The Problem With Crazy

by Lauren McKellar

  I didn’t for a second think Michael had planned this, but it didn’t make it any less awkward. Nor did it make him any more appealing to Stacey, who was currently staring at him with very thin lips and glittering angry eyes.

  “What? You gotta be kidding me! Three old friends running into each other on a night like this? We should share a table.” Dave opened his arms wide.

  “You remember you two are in a band together, right?” I snapped.

  “Yeah. You’re going to see him tomorrow,” Stacey chimed in.

  “True.” Michael tilted his head toward her. I had to give him credit. Going up against Dave was never easy.

  “All the more reason to join you now.” Dave unleashed his girlfriend from his grip and sat down next to Lachlan, leaving her hovering awkwardly next to the table. “Sit.” He nodded to the seat next to Michael.

  “Does she respond well to other commands, too?” Score one, Stacey.

  “Yeah. She’s particularly good at one special command—” Dave looked pointedly at me, “—that I know some people wouldn’t ever do. Am I right, man?” Dave looked expectantly at Lachlan.

  I wanted to die.

  If I could melt into the folds of the booth, that would be great.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lachlan met Dave’s gaze, holding it without waver.

  “You know …” Dave gave him a not-so-subtle wink.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, maybe you guys aren’t at that stage in your relationship yet.” Dave laughed and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Don’t hold your breath waiting, man.”

  The stabbing pain was real, straight through my heart. I’d thought I was over him; I knew he’d been a jerk. But still, being basically called frigid at dinner, with his new supermodel-esque girlfriend across the table, in front of a guy who I didn’t-like-but-maybe-a-little did? It sucked. It more than sucked. It hurt.

  “Huh.” Lachlan shrugged and took a long swig of the beer Michael had placed in front of him earlier. “Guess you mustn’t have been all that good at foreplay, then.”

  My eyes widened.

  Had he just—in a weird, roundabout kind of way—implied I’d had sex with him? Or … foreplay with him?

  How—sweet?

  “From what I hear, he certainly wasn’t.” Stacey was like a horse at the gate. “A bit of a non-event, you know?”

  “You are talking about the bedroom, no?” Dave’s accessory opened her mouth for the second time.

  “Yes, dear,” Michael sounded like he was speaking to a child. Even he was getting in on the act. A smile worked its way up my face.

  “Oh.” She nodded thoughtfully. “He very good and—how you say—fast?”

  “She means, like, fast at it, not quick,” Dave said. But it was too late. The damage had already been done, and Stacey, Michael, Lachlan and I burst into a cacophony of laughter, the kind of laughter that drew the attention of people at other tables.

  Dave grabbed the table, and the veins on his hands popped out. I waited for his outburst, for him to snap and leave—but it didn’t come.

  “Fast and hard, and lasting all night. You know it, baby.” Dave stood up and walked to the opposite side of the booth where he bent over and kissed his Swedish miss. And trust me, kissing was the polite term for it.

  “Chill, man.” Michael shot him a worried look out the corner of his eye.

  “Let him do what he wants. Who cares?” Stacey waved a nonchalant hand in their direction.

  I looked over and saw Dave’s tongue slither into the girl’s mouth. I felt nothing but revulsion and disgust, mixed with a slight hint of “thank goodness it’s not me”.

  And yet, I couldn’t help myself.

  “We certainly don’t, do we, babe?” I placed a hand tentatively on Lachlan’s shoulder, and looked at him out from under my lashes with what I hoped was bedroom eyes, and not desperate, crazy woman ones. I felt Dave’s gaze from the other side of the table.

  “Not at all.” Lachlan broke into an easy grin and leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine.

  I focused on the table below, then pulled away jerkily, hoping Dave hadn’t noticed my adverse reaction. Having Lachlan so close, his eyes close to my eyes, his lips close to my lips—it was all too much.

  “I don’t know how you do it.” Dave sauntered back over to our side of the table, sliding in a little too close to Lachlan’s personal space for my liking. “You know; put up with all that shit.”

  “What are we all going to order?” I lifted my menu. Please Dave, I silently begged. Please don’t go where I think you’re going to go.

  “I mean, you must have a really easy-going family.” Dave tossed his head back and laughed, like it was the funniest joke in the world.

  No.

  Please, stop.

  My mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish. I didn’t want Lachlan to know; not like this. I was sure he’d guessed something was up with Dad, but I didn’t want to tell him everything, not until I knew if I had it, too.

  “I mean, how would your family react if your girlfriend’s dad was going crazy?”

  The words were far too loud. Not only did our table fall silent, but several around it did, too. I slumped back in my seat.

  “He’s not crazy.” My words were quiet. Too quiet.

  “You should have seen him at our graduation. Rocking up drunk, embarrassing the school. And you know what they say: like father, like daughter …” Dave raised his brows in my direction, then took a swig of Lachlan’s beer, setting it back down in front of him. “Thanks, man.”

  I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t think. All I could see was the jigsaw puzzle of my life falling to pieces.

  “A hereditary disease? You’re one helluva guy for sticking around for that.” Dave rested back in the chair.

  The pain in my lungs expanded as they waited for me to draw breath. My bones were stuck in place. I couldn’t look at anyone, at anything. My mind had left my body and was hovering somewhere above it, watching on like a rubber-necker at a car wreck. It was ruined.

  Everything was ruined.

  My heart slowly sliced itself in two.

  "Excuse me, guys, I'm just ducking to the ladies room.” I stood up and squeezed past Lachlan and Dave, not noticing how my legs brushed theirs, how the silence was still resting over the table, how Stacey’s eyes were burning with anger and her mouth not yet moving.

  I didn’t care about any of it.

  I didn’t care at all.

  I ran out of the restaurant, and across the street to the public bathrooms we’d been in earlier, desperate to be alone. Mud splashed up my ankles and onto my skirt, and I didn’t care one little bit that I was getting my new dress dirty. Nothing mattered anymore. A tiny tear snuck its way out of the corner of my eye and I bit my lip, furious with myself for being so weak, for even caring at all.

  “You would have had to tell him anyway,” I whispered, as I punched my fist into the toilet door. The skin broke, and angry red blood smarted my knuckles.

  I would have had to tell him, but I wouldn’t have had to tell him now.

  Waves of emotion made my chest shudder as I felt the pain sluice through my body, as if each pump of my heart helped the misery of my life flow till I was sad and heavy from my forehead to my feet.

  I stared at myself in the mirror, balancing my clutch delicately on the edge of the stainless steel sink. My brown hair was still pulled back, little tendrils of it curling up and breaking profile in the heat. My face looked pale, my lips almost white.

  Why had I thought I could do normal things?

  Why had I thought a normal boy would be interested in me?

  I quickly shoved my hands under the tap and gave them a speedy rinse. I didn’t want to go back; I couldn’t. I pressed up against the wall, ignoring the dirt and grime that was probably caked there. I shouldn’t have even gone to dinner. I had to sort out problems with my family, and myself. I didn’t need this in my
life.

  What am I doing here?

  I grabbed my phone from my clutch and started texting Stacey furiously.

  Hey babe, I don’t feel well. I have to bail, I’ll

  “Kate?”

  Lachlan’s voice interrupted my text, and echoed through the room.

  I remained silent. He’d leave soon, anyway, and I was going home. I didn’t need to see him again, not tonight.

  I focused on making my breath steady and quiet—long, deep breaths in, and a slow, controlled release out. I could do this. Everything would be fine.

  After five minutes had passed with not another sound from outside I finished up my text, and released my stronghold on the wall, letting it keep upright without me. I put my phone back in my purse, took my shoes off and dangled them from my hand with my clutch, ready for the long walk home.

  “Kate.”

  When I rounded the corner, Lachlan was still there. He was leaning casually against the wall, like it was the most natural thing in the world, hands in his pockets, head tilted back.

  I felt my heart pound, my pulse quicken. What was he still doing here?

  “I … I don’t feel well. I’m going home.” I charged past him and headed across the park.

  “Why?” He kept pace with me, easily matching my short, emotion-fuelled strides with his long, controlled ones.

  “I just told you, I don’t feel well.” My eyes focused on the ground, only seeing the patches of grass and gnarled branches beneath my feet.

  “Why really?”

  “None of your business.” I barked the words out like they were weapons. I hoped they hurt.

  “Can I walk you home?”

  “You’ll miss dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.” I spoke loud, much louder than I’d intended. I turned to face him, my arms wide. “I don’t need it.”

  Lachlan took a step back. His studied me, from my feet to my face. Not in the way Dave had earlier, judging, but with a solemn look, a firm set of his mouth, as if he were working out the answer to a problem he’d long wondered about.

  “I don’t feel sorry for you.” His voice was soft. He took a tiny step closer to me and reached out as if he were going to touch my arm, then thought better of it, and put his hand in his pocket. “I just want to walk you home.”

  He wasn’t angry. He was calm. I took a deep breath. He’d been through hard times too.

  “Okay.”

  I turned on my heel and started walking again. My pace was less frantic, now, my breathing less heavy. I took it all in: the grass and the trees around the edges of the field, the road up ahead, and the houses beyond that.

  We walked for ten minutes in that direction then swapped, taking a main road and walking along a grey footpath. Lachlan never faltered in pace, never interrupted my thoughts. It was good, because I had a lot of them. What did I ever see in Dave? Why was Lachlan here, now that he kind of knew the truth? What the hell would happen to me in the future? Why was I so embarrassed about it all, anyway?

  Would I ever stop looking at my dad like a stranger?

  When we reached the track that led to my house, the one that hugged the opposite side of the nature reserve where we’d skinny-dipped, I’d had enough.

  “Can we stop for a second?” I halted in my tracks, staring down at the tiny drops of water on the long green grass spiking up around my shoes. Lachlan didn’t say a word, just froze next to me. I stared at his black skate shoes, less than a foot from mine.

  “So, my dad has Huntington’s disease. It effects the motor system, and he basically loses control of everything.” I gripped my left hand with my right one and pressed my nails in. Hurt, Kate. Make it hurt.

  When the release of physical pain came, I felt in control again. I was able to continue. “One day, he’ll die. And, it’s hereditary. So I could have it, too.”

  For a moment, I was open. The gun was in my mouth, the trigger in between his forefinger and thumb. It was half the reason Dave had left me, one of the key factors in why I couldn’t trust Lachlan’s interest.

  Quite simply, it was everything.

  Go on.

  Pull the trigger.

  “I …” Lachlan started a sentence, but couldn’t finish it. He opened and shut his mouth then stepped in closer to me, till there was less than an inch separating our faces.

  “I have cancer.”

  Whoa. Not what I was expecting.

  “But you’re … so …” Words failed me as I studied this incredibly sexy, non-sick-looking guy. How could someone who looked so alive have cancer?

  “I know. I’m in remission, and I haven’t had any problems for more than two years, now,” he said. His liquid chocolate eyes locked with mine. “But it could come back. I’m not completely in the clear.”

  “Is it the same kind your … your dad had?”

  Lachlan gave a single nod, and I felt a little piece of my heart fall away. How could I be so caught up in my own shit, when he had so much more; and so much worse? His parents were both dead, and he was sick, too.

  “Hereditary illnesses, huh?” Lachlan gave a wry smile, and I laughed.

  We stood there on the corner, just staring, processing—learning. I was acutely aware of how close he was, how his shoulders stood just around my eye level, how the white fog from his breath hitting the night air was misting toward my face. I felt small and vulnerable, looking up at his clouded eyes, like he could snap me in two with his next sentence.

  “Kate?”

  “Yes?” My breath caught in my throat. My eyes were drawn to his lips, slightly parted, a wet sheen glistening there.

  “You’re just … you’re just so beautiful.” Lachlan moved closer to me, millimetres from my face. I looked at his mouth. It was so near to mine in the moonlight.

  I licked my lower lip and heard him inhale, sharply, felt his eyes watch my every movement, and then the pull of tension became too much and he pressed forward and melded his lips to mine. I widened my eyes then parted my mouth. His tongue darted between my lips, and my own moved to receive it, touching it, melding with it.

  His kiss was amazing, everything I’d wanted it to be. He ran his hands up my sides, over my hip bones and higher till I could feel them rest at the bottom of my bra. I thrust my hips forward, wanting to close any gap between us, needing to feel my body pressed against his solid form.

  We kept going, feeling the wetness of our mouths colliding until there was no he kissed me, no I kissed him, but us, only us, making out in the light of the moon.

  This was happening. Lachlan knew, and he didn’t care. We were making out, and I could have Huntington’s disease. My heart had gone from frozen to pumping at a million miles per minute as I lost myself in him.

  “Kate,” Lachlan groaned, his voice aching in my mouth. I teased the edge of his shirt up, letting my hand roam underneath and feeling the shape of his back, the trough of his spine under my hands. I pressed myself against him again and gave a slight moan into his mouth. I felt him shudder as he gently bit down on my lip. It only made me want him more.

  “Kate,” he said again, this time pulling back, holding my arms in his big, strong hands. My breath was coming far too fast, my chest heaving up and down.

  “Yes?” I looked into his eyes. His pupils were dilated, his cheeks flushed, and I wondered if that was how I looked to him, too.

  “I—this is a new thing for me.” He dropped his hands and shoved them into his pockets, pulling out the pad of paper I’d seen that first night.

  “What?” My mouth hung open. “You’ve never kissed anyone before?”

  “Of course I have.” I swallowed. Idiot, Kate. “But I’ve not really done anything else, like—well, with the cancer, I wasn’t exactly beating the ladies off, and I just—I really like you. But I have to go now. I’m going to go home, and … and draw.”

  This wasn’t happening.

  Was I cursed?

  “So you do
n’t want to kiss me anymore because you need to sketch up an image that captures this first for you?”

  If my eyes went any wider, they’d fall out of my head. I was the one who was having tests regarding my mental health, for Christ’s sake.

  “No.” Lachlan gave me a sheepish smile. “But I don’t want to kiss you anymore in case this first turns into another first, and another, and another.” A light glinted in his eye.

  “I want to do this right, take you on a proper date, not make out with you on a street after your loser ex-boyfriend was a jerk.” Lachlan ran his hands through his hair. “And I worry that maybe I’m taking advantage of you in your emotional state.”

  I shook my head, no.

  “Either way, I do like to draw all my firsts. And you need them for the launch.” Lachlan pulled me close, and pressed his lips gently to my forehead. “Good night.” He turned away and walked down the street, not looking back.

  I had no idea what I was supposed to feel. Was he making an excuse, or was he serious?

  I watched Lachlan go, a lone figure on our quiet street, highlighted from streetlight to streetlight. I’d liked walking by his side. I’d liked that he didn’t seem to care about Dad or my potential illness.

  I wrapped my arms across my chest and squeezed tight. If he could survive—could run a business, act like a normal guy, and have feelings for girls—then surely I stood a chance.

  Chapter Twenty

  “KATE, IS that really what you’re wearing?” Mum raised her eyebrows at me. I was lying on the bed in my room, black sweatpants and grey tank on, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Or, it had been a messy ponytail at one point. After two hours of lying on my bed, working on Lachlan’s upcoming event and wondering how on earth I’d act when I saw him next, it may have simply turned into a mess.

  “Looks like it.” I smiled gaily back at my mother.

  “We are leaving in fifteen minutes.” Mum gave me “the look”—you know, the one that says, “I’m the parent, and if you want to live under my archaic roof, you obey my archaic commands.”

  I exhaled slowly, letting the air puff out of my cheeks. I didn’t want to do this. After the last time I took Dad to Sideways, I’d refrained from taking him out of the house. My babysitting of him was restricted to our home address, with no excursions permitted.