The cheek.

The chin.

And again.

And again.

Over and over and over.

A wild, feral animal.

The same sound of smashed bone and spilled blood, like someone thudding two pieces of raw meat together, echoing through the pun.

This is a nightmare.

“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.”

He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’m never okay.” But he doesn’t say anything else after that.

When we get to his flat, I tip the cabbie with wads of American dollars I have in the bottom of my purse and help Lachlan out of the cab. He can stand, but just barely. I lead him to the door and fumble through his jean pockets for the key. Any other day at any other time, I would have made a joke about feeling him up but there is no joking tonight. I don’t see how we can joke about anything anytime soon.

I get the door open and him up the stairs. Once inside his flat, Lionel and Emily come to say hello, desperate for a walk. But once they see Lachlan they get a bit standoffish. It’s as if they’re unsure who this man is, if he’s really their master.

I take Lachlan straight to bed where he collapses on top of it. I roll him onto his side and then get Emily and Lionel on their leashes. Because it’s so late, I don’t bother with a muzzle for Lionel and do a quick pee trip around the park.

The dogs seem to loosen up with me but I know I’m tightly wound. I have no idea how I’ll sleep tonight at all. I want to talk to someone about this, but I’m afraid to. Lachlan is such a private, personal guy, it wouldn’t be fair to him to tell someone else what he’s been like, even if it was someone like Stephanie, who I tell a lot of things to, who wouldn’t judge me or him.

I decide to bottle it up for now and think that maybe one day I can talk to Thierry about it. He and John didn’t seem all that surprised over what was happening. Maybe beating the shit out of someone is a normal thing in Scottish culture, I have no idea, though the fact that we both had to hightail it out of there because of the police was a whole other thing all together.

Then again, I don’t have much time left here. Even though earlier today we proclaimed ourselves boyfriend and girlfriend, a genuine couple, and even though I find myself falling more in love with him each and every day, I’m just not sure where we can possibly go next. If I leave, then what happens? Do long-distance? Does that even work?

And if I stay, if that’s even remotely possible somehow, can I handle him and all his demons? Is this just a one-off thing, or is this the start of something more? He said his past is behind him and I need to believe that but I can’t pretend it’s not possible for him to fall prey to his darkness. If this is just a hint of things to come, am I strong enough to get through to him? To survive it? It’s just so much for a new relationship to survive.

I have to remind myself that I might be jumping the gun. That tonight, as scary and horrible as it was to see that anger unleash from him, might just be it and we could have a beautiful love story together.

It’s fucked up. It’s all over the place. I’m all over the place. Why can’t anything be simple? Why can’t I just love him and why can’t he love me and why can’t love be the only thing to juggle? Instead the past is holding onto him and our relationship has an expiry date.

I love a broken, damaged man who might run the both of us into the ground.

I have no idea how this is going to end well.

Later that night I crawl into bed and I’m doing everything to keep my hardened heart from opening again. I want to pull away, I want to shut him out. I’ve talked myself out of everything that is open and beautiful.

But then he rolls over and grabs my hand and he holds onto it so tight.

So tight.

His eyes are pinched shut and when he speaks it’s barely audible.

“Kayla,” he says hoarsely. “I love you.”

I burst into tears.

He falls back asleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Lachlan

I have a dreamless sleep. No nightmares, no nothing. In some ways its worse because when I do wake up, and I slowly realize where I am and what had happened last night – what I had become, well, I think a nightmare would have been preferable. At least I know it’s not real.