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“Shut up, Molloy,” he snapped. “Don’t fucking say that. It makes it worse.”
“Why don’t you…well, you know?” I shrugged. “Give it a pull? You know, see if it goes down?”
“Oh, my fucking god,” he growled, and then hissed out a pained breath. “I’m not wanking myself in here.”
“Obviously, you don’t have to do it with meinhere,” I argued. “I can go downstairs and make us a sandwich or something.”
“Asandwich? Really, Molloy?”
“I don’t know,” I strangled out. “I haven’t eaten since lunch and you’re… and I’m… Look, I’m just trying to help, okay?”
“Get my phone.”
“Huh?”
“My phone,” he bit out. “Please. Pass it up to me.”
“Where is it?”
“Pocket.”
Scrambling to retrieve his phone, I managed to fish it out of his pocket without making eye contact withit.
“Got it,” I said, climbing onto the bed to kneel beside his slumped frame. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
ERECTILE MALFUNCTION
FEBRUARY 14TH 2002
JOEY
I couldn’t explainwhat had possessed me to do something as incredibly reckless as doing a line in my boss’s house.
The only valid excuse I had to hand was that exhaustion had taken over my body to the point that it was crippling me.
Pitiful as it was to admit, I hadn’t slept in months.
Fifteen weeks, to be exact.
Ever since the latest of my father’s spawn was inserted into my life.
From the minute he came home from the hospital, Sean was inconsolable.
No joke, he was off his goddamn head 24/7, while our mother was off her head right along with him.
If she wasn’t working, or pawning the baby off on Nanny, she was hiding in her room, crying into her pillow, and doing everything humanly possible to avoid having to handle him.
Nanny mentioned something about how the reason Mam didn’t seem to be bonding with Sean was because of something called postnatal depression.
I didn’t understand it.
How could I fix it if I didn’t know a damn thing about it?
I couldn’t, and the old man was no fucking help, either.
