“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.
“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?!”