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HOW’S YOUR HALO?
DECEMBER 31ST 2003
JOEY
My life wasa sequence of one disaster after the next.
The first of which happened to be the day I was born.
Yeah, that was a fucking mistake in itself.
I didn’t say that because I was suicidal, looking for pity, or depressed. I said it because it was the wholehearted truth. I had been born into a family that never wanted me.
To a weak mother and a wicked bastard of a father.
I was the spare son, the backup, second best to my mother’s favored firstborn, and from day one, it had been a shit show, a train wreck.
More children followed after me, my father’s inability to put a condom on his dick the root cause of our household overpopulation – well, that, along with his inability to hear the wordno.
Growing up in a home like ours made it difficult for me to work right. I didn’t mean hold down a job, I’d had one of those since childhood. I meant that I didn’t work right in the head, not like other people my age, at least.
There was a whole host of things wrong with me.
Things I was too scared to invest time in trying to figure out.
Truth be told, my brain was a scary place to be, and I didn’t want to be anywhere near me most of the time.
How fucked up was that?
The current piss-poor state of my life was a direct result of poor choices.
Choices I had made.
Choices that had been made for me by people who were supposed to love me but either didn’t have the capacity to love me or just plain didn’t.
I knew I was far from a saint, and I wasn’t blaming my wrongdoings on anyone other than yours truly. But fuck, things might have been different if I had been given a different start in life – a start like the prick standing in front me had been given, for example.
Yeah, with a stable family, a nice house, and a few quid tucked away in the bank, Paul Rice had been given a good start in life.
A better one than me.
It must be nice to be able to sleep at night without the fear of being dragged out from under the covers and beaten to within an inch of your life.
Must be nice to not be distracted by the screams of your half-starved siblings, or the low wails of your battered and bruised, not to mention brutally raped mother on the daily.
Dick.
“Babe, lay off the vodka tonight, yeah?” he told Molloy, as they wandered into Danielle Long’s jam-packed parent-free kitchen on New Year’s Eve, while her house party was in full swing.
They had spent most of the party in the sitting room. I knew this because I’d legged it out here to get away from them.
I was determined to get off to a good start this year – new year, new me, and all that bullshit – but if I had to watch that prick molest the side of Molloy’s face with his tongue a second longer, I would have lost before I even started.
“…I care. Too much.”
“…See? That’s all I wanted to hear…”
Blinkingaway the memory before it took hold and depressed me, I concentrated on the prick in front of me as he spoke down to her like she was a small child.
