The Play

by Karina Halle

  He looks up, contemplating. “Fine,” he says. “I’m coming with you.”

  Brigs and I head out into the streets, the sun behind the houses, setting the sky a hazy, golden color. People are out walking their dogs, laughing, and it’s hard to believe that we’re out looking for Lachlan, a man enraptured with darkness, who can’t see the sun at all. My heart feels sick, beating erratically while I keep imagining all the worst case scenarios. I know it hasn’t been long at all though since he left and maybe, just maybe he’s in the frame of mind to listen.

  If we can even find him.

  Because the first pub Brigs brings me into, he’s not there.

  Nor is he at the second, or third.

  He’s not answering any of our texts or phone calls.

  And now I can see that Brigs is really getting worried, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. Edinburgh is a big city, full of many pubs and people looking for trouble. Even so, we search through various neighborhoods for hours before we decide to turn around, heading back from the Old Town, up Dundas Street. The sun is long gone and the darkness is everywhere.

  The whole time I can barely feel anything except a sinking feeling in my chest, my lips dry and chewed up from biting them so anxiously. I keep telling myself that Lachlan is his own man, he knows what he’s doing, he’s probably fine and I keep repeating it to myself over and over. Finally I’m just devoid of thought, I’m just coasting along on my panic.

  “Maybe he’s back at the flat,” I say to Brigs as we turn onto our street.

  He doesn’t say anything to that.

  But when we get upstairs to the front door, it’s already unlocked.

  “Hello?” I ask, pushing it open slightly. I expect the dogs to come running but they don’t. Brigs steps in front of me just in case we’re ambushed by a robber or something.

  “Lachlan?” he says and we hear movement from the kitchen.

  The both of us go in through the dining room and peer around the corner. Lachlan is sitting at the kitchen table, head down, eyes closed, his fist around a bottle of Scotch. At his feet, under the table, are Lionel and Emily, staring up at us with big eyes. Lionel gives one soft thump of his tail.

  “Hey,” Brigs says quietly, walking in beside him and pulling out a chair. He leans forward, trying to get into his face, to get his attention. “We were looking for you.”

  Lachlan grunts something and his fist around the bottle tightens. He still doesn’t open his eyes.

  Brigs looks to me, a questioning look on his face. I’m not sure he knows what to do, what’s next. I’m not sure either but as he’s shooting me these looks, Lachlan raises his chin, just an inch, and looks right at me.

  His eyes are frightening. Bloodshot and so fucking hard and flinty, they might as well be made of iron.

  I try and soften my features, to let him know I’m worried about him, to tell him everything is okay, even though it isn’t.

  It doesn’t seem to work. He fixes his hard glare on Brigs for a moment and I swear he’s going to break the bottle in two. Then he looks back down, nostrils flaring, and closes his eyes.

  Eventually Brigs gets up and comes over to me, leaning in close to my ear. Lachlan is staring at us again. I don’t recognize him as my boyfriend. It’s the beast from the other night, but far, far worse.

  “Do you want me to stay?” Brigs whispers to me.

  I’m not afraid of Lachlan. I refuse to be. I can handle him when it’s the two of us. I have a feeling that maybe it’s the presence of Brigs that’s making Lachlan tense up and go to the dark side.

  “I’m fine,” I tell Brigs. I quickly add, “thank you.”

  He nods and pats me on the shoulder before leaving the room.

  “Take care of her Lachlan,” he says and the longest, heaviest moments pass until I hear that front door shut.

  I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath this whole time. Now it’s just me and him. I’m standing near the kitchen door, he’s sitting at the table. His knuckles are still white from where he’s gripping the bottle so damn hard. I can’t tell if he’s a lot drunk or a little drunk. He seems to be completely lucid and if it weren’t for the half empty bottle, I wouldn’t think he’s drinking at all. His eyes, as hard as they are, seem to take everything in with a frightening amount of clarity.

  I walk to the table and sit down across from him, placing my hand palm up, desperate for his touch, for a kind kiss from his lips.

  “Talk to me,” I tell him.

  He holds my eyes and I can’t read anything in them.

  “Please,” I plead. “Lachlan. Brigs told me what happened at practice. I’m so sorry, it wasn’t your –”

  “Brigs told you,” he says thickly and that’s when I can hear the alcohol in his voice.

  “Yes. He explained. He’s worried.”

  He nods, a cruel twist to his lips. “I see.”

  “And we were worried about you when you just took off like that.”

  He raises his brows, one eye lazy. “Oh really. Why?”

  Oh god, how to say this delicately. “Remember the other night at the bar? I didn’t want that to happen again.”

  He glares at me so hard I shrink back. “You don’t understand a fucking thing, do you?”

  A fist squeezes my heart. “I’m trying,” I say quietly.

  “Oh, you’re trying,” he says, getting out of his seat and turning around, placing his hands on his head. He tilts slightly to the left, nearly toppling over but holds steady. Jesus he’s drunk. “You’re trying. Is this how you try?”

  It’s like the kitchen fills with quicksand and slowly everything starts to spin toward the center, sinking. I felt helpless, hopeless before, walking on the streets looking for him in vain. But now, having him here, having him safe, the feeling is just as strong.

  I don’t know what to say or what to do. It’s like he’s talking about something that happened to someone else, not me.

  “Have I done something wrong?” I ask him.

  Suddenly he whips around, picking up the bottle and throwing it against the adjacent wall, screaming, “Fuck! Would you fucking listen to yourself?”

  The dogs run out from under the table, the glass scattering across the floor. I hear a jackhammer going off somewhere, but realize it’s just my heart in my ears. I watch the Scotch run down the wall, and behind my shock a part of me is glad that he can’t drink the rest of it.

  I’m speechless. Frozen. I can only stare at him, wishing this was all a bad dream, wishing he were somebody else. I want the man I love back.

  “Nothing to say now, do you?” he yells at me, spit flying out of his mouth, his face red up to his temples. “Bet you had plenty to say to him.”

  I shake my head dumbly. “Him?”

  “My brother,” he sneers.

  My brain stumbles over itself, trying to make sense of him. “Brigs? What about him?”

  “Sure, sure,” he says heading to the fridge and yanking the door open. Beer bottles that weren’t there earlier rattle and he grabs one, opening it with an angry twist. “That’s what they always say. Always the lies, the fucking lies,” he slurs. “I thought you were better than that.”

  “Lachlan,” I raise my voice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You think I don’t know the lies he was spreading about me?” He’s slurring so bad I can barely understand him. He sits down and slams half the beer back down his throat.

  “Please,” I tell him helplessly. “Just calm down and we can talk about this like rational adults. Just explain to me what you mean.”

  He shakes his head angrily, taunting me with a sour smile. “You’re just like all the others. Waiting for someone to fuck up so you can cast them aside, so you can move onto someone fucking else. I know it. I know you and I know him and I never got your fucking love to begin with, from either one of you.”

  Is he suggesting what I think he is?

  It’s mad if he is. He’s mad.

&n
bsp; “You think something happened with…me and your brother?” I ask, almost laughing because it has to be a fucking joke. “Just now?”

  “I’ve been waiting here for you for fucking hours!” he says, pounding his fist on the table, making the foam rise to the top of his beer.

  “What?” I cry out, my blood boiling. “We went looking for you! You just left!”

  “I said, I said, I told you, I was going for a walk.” He shakes his head, repeating himself, “I told you I was going for a walk.”

  “You went to the god damn pub, that’s where you fucking went, to drown your sorrows and revel in your anger!”

  “You,” he says sharply, eyes like daggers, his finger pointed at me, “you know shit about me, okay? Yeah? You understand that? That you don’t know anything so don’t you fucking sit there on your fucking high horse and judge me.”

  “I’m not judging you!” I yell at him. “I’m pointing out the truth. You went to get fucking drunk. Brigs and I –”

  “Don’t even say his name,” he says through clenched teeth.

  “Brigs,” I say loudly, “and I went looking for you, to stop you.”

  His head jerks back like he’s been slapped. “To stop me? Stop me from going to a pub, getting a few fucking beers? Who the fuck are you?”

  “Lachlan,” I plead, feeling this is getting out of control.

  “No!” he yells, getting to his feet, his chair pushed noisily against the hardwood floor. “No! Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?!”

  “I’m someone that loves you!”

  He laughs. He actually laughs, head thrown back, and it’s the saddest most bitter sound I’ve ever heard. “Love? You don’t fucking love me.”

  Tears are springing to my eyes. I shake my head slowly, that quicksand pulling me under. “Please, please, just listen to yourself. I love you.”

  “If you did love me, I’d feel nothing but pity for you.”

  “Don’t do this, please let’s not go down this road.”

  “I would pity you for loving a sad sack of shit like me. Get some fucking respect, huh?”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “I’m making perfect sense. You’re just some stupid girl who came all the way over here because she thought she was falling in love. I bet it hurts to fall out of.”

  I can’t breathe. I just can’t. I feel like someone has filled me with water, quickly freezing over, and every organ inside is halted in this one horrible moment.

  “You need help,” I manage to say and the words float in the air between us. “You need help, Lachlan. This isn’t you.”

  Another vile chuckle. “This is me. Wake the fuck up. I warned you. I warned you what I was like. It’s not my fault you’re a fucking idiot.”

  My stomach twists in so much pain that I have to close my eyes. My fists ball at my sides. I try to take a steady breath in, to calm the hurt, but I can’t.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have come here,” I whisper to myself.

  “No one to blame but yourself, darling.”

  My eyes flash open, bile rising up my throat. “How dare you speak to me like that?”

  I’m begging, pleading, praying that something in his eyes will change, that he’ll realize what he’s saying, that he’ll realize who he’s yelling at. What I am to him. It happens in the movies. When the drunken hero sees the error of his ways and he sobers up and he snaps out of it, feeling nothing but remorse for the woman he’s wronged. I’d take that if I could get it, if he could just see what he’s doing to me.

  But this isn’t a movie. In real life, in this real life, he doesn’t soften. His eyes are still mean, dark, full of so much hate that you can feel it in every inch of your soul.

  I should have asked Brigs to stay. I should have been prepared. I should have known it could be this bad, he could be this bad.

  But I didn’t. I’m a fucking idiot after all.

  “Well?” Lachlan says. “Finally speechless? Nothing else important to add?” He squints at me as he finishes the rest of his beer. “No protest about this beer, huh?”

  I try one last attempt. One last hope in hell.

  “Lachlan,” I say, my voice trembling. “I love you. No matter what you say or what you believe, I do. And I swear you believed me, you felt it, up until hours ago. Please, don’t forget that. I don’t regret coming here, no matter what’s going on with you. But you have to work with me, please. You have to understand that you’re drunk.”

  “Oh, fuck off.”

  “You’re drunk,” I repeat loudly, trying not to scream until he gets it, until he sees. “You have a problem and it’s nothing to be ashamed of but it is going to kill us, kill you, if you don’t stop. Please. If you can’t help yourself, please let me help you.”

  He watches me for a few beats then cocks a brow. “Is that all?”

  “No,” I say, the frustration choking me. “No. It’s not all. It’s everything.” I pause, closing my eyes because I’m afraid to see the truth. “Don’t you love me?”

  Time is stretched thin. Too many moments pass and my heart is thudding so loudly that I’m afraid I couldn’t hear his answer anyway.

  Finally he says, quiet and gruff, “How could I ever love anyone who could love me?”

  Fuck.

  That does it.

  My eyes snap open, the anger hitting me all at once. “You know what?” I snap at him. “I’m getting really sick and tired of your woe is me bullshit!”

  But he just shrugs at that, looking away. “You know where the door is.”

  “Unbelievable,” I say. “Do you hear yourself?”

  “Do you want me to show you the door?” he says, looking back at me, like he’s completely fucking earnest.

  “Are you seriously threatening to kick me out of here?”

  “Do I have to threaten you?”

  Whoosh. All the air is sucked from my lungs.

  “No,” I tell him, the tears starting to flow. “No you don’t have to threaten me, asshole. I’ll show myself to the door.” I walk past him and pause briefly at his side, staring down at him with so much rage that it might just rival his own. “I don’t know who you are, or what you did with Lachlan. But I do know that this you, I don’t love. I have nothing but hate for this you.”

  He doesn’t say anything. But it doesn’t matter.

  I storm past him and out into the hall. I can barely see through my tears. I don’t even know where I’m going, but I have my purse on me and for some reason I think that’s all I’ll need, that I’ll be okay.

  Lionel is sitting by the door, whining to go out, looking scared and pitiful. If I don’t take them, no one will. Lachlan is a lost cause.

  So, so, lost.

  I grab their leashes, hook Lionel up to it and then find Emily, who is shaking under the coffee table. I leave the flat quickly, almost running down the stairs and then head out into the night. I run down the street, the dogs running beside me, nervous, frightened, not sure what’s going on.

  I don’t know what’s going on either.

  I just keep going and going and going.

  Because I have nowhere to go.

  Eventually I collapse onto a bench, on a park by the Leith waterway. It’s dark, and probably very dangerous, maybe even with two dogs. But at the moment, I’m not scare of anything except the demons who have taken hold of the man that I love.

  I put my head in my hands and break down, wild sobs ripping out of my throat. I cry because I feel nothing but hopelessness, I cry because I love him so much that I don’t know where he ends and I begin. I cry because he doesn’t deserve any of this, because he never asked for the life that was handed to him.

  My broken beast.

  How you can both love and hate someone at the same time is a merciless trick of the heart.

  I don’t know how long I stay on that bench for, but eventually the dogs are getting restless and wanting to go back. I don’t really have a choice but to return. The dogs belong with their owner and I belong w
ith him too, if not just for one more night. I honestly don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

  While I head back, I’m scared that he’s going to still be up, still be angry, still be that horrible person I hate. The things he said echo in my head, the foreign, heartless look in his eyes. Each recall hits me like an ice pick, cold, sharp and deep.

  But thankfully when I get into the flat, there’s no sign of him until I look into the bedroom. He’s asleep, sprawled on the bed and snoring loudly. Normally I’d bring him some water and Ibuprofen for his hangover but tonight, well tonight he can go fuck himself and if he wakes up feeling like shit, then good, he deserves that and so much worse.

  I can’t imagine sharing a bed with the thing he’s become, so I change into my nightgown and settle down on the couch. Lionel curls up at my feet, Emily on the rug beneath me. Their presence is comforting, but not enough.

  I try not to cry again but it’s pretty much impossible for me to turn off my emotions at this point. That black heart of mine is long gone and this new one is beating in agony. The only good thing about crying your eyes out is that it works as good as a sleeping pill and it’s not long before I fall asleep.

  I wake up briefly though, in the dark, maybe the middle of the night, to see Lachlan’s shadow at the foot of the couch.

  I hold my breath, waiting.

  He places a thick blanket over me, tucking me in.

  Then he turns and stumbles back to the bedroom.

  I pull the cover up over my shoulders and close my eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Lachlan

  Guilt isn’t an emotion.

  It’s a living, breathing organism. It’s another man living deep inside you, screaming so loud sometimes that you wish you could tear off your skin and let him escape.

  But you can’t.

  And there’s nothing you can do to silence him.

  Nothing at all.

  There are things that you think will help you.

  Wicked, beautiful things.

  Sex.

  Narcotics.

  Alcohol.