Bad at Love by Karina Halle
"Hey," Laz says coming to my defense but I immediately elbow him to shut up. He can't provoke this beast, not now.
"Dad, I heard Margaret was here," I tell him, ignoring the insult, not letting it hurt. "She was going to call the cops."
"Call the cops then, I don't care. That's what you always wanted isn't it. Want me locked up for everything I've done. Huh, you fucking bitch."
"Mr. Owens," Laz's voice booms. "That's not how you talk to your daughter."
"She's not my daughter, she's nothing, she's no one," he says, his eyes still on me, looking harder and deeper than ever before. Then he blinks and looks at Laz in surprise, like he's just realized it was him talking. "Who the fuck? You get the fuck out."
He stumbles forward to take a swing at Laz but my father is slow and Laz is fast. Laz ducks backward and I immediately jump in front of my dad, giving him a hard shove in the chest.
"Fuck you!" I scream at my father. I shove him again. "Fuck you, you fucking MONSTER!"
I scream so loudly, it's painful. It's ripped out of me, pulled from somewhere deep and all the anger and all the rage is now flowing out of me, unchecked and wild and dangerous. I start pounding my fist into my father, into his chest, his arms, his shoulder. I want to hit his face so badly, I want to strike and kick and hurt him. I want to hurt him.
Hurt him.
Hurt him.
"Fuck you, I hate you!" I scream, tears now coming like a flood. "I hate you! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!"
The last words I scream so loud that I nearly pass out, I can feel my words shaking my skull, vibrating throughout the room. Everyone seems to freeze. My ears ring.
I stare at my father as I’m gasping for breath and he's taken a step backward, staring at me with an open mouth. I pray, I pray, I pray I see my father inside somewhere. Just a glimpse, just a flicker, just a hint of the man he was, the father I know he still is.
But there's nothing. His eyes are glazed and they don't belong to him. He stares at me in complete confusion.
I.
Break.
Down.
"Hey," Laz says gently, grabbing my arm and pulling me away. "Come on, let's go."
"No," I say to him as he leads me out the door and down the path to the car. I can hardly breathe, I'm sobbing so hard it feels like my lungs are being wrung out. "No. No, I need to help him." I try to move back toward the house but his hold on me is strong.
"I will help him," he says. "You sit in the car and you stay here."
"No, Laz, he'll fight you, you can't, you can't."
He opens the car door and gently pushes me down so I'm in the seat. "He will not fight me. I will not fight him. This isn't like that."
"You don't have experience with someone like that, he's not himself, he—”
"Marina." He gives me a long, steady look. He crouches down beside me and holds my hand. "I grew up with my father. They are no different. The only difference is that you still have one. I don’t. So let me go take care of him. It's the least I can do."
I swallow, snot, tears, everything falling down my face. I nod, squeezing his hand as hard as I can.
He shuts the door and walks back to the house. I grip the hem of my shirt with both hands, twisting it around and around, trying to dispel the sadness, the hate, the futility of it all.
I didn't know that Laz's father was the same. I knew he was a drunk but Laz never talks about it so I assumed it was never that bad. But god, even though my father is like this now, he wasn't when I was a child. I'm not sure how I would have fared growing up if he had been. My happy childhood is the only thing that keeps me from being a complete write-off sometimes.
I watch the house intently, trying to breathe, waiting to see any signs of distress. I keep thinking that I'll see a chair crash through the glass window or perhaps Laz being thrown out the front door. I know he meant what he said when he said he wouldn't fight back, which means that if my father gets nasty with him, Laz will take it. And that could lead to some serious damage.
So I sit there and I wait.
And I wait.
And I wait.
And I worry.
The sun fades and twilight comes and the house is still dark.
I must have fallen asleep for a while because suddenly I'm shaking awake and a roaring sound fills my ears.
I open my eyes to see orange streetlights coming in through the windows, the car moving.
Laz is driving, his eyes on the road.
"What happened?" I say, my voice groggy. I try to sit up. My head is pounding from all the crying and screaming earlier.
"You fell asleep," he says simply.
I squint at him, trying to see if he's been hurt, if he has a black eye, but he looks fine. "What happened with my father? Is everything okay?"
He nods. "Eventually. It was a rough start."
He doesn't go on.
I prod him. "Please. Tell me what happened."
I tense up, waiting to hear the worst.
"Nothing much," he says. "He had a few more insults up his sleeve. He called me a bitch too, if that makes you feel any better. He shoved me around a few times."
"Oh my god. I'm so sorry."
I am so ashamed.
"Nah, it was fine. I just didn't want him to hurt himself, he nearly fell on the coffee table at one point. But he tired himself out. Sat back down on the couch. I asked if he wanted a beer and he looked at me like I was the angel of mercy."
"Laz..."
"I went into the kitchen, found an empty can. Filled it with water. Brought it back to him."
"He knew it was water."
"I'm not sure. He drank it. I think he was just happy that I was on his side, you know? That's how my mother always got me to deal with my father. His drink of choice was gin, so she'd always have some juniper essence on hand and just add that to a highball glass along with ice and water. I'd bring it out to him and my father would immediately calm down. He never caught on that there wasn’t any gin. Not at that point. He saw me as someone he could trust, that I was on his side. I figured the same would work with your father and it did."
"Like good cop, bad cop?"
"More or less. So I just sat with him and talked to him like he was completely sober. He didn't say much, just slurred and mumbled about who knows what but at least I made him feel like he was normal and I wasn't against him. Eventually he fell asleep so I cleaned him up as much as I could."
"You did what?" Now I'm horrified.
"I cleaned him up." He glances at me. "What's wrong?"
"I...I just...Laz. You didn't have to do that, he...you saw the state he was in."
"Oh yes, I saw it all. But like I said, I've had to do that before too."
"When you were just a child?"
He nods. "Yup. Another thing my mother had me do."
Jesus Christ.
"Laz..." I want to cry right now. I didn't think I had any tears left in me but I do. "You know you didn't have to do that."
"I know I don't have to do anything. But I wanted to, Marina. I wanted to help him, I wanted to help you. I did it for you."
My heart inflates, inflates, inflates.
I can't believe it.
That he would do that for me.
He can’t possibly know what this means. He can’t know what…
“Please don’t cry,” he says softly.
And I am crying. Tears spill down my cheeks.
“I’m just so…” I try to say, my chest filling, my heart exploding. I’ve never felt such love for him before.
Love.
Love.
I love you.
The feeling should startle me, shock me, but I’ve never felt more awake, more alive, more…anything, than right now.
The fact that he would do that for me, take care of my father when I couldn’t, it’s like he’s taken my pain for me. He held it, carried it so I wouldn’t have to, just for a moment. But it was a moment I’ll never forget.
I am so grateful.
And so in love with him.
I swallow the feeling down, knowing I have to keep it from him. Because this isn’t how a friend loves a friend. This is how a lover loves a lover. And we aren’t even that. Knowing me, we might never be that.
Still, when we pull up to my house, I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want him to go home.
“Stay with me?” I ask him quietly. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”
He’s stunned. “Are you sure?”
“I just need a friend right now,” I tell him so I won’t scare him.
He nods, his mouth forming an “oh.” “Of course,” he says after a beat. “Anything you need.”
Normally I would be extremely nervous about Laz spending the night. I’m talking popping back some pills, breathing into a paper bag kind of nervous.
But at this point, I am so spent, emotionally and physically, that I can’t be anxious at all. In fact, I’m craving him more than anything.
We head into the studio and I flick on the lights. The place is a mess but I don’t care. All I care about is that bed in the corner and the promise of his warm body beside me.
Wordlessly, I grab my night shirt and a pair of pajama pants from the dresser and head straight into the bathroom to change.
I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the person staring back at me. My eyes are swollen, puffy, bloodshot. I’m pale as a ghost. Dark circles ring my eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever looked worse.
But as I step out into the bedroom, I don’t care.
The lights are off except for the faint bedside lamp. Laz is standing by the bed, in his T-shirt and black boxer briefs. Part of me wishes his shirt was off so I could properly ogle him so I have to settle for a brief evaluation of his legs. Men’s legs are usually meh, but Laz has some good ones. I know he hits the gym and he must spend a lot of time on them because his calves are defined and his thigh muscles are thick and taut. I’ve seen his legs before, obviously when he’s in shorts at the beach but this time I feel like I can look at him differently, in all the ways I never let myself before.
“Which side is yours?” he asks, gesturing to the bed.
“The left.”
I walk over, conscious of my breasts swaying under the loose shirt and then get under the covers.
He goes around the other side and does the same.
It’s the first time we’ve been in bed together and I’m shocked at how natural it feels. How good. How right.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
“Good night,” I whisper to him as I reach over and flick off the lamp, putting us in darkness.
“Good night,” he says.
Then he reaches over for me and pulls me back into him as he moves forward, so he’s spooning me from behind, pressed hard against my back.
My body ignites from the feel of him against me, the flames only tempered by the tenderness in my heart.
It would be so easy to tilt my head back, pull his face down to mine. To kiss him. To fall into that kiss from last night. To pick up where we left off.
But it would get messy, fast. It would get wild. And I would lose myself to him when I’m feeling most vulnerable. I feel like my whole soul is an open wound right now and that if I’m not careful, if I’m not smart, I could do some serious, irreversible damage.
So I just let him hold me and for tonight, it’s enough. It’s more than enough. I’m by no means a small and dainty person but he’s just so large next to me that it’s impossible not to feel safe and protected. His height, his muscles, the breadth of his strong shoulders as his thick arms wrap around me, he’s my rock and anchor and everything I need him to be right now.
“Sweet dreams, sweet girl,” he murmurs to me, kissing the back of my head.
My heart flutters.
And I melt.
Chapter Ten
Laz
“All That’s Mine”
“So do you think you can make it?” Abigail, my editor, says to me over the phone. “Again, I am so, so sorry that this is last minute. Things at the publishing house have been crazy lately, everyone is gearing up for the summer.”
“I can make it,” I tell her.
“Great, I’ll go ahead and book the flight and email you all the details.” She pauses. “Will you be going alone or should I try and get two seats. If I get two, then I’m afraid it can’t be a business class seat.”
“Uh,” I stammer. “I—I don’t know yet. I haven’t had a chance to process it…”
“I understand. How about you email me later today and let me know. Don’t want to wait too long, the LAX to New York flights are often sold out at such short notice.”
I tell her thank you and hang up, dazed.
My editor just called to tell me they’re having a book launch party in New York for the release of Everything’s Ruined, and obviously, they want me to attend. It’s a month before the actual release of the book, which is why the whole thing has caught me by surprise but she says it’s mainly for the review sites and there will be a lot of bloggers, press and industry people there, plus advanced review paperbacks to give out.
Now my dilemma is whether to go by myself or not.
It’s been ten days since that incident with Marina’s dad.
Ten days since I stayed the night at her house.
Ten days since she fell asleep in my arms.
Ten days since I realized I’m in so fucking deep with her, there’s no way out for me.
And despite the fact that I kept my hands to myself, that we didn’t even kiss, that I showed a fuck load of restraint to not completely devour her, things have changed between us.
It was apparent the next morning. The ease we have around one other was gone. Tension replaced it instead. I know Marina was smarting because of what happened with her father, I know she felt ashamed and embarrassed and I did what I could to let her know her feelings were unwarranted. What happened with her father was rough, there was no doubt about that. But it only made me want her more, to know that I was shown this dark part of her life. It made me feel special.
But even with all of that, I wonder if she’s feeling what I’m feeling. This shift that grows bigger and bigger each day, like two fault lines sliding against each other, inches at first, until, over time, you can’t bridge the gap. You can only fall into the void between the people you used to be to each other.
Marina will never stop being everything to me. She always was. But now…she’s becoming more. She’s no longer a part of my life, she is my life. Every single waking thought I have, it’s about her. Every word that yearns to leave my pen, they’re about her. The friend I had, the girl I thought I knew, I was only scratching the surface with her before. I had no idea just how perfect for me she could be.
But I’m getting ahead of myself here. On paper, we’re still friends. We still text and talk, even though we haven’t seen each other in the last ten days because we’re so busy.
At least, I hope that’s the case. I’ve been busy writing, going to the gym, practicing new songs with the band and auditioning new keyboard players. I’m trying not to think about the book because, honestly, it’s terrifying. But I would shove all of that to the side if it meant being with her. Ten days is a long time to be apart and even though it was sometimes the norm for us back when we were friends, well, this just shows how much things have changed.
But Marina has other plans. She’s determined to bring in extra income to her business, so with the whole couples dating night being a bust (I mean, whoever thought combining bees and romance together would work has a few screws loose), she’s trying to take her classes online and make educational beekeeping videos that people pay for. Which means writing out a lot of material for her to go over before she even takes it to camera.
I’ve offered to help her film when it comes time but until then, she’s pushed me to the side and I can only hope that it has nothing
Still, I don’t want to go to New York alone. I wouldn’t take Scooby or Frank, so Marina is the only one I really want by my side.
I decide to call her.
Marina picks up on the third ring. “Hey,” she says softly and her voice is like an arrow to my heart.
I’m fucked.
“Hiya,” I say back, smiling as a reflex, probably like an idiot, and so glad she can’t see me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just outside, having a coffee, watching the girls.” She sounds relaxed and happy which immediately puts my heart at ease. With all the turmoil with her father lately, it’s a nice change.
“How are the online courses coming?”
“I’m almost done. Thank god. I don’t know if it will be complete shit or not but hey, it is what it is.”
“It won’t be shit. It’ll be mint. You know your stuff. Maybe you could incorporate that waggle dance for the camera.”
She laughs. “Yeah right. This big ol’ butt of mine wouldn’t even fit on the screen.”
“Don’t underestimate the power of your arse.” I pause. “Speaking of your arse, how about it coming to New York with me this weekend.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I guess there was a better way to say that. My publishers are throwing a party for me in New York this weekend. In Manhattan.”
“But your book doesn’t come out for like six weeks, right?”
“You’re right.” I’m impressed she remembers. Then again she’s always been my biggest cheerleader when it comes to Everything’s Ruined. “But they wanted to get a jump on it. It’s more for publicity and connections. I guess they want me to meet people.”
“Well that’s awesome. I’m so happy for you.”
“So will you come?”
“You honestly want me to?”