The Problem With Crazy

by Lauren McKellar

  And I really didn’t think I could trust myself to keep the rest of my clothes on for much longer.

  “Mm,” Lachlan groaned. He placed his hands on my shoulders and exhaled deeply. “Okay.” He stood up and turned his back to me, picking my shirt up off the floor and throwing it at my chest. “You’re going to need to hold that there, or I’m not going to make it.”

  “’Kay.” I stifled a smile and held my shirt to my chest as instructed as I led him up the stairs. I was buzzing. This was really happening. I had a guy, who liked me, who completely got the hereditary-disease thing, and who turned me on like I’d never thought possible. I couldn’t wait to get him into my room.

  Once we were inside, I shut the door behind him. He walked over to my bed and sat down on the edge, taking everything in: my alphabetically-organised DVD stand, my clothes hanging in colour-coded order in the wardrobe.

  “You’re very neat.” He observed, his gaze resting on my empty trashcan.

  “It’s hereditary.” I smiled, glad to be admitting to one family trait that was substantially less embarrassing than the last hereditary incident I’d confessed to.

  “I’m going to turn on the radio.” Shirt still at my chest, I flicked the switch on my sound system, suddenly a little bit nervous again. The sound of mindless advertising filled the room and I inched my way toward the bed. Lachlan was looking at me, his eyes wide, like I was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

  “Can we … lose the shirt again now?” He sounded eager, hopeful, all at once.

  I dropped the shirt, letting it fall to the floor. He gave a tiny gasp and I felt my heart start to race again, the heat of his gaze setting my pulse on fire.

  His hands reached out and grabbed my thighs, pulling me close to the bed till my stomach was at his eye height. He placed his big, strong hands on the small of my back, pulling it closer to him as he kissed my stomach, over the hollow of my belly button, soft, wet, heated kisses that made me tingle on the inside.

  He popped open the top button of my fly and gently pulled my zipper down, tracing a soft finger over my lace panties that were now partially exposed. I shuddered with anticipation, my breath hitching in my throat. It was all I could do not to thrust further toward him.

  He slid my jeans off, pulling them down my legs and gently tracing the inside of my thighs with his fingers. I shivered, goosebumps lining my body. He was moving so slowly, not touching anywhere even remotely forbidden, and the anticipation was killing me.

  “Up next, we have a killer track from hot new band Dave & the Glories; You Crazy Bitch.”

  The words broke through my anticipation and sent my blood running cold.

  What. The. Hell.

  Surely it was just some stupid song they’d written that was tongue in cheek, nothing to do with me. Why would Dave write a song about me? And Michael would warn me if such a song existed.

  Wouldn’t he?

  I was vaguely aware that Lachlan was kissing the inside of my thigh, but I could barely concentrate as the opening guitar riff ended and Dave’s voice kicked in.

  “She was the girl that I wanted, the girl of my mind-blowing dreams,” he sang in that nasal twang. “But she’s blown it all up, she’s made a big crazy sce—ene.”

  My heart started to thud. He wouldn’t.

  Would he?

  “Yeah, her dad, he’s insane,” the bridge rang. “Yeah, all lost in his brain. Yeah—it’ll happen again!”

  My knees were weak, and not from Lachlan’s kisses. He moved his hands to the line of my panties and I covered them with my own, preventing him from taking the next step.

  “Stop,” I whispered. He looked up at me, a slight frown marring his smooth olive forehead.

  “What’s wrong?” His voice was equally quiet, but even if he’d yelled, I wasn’t sure I would have heard.

  “She keeps her room so clean but she’s messy insi-ide, her brains going out with the outgoing ti-ide, she holds back what I want, never scratches that itch, and yeah … O-oh yeah! You crazy bitch.”

  I sunk to the bed next to Lachlan, holding my head in my hands. Everyone from school would hear. They had to know it was about me, after Dad’s performance at graduation. He’d written a song, airing all our dirty laundry, all my dirty laundry, for the whole world to hear. Not everyone was as understanding as Lachlan. Hell, I wasn’t even completely accepting of my father yet.

  How could I expect the rest of the world to be?

  “Is this—is this your ex?” Lachlan asked. He placed a hand gently on my back.

  “She keeps her room so clean but she’s messy insi-ide, her brains going out with the outgoing ti-ide,” Dave sung again as the chorus went a second time around.

  I couldn’t look at Lachlan, couldn’t bear to make eye contact. It was one thing him knowing the truth about my dad, and another him having to listen to my ex-boyfriend sing about it on the radio. My blood boiled. Dave …

  “She keeps her room so clean but she’s messy insi-ide,” the chorus kicked in again.

  Something within me ticked over. I couldn’t handle this. Nothing about this was okay.

  The adrenaline mixed with a few beers coursed through me as I leaned over and grabbed clothes from the hamper, scooping them into my arms and throwing them across the room, a sea of soft fabric floating through the air.

  “Kate … Are you okay?” Lachlan asked, as I blindly walked toward the centre of my room.

  I grabbed another handful and emptied my arms into nothingness. White socks, black underwear, coloured bras and T-shirts, all kamikaziing towards the floor. I had to make it dirty. Then none of it would be true.

  “She keeps her room so clean …”

  “This isn’t exactly how I imagined the first time you threw your panties at me.” Lachlan gave a wry grin as he peeled a lace thong from his shoulder.

  I felt my face redden and I snatched the G-string from his hands before he could examine it closer.

  After throwing it on the chair I walked over to the bed, pulling the quilt from the mattress and letting it fly, an arc of black and white sweeping through the air and coming to rest, half on my desk chair, half on my bin.

  The DVDs were the next victim of my rampage. I grabbed a handful and lifted them, carefully balancing my way over to the middle of the room where I could dump them with maximum effect.

  “Kate?” Lachlan asked. He stood in the corner, looking very uncomfortable. I didn’t have time to think about that. It wasn’t important right now.

  I managed to drop the first pile of DVDs on top of my quilt cover. I returned to grab a second, confident I could repeat my actions. I could mess up this room. I could change it. I could be messy here and then maybe on the inside I’d be clean, and I wouldn’t be the girl in the song. I wouldn’t be that “crazy bitch.”

  With the DVDs balanced between my hands, I started the precarious walk over to my bookshelf, ready to finish this, to separate my new life from my old, clean one. I took one case from the top of the pile and slammed it against the wall, a grey mark appearing where it made impact.

  “Kate!”

  I don’t think it was his voice that did it, more a combination of me being slightly drunk and dizzy, and misjudging the force with which to hold the DVDs. All I know is, one moment I was holding them and the next they had spewed out from between my arms and were flying through the air, landing all over the floor, a mass of colourful covers and shiny discs.

  I dropped to my knees. It was all too much. I had to pick them up. Pick them up.

  A loud, gulping sob broke from my lips as I tried to capture as many DVDs as I could in my arms, watching as they slipped out of my grip again and back onto the floor.

  “You … c-crazy bitch,” I sung along to the final line of the song, my breath catching with each sobbed word.

  “Kate.” Lachlan was on the floor next to me, grabbing DVD cases in both of his hands and stacking them into a pile. He got a nice collection together then started a new pile, making
towers of DVDs on the floor around us.

  I gave up trying to help and instead drew my knees to my chest and turned my head down, the tears and pain consuming me. What was I doing? It was too much.

  After a few minutes I felt Lachlan place an arm around my back and another one in the gap behind my knees. He scooped me up and carried me over to my bed. I was so emotionally vacant, so worn out from being so upset, I barely noticed the fact I was dressed only in underwear and he was fully clothed.

  He placed me gently on the bed and went to get my quilt from the floor. He shook it out and let it float gently down to rest on top of me. He switched off the radio and turned out the lights, and I heard the sound of clothes rustling about over my shudders, my racking cries of pain that wouldn’t abate.

  I fell asleep, emotionally exhausted and completely drained, my almost naked back pressed up hard against Lachlan’s stomach.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  WHEN 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 wh
en 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?