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His eyes widened in horror. “Focus, Claire!”
“Okay, okay, let’s not panic here.” Rolling my shoulders, I sucked in a steadying breath and reached for his waistband again. This time, he let me. “Don’t worry, Gerard. My mam’s a nurse,” I added, as I carefully lowered his shorts and underpants. “Medicine is in my genes. I can absolutely help you with… Oh my god!”
“What, what?” Gerard demanded, keeping a hand clamped over his eyes. “There’s blood, isn’t there? I broke it, didn’t I?” He wailed loudly. “Oh Jesus, is it bad? Tell me it isn’t bad? Is the piercing still there?”
“Uh…” My eyes widened to saucers when his fully erect ladder sprang free. “There’s no blood.” I crouched lower to get a good look at the underside of his genitals. “Oh, yeah, there it is.”
“What?” he demanded, tone frantic, eyes still covered. “What’s there?”
“The silver bar,” I explained, leaning in closer to get a better look at it. “Wow. It’s, ah—” Blowing out a shaky breath, I looked up at him and grinned. “It looks a lot different to what I pictured in my head.”
“Bad different?”
“No, not bad different,” I mused, pleasantly surprised. “It’s like a trunk.”
“Jesus!”
“Aren’t willies weird, Gerard?”
“You’ve touched his dick?” Hugh bellowed, dragging me back to the present. “What the fuck?”
My cheeks flamed and I scurried over to my dressing table, busying myself with readjusting the photos of friends that I had tacked to the mirror. When my eyes locked on the blue rosette tacked onto the corner of my mirror with the words Brian, Best in Show 2005, First Place, I couldn’t stop my smile from spreading.
“In my defense, I only used my pinkie finger,” I said, turning my attention back to my agitated-looking brother. “And it was purely for medical purposes.”
“Medical purposes?” Hugh’s face turned a scary shade of purple. “Claire!”
“What?” I defended, squirming in sheepish discomfort. “Do you know how serious it can be when someone’s ladder gets injured?”
“What in the name of Jesus does that even… You know what, forget it. I don’t want to know,” he groaned, clutching his stomach as he stomped toward my bedroom door. “Hurry up and get dressed. I’ll be in the toilet with my head in the bowl when you’re ready.”
3
Calls from Cap
GIBSIE
The erratic heartbeat that accompanied last night’s nightmare had followed me into consciousness this morning, causing the drumming beat of my pulse to keep me company on the walk home.
Duh, duh, duh.
Duh, duh, duh.
Duh, duh, duh, duh…du-duh…
It grew wilder, more frantic, and more deafening with every step I took away from the Biggses’ house. From her.
Go back.
Go back now.
Run.
Don’t…
“Shut the fuck up!” Reaching a hand up, I slammed the palm of my hand against my forehead, needing my stupid brain to just stop. “Calm down,” I continued to coax, using my other hand to rub my chest. “You’re grand. Everything’s grand.”
It was no use.
