Glancing about the room, I see that most people are either dancing or getting it on in dark corners. Lana’s sitting by a table on her own, sipping on a glass of juice. I have an odd thought of her dress being a red flag and me being a bull, uncontrollable, wanting to charge her.
In my less than sober state, I feel like it’ll be a good idea to go over there. As I stumble to my feet, some drunk brunette gets in my way, and I have to literally pry her off me when she wraps her arms around my neck. When I get to her table, Lana peers up at me, looking tired and like she’d rather be anywhere but here.
“Hey, come with me,” I say, grabbing her thin wrist and pulling her from her seat.
“Robert! Let go of me,” she protests, clawing at my hand, her eyes big and fearful.
I drag her outside and around the side of the building, where it’s mostly dark except for the dim shine of an outdoor light. This is it, I think in my head. I’m going to tell her everything. How I think about her all the time, how I feel like I can’t breathe when I don’t see her, how all of the bullying was just my twisted form of affection.
Pushing her against the brick wall, I place both of my hands on either side of her shoulders, crowding her in.
“You smell like booze,” she says, scrunching up her nose, making me want to kiss it.
“You smell like…” I pause, lowering my face to her neck and sucking in air. “Lemons and flowers.”
She presses her hand to my chest, pushing me back, but I keep leaning in closer. I’ll never be able to get close enough. When my forehead touches hers, she freezes; her blue eyes are like a mood ring, lighting up like Christmas.
“Why are you out here?” she asks, her voice a tiny squeak. “All of your friends are inside.”
“I don’t give a fuck about them.”
At this her expression hardens. “That’s exactly your problem, Robert. You don’t give a fuck about anyone.”
Her words make me hesitate. There’s so much more venom in them than I thought she was capable of wielding. My drunken brain pushes back any deeper thoughts as I laugh and waggle my finger in her face. “You just said ‘fuck.’ Naughty, naughty.”
“Let me leave,” she orders me, her posture straightening.
As I bring my hands up to cup both her cheeks, my eyes flicker back and forth between hers, and she gasps. I’m a millimetre away from kissing her, yet I don’t. As I take up every inch of the space she might have previously had, a realisation hits me that I can’t do this anymore.
I can’t keep on ruining her for anyone else, because it’s clear that’s what I’m doing. The way her face gets all dreamy when she thinks I might kiss her says it all. She wants me, too, is holding a hopeless candle out for the both of us. I’m not going to saddle her with me, because I’ll only destroy her like I destroy everything else.
Jesus. I mean, I have a month and a half left of school, and I’m quitting. I beat my English teacher to a pulp. It feels like I can’t do anything right, and Lana is a prime example of that. I’ve been wronging her ever since the first day we met.
Thoughts wash over her face, and then I see her wince when I pull away, as though anticipating a blow. Yeah, I can’t do this. I can’t declare myself, because she’d never believe the truth anyway.
“Go home,” I whisper, looking at her sadly. “I don’t want you at my party anymore.”
Tears instantly fill her eyes as she dashes away from me, pulling her phone from her pocket and dialling for her mum to come and collect her.
I stare back at the building, listening to the noise of the teenagers inside, but I have no desire to rejoin them. Instead, I glance over at the wide stretch of the GAA pitch before me, the overhead lights shining softly upon the grass. I make a quick trip back inside, slip behind the bar when nobody’s watching, grab a bottle of vodka, and then slip back out.
Lana’s already gone.
In the centre of the pitch I lie down, knocking back the vodka and staring up at the stars.
I’m leaving for London with Dad in two days’ time, leaving the girl I love behind so that she can finally be free of me.
Who’d have thought the cruellest boy in the world could be so self-sacrificing?
Part Five
Cruelty Is a Cycle
Eighteen
The first thing I notice is that I’m not in my own bed. The second is that my head hurts like crazy. And the third is how Robert’s sitting tensely in a hospital chair, gazing at me with eyes full of fear.
When he sees that I’m awake, he jumps up and pulls his chair to the edge of the bed. I feel kind of zoned out as I glance around. I’ve been in a lot of hospitals in my life, but this one bears only the tiniest of resemblances to them.
“This is a very nice room,” I say, my voice coming out all dry. What a strange, mundane thing to be thinking about after such an ordeal.
Robert takes my hand in his. “It’s a private hospital. Lana, baby, do you remember what happened to you?”
“Yeah, I fainted,” I whisper, oddly matter-of-fact.
“You didn’t just faint, you went into severe hypoglycaemic shock. You’ve been in a diabetic coma since yesterday.” He stops, tugging at a strand of hair. “Jesus, I mean, I thought you were going to die.”
A diabetic coma. Shit. Breath gushes from me in alarm. It’s one of the things I’ve always feared, one of the things I knew could happen if I didn’t take good care of myself. When you’ve got an illness like mine, there are so many dangers, so many side effects and adverse reactions. Still, I never saw this coming, had become far too complacent. I guess it was the stress of Kara breaking into the house that was the final catalyst.