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“You’re saying this has been happening since he was a baby?”
“I’m saying there’s evidence that leads me to believe that your partner has sustained a tremendous level of physical abuse over an extended period of time.”
“That leads back to when he was a baby?”
“It’s possible.”
“Oh my god.” Molloy heaved out a sob and pulled me closer. “Oh my god!”
“Quite frankly, it’s a miracle he’s sitting here.”
73
For Better or Worse
AOIFE
Twenty-four hours had passed since we had barreled into the A&E with Joey carrying his sister in his arms, while I screamed the place down for help.
To be fair, help had come instantly, but once Shannon was rushed away on a gurney, surrounded by a flurry of nurses and doctors, Joey had unceremoniously collapsed in a heap on the waiting room floor.
Reeling didn’t come close to describing how I felt as I sat at my boyfriend’s bedside, behind a pale blue curtain in the middle of a jam-packed accident and emergency, as we continued to wait for a bed on a ward to become available. Whatever they had given him for pain relief a few hours ago had knocked him out cold, and I was relieved.
The longer he slept, the longer I knew he was safe.
The longer he was protected from the pain that I knew would swallow him up.
Because I knew in my heart that once the meds wore off and his poor knocked-around brain came back to its full senses, he would be up and out of here. It wouldn’t matter to him that he needed to rest, or that his body had taken an unmerciful battering. Joey would go straight to his sister’s bedside without thought for the consequences—or himself.
And after he visited his sister, I didn’t want to think about what would follow.
Resting my elbows on his bed, I continued to watch him sleep, and I continued to cry.
His face was barely recognizable beneath the gauze, tape, and bandages. His left eye was hidden behind a white bandage, while the bridge of his nose was taped up. The bruising and swelling around his right eye was so extensive that even when he was awake, it was hard to tell.
Biting down on my lip, I smothered a sob and reached over to brush his hair off his forehead, only to expose more bruising. It was everywhere. Every inch of his skin told a story of vicious abuse at the hands of a monster.
The raw welts on his back that I discovered when helping him undress last night had caused everything in my stomach to come back up. There was no hiding what had happened to him. His father’s belt had left welts deeply imbedded into his flesh.
Forcing myself to be strong for him, I remained right by his side, unwilling to leave him for longer than it took me to grab a cup of tea from the vending machine. Mam had called countless times, begging me to come home for a shower and to have something decent to eat, but I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t leave him.
I never would.
The Garda Siochana had come and gone, looking for statements from my boyfriend that he was in no fit state to make. Social workers, a Garda victim service officer, not to mention many other authority figures, had made an appearance, too.
Nanny Murphy had somehow managed to get ahold of my phone number and had called several times to check on her great-grandson and to relay messages to Joey, but that was it. She was the only one.
Not once since he was wheeled into triage had I caught a glimpse of Marie Lynch. I understood that Shannon was in a bad way, Nanny had told me that she had a collapsed lung, but Joey was hurt, too, dammit.
He had a fractured skull, for fuck’s sake! It was a wonder that his brain wasn’t complete mush. The doctor said it himself; it was a miracle that he was still here.
“Molloy.” Releasing a pained groan, Joey covered my hand with his and blinked his one good eye open. “What did I tell ya about crying?”
Sniffling, I forced a smile and whispered, “Hey, stud.”
“Hey, queen.” His voice was raspy and torn. “Nice legs.”
