“Stop it, stop it!” the girl cries out, trying to pull Lachlan off.
It makes him pause enough to push her off with one arm and yell, “Shut the fuck up, you cunt!” Thierry and John take the opportunity to finally snap out of it, jump out of their chairs and run on over, trying to hold him back.
“Fuck off!” Lachlan yells, throwing another punch in. The guy is now on the table, groaning helplessly, barely moving. His face is just blood. Lachlan reaches for a bottle of beer, smashing it over the edge of the table and holding it up to the guy’s throat.
“You fucking apologize to her,” Lachlan seethes, his own face splattered with the guy’s blood.
But the guy can’t even talk. Finally John and Thierry work in unison and with one hard pull, they bring Lachlan back and to his feet.
Lachlan just stands there, staring at the guy while everyone in the pub is dead silent. Even the music turns off. The only sound is the spitting sound as the guy tries to move his broke, bloodied mouth, and Lachlan’s heavy, raspy breathing.
Suddenly Thierry is handing me my purse, whispering to me. “You both have to go now, right now.” He jerks his head subtly at the bartender who is making a phone call. “Police are being called, you have to get him out of here.”
I nod dumbly, the feeling slow to come back into my limbs.
I hate to admit it, but I’m scared when I reach out and grab Lachlan’s hand. It’s not that I think he’d hurt me but I’m not sure he even knows where he is or who I am at the moment.
He flinches at my touch but slowly turns his head to look at me. I pull my hand away, my fingers now red and sticky.
“We have to go,” I tell him, my voice squeaking. “Please?”
He stares at me for a moment until it’s like he actually recognizes me. Then he nods and turns, storming out of the bar, shoving chairs out of the way.
“I’ll take care of it all,” Thierry says to me, putting his hand on my back and pushing me. “Just get him home.”
I lick my lips and run after Lachlan, catching up to him on the street. He’s walking fast, so fast, and I have to stay at a jog.
“Lachlan, Lachlan, talk to me,” I plead.
He doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking. Finally I see a cab heading down our way and I flag it. As it slows, I quickly take out a cardigan from my purse and wipe away the blood from his face. If he looks too messed up, the cabbie might not take us.
He lets me do this, completely docile, though he’s not looking at me, he’s just staring off into space with disbelieving eyes. I know my cardigan is now covered in someone else’s blood but at least Lachlan looks human again. Back in the pub, he was anything but. I’d seen bar fights many times before, but never like that.
That was raw, that was feral. Absolutely dangerous.
The cab stops beside us and I open the door, pushing Lachlan in, relieved to see him not resisting. The driver glances at us in the rearview mirror but I play up the fact that I’m American and sober.
“Number 4, North East Circus Place,” I tell him promptly and after he stares at me and Lachlan he nods.
“Aye,” he says. “Rough night?”
“You could say that,” I say under my breath.
“Welcome to Scotland, lass,” he says with a tight smile and we take off down the road.
Lachlan slumps against my shoulder, all his weight on me, but still I put my arm around him, holding him close. I’m not sure if I’m trying to comfort him or comfort myself. We’re both in shock.
“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles against me, his tone high-pitched, nearly whimpering. “I’m so sorry, love.”
“Shhhh,” I tell him quietly, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s okay.”