before he pulls away and drags me back to my desk. He begins shoving my books inside my bag for me, then pauses, breathing deeply, and turns to face me.

  “I’m sorry. I’m being too pushy, aren’t I?”

  “No, you’re fine. But I can pack up my own things.” I laugh.

  He steps away and allows me to finish, rubbing his hand up and down my back as I do. I practically vibrate with joy at how comforting his touch is. “How are you feeling these days? You been sick at all?”

  There’s such concern in his voice that it takes me a moment to reply. “I’ve been good…health-wise, anyway.”

  “And otherwise?” he asks quietly, rubbing more tenderly now.

  “Otherwise, I’m kind of shitty.”

  His answering chuckle is full of affection. “Otherwise, I’ve been kind of shitty, too.”

  We leave campus, and Robert takes me to a fancy restaurant on Dawson Street. He seems very interested to hear about my thesis and what I’m writing it on. I explain the topic to him, but I’m too embarrassed to let him know how my experiences with him inspired me. By the perceptive look in his eyes, I’d say he’s guessed that part for himself anyway.

  He tells me all about his film studies course and how interesting he’s finding it as we eat a delicious meal.

  Afterwards Robert offers to bring me to see the new apartment he’s going to be moving into. When we get there, I find it’s a brand-new building with lots of tall, leafy trees on the grounds. Robert’s place is on the fourth floor. It’s big but empty, the only item of furniture being a dark brown leather sofa.

  “I’m, uh, working on making it my own,” he says, chagrined. “I still have to get a bed, and basically everything else, as you can see.”

  “It’s nice. I can see you being happy here.”

  He smiles and nods, but there’s something missing in his eyes.

  I walk over to the window, liking how the trees make for a pleasant view outside.

  “You’re welcome to stay whenever you like. I mean, if you’re ever studying late in the library and miss the last train, you can have the couch.”

  I swallow, turning to him and acknowledging the generous offer. It would be nice to have a crash pad close to college.

  “Thanks,” I whisper as we stare at each other across the empty apartment.

  Exiting the building, we walk back to where he parked his car. It’s late, so I agree to let him drive me home instead of dropping me off at the station. It’s a quiet, contemplative sort of drive. I keep sensing him sneaking quick glances at me every couple of minutes, as though he’s overjoyed just to have me here in his car alone.

  We’re almost home when I get the overwhelming urge to escape the silence that’s chock-full of unspoken emotional words I’m not brave enough to speak, so I turn the radio on low. A DJ’s voice fills the speakers before one of my favourite songs in recent months comes on, “Anything Could Happen” by Ellie Goulding. It has this really uplifting beat that always manages to cheer me. If a fairy ever wrote a
pop song, this is exactly what it would sound like.

  Without thinking, I close my eyes and begin singing along quietly to the lyrics. Somewhere in between Robert takes my fingers in his. When the song is over, I open my eyes and see that the car has stopped. We’re parked outside Liz’s house. Robert reaches forward to turn off the radio, and then he pushes the button to draw down his window. It’s dark out, and all I can hear are the waves from the beach as they crash against the shore.

  “I love hearing you sing,” he whispers, his voice tender.

  Both our heads rest against the backs of our seats, our faces turned to one another. We stay locked in the moment, our gazes connected. I breathe out and he breathes my air in, a symbol of how vitally we need one another.

  Suddenly flustered, I draw my fingers from his and pick up my bag. “It’s late. I’d better get home before Mum sends out a search party.”

  He stops me and grabs the bag from my hands. “Not yet, please. Come take a walk with me. It’s a beautiful night.”

  Unable to say no when he looks at me like that, I nod and slip out of the car. He walks around to my side, draping his coat over my shoulders and taking my hand again. Even though it’s mid-October, the nights haven’t gotten too cold yet. The air is crisp and fresh, full of the salty smell of the sea. We walk down the sandy path to the beach, where it’s blissfully empty, the two of us the only people around for miles.

  I sit down on the sand, pulling Robert’s coat snug around me. It smells of him, filling my senses and setting my body alight with awareness. He lowers himself down beside me. I stare straight ahead, watching the dark sea and allowing my hands to drift in the sand, feeling the grains fall through my fingers.

  “Do you know, when you walked into Sasha’s kitchen at the start of the summer, I had no clue what way to be around you,” he says, voice soft.

  I glance up at him and smile. “That’s funny, because I felt the exact same way.”

  His expression grows warm. “I felt like a complete arsehole calling you ‘Tampon’ like I did when we were at school, but I suppose I was just falling back into the bully role, the only role I knew. Then when I paid you compliments, I saw how something sparked behind your eyes, surprise and a tiny sliver of happiness. It was like I’d been waiting my entire life to see that spark. In a split second I realised how easy it was to be nice to you, when all along I’d thought it would be difficult, that it simply wasn’t in my nature to be kind. I had it so twisted. Cruelty is easy, and it breeds only misery. Kindness is harder, and you have to be brave to give it. To be cruel, you can stay closed off from everyone, wear a mask, but to be kind, in essence, to show love, you have to make yourself vulnerable, show your true self to someone and open yourself up to rejection.”