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Joey didn’t laugh.
“Oh my god.” Awareness crashed down on me. “You set him straight, didn’t you?” I whispered, feeling my heartrate spike, as I thought back to their fight the other day. “That’s why you hit him, isn’t it?”
“Someone had to.”
“And that someone was you, right?”
He shrugged.
My heart leapt. “Joe…”
“Thanks for the food, Molloy.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “I should be going.”
“No.” Disappointment soared to life inside of me. “You don’t have to go yet.”
“Yeah, I do.” Grabbing his bowl and spoon, he walked over to my sink and quickly rinsed them both off before setting them on the draining board.
Meticulous, he walked back to the table with a dishcloth in hand and wiped down where he had eaten. Tossing the cloth in the sink once he was finished tidying up, he moved for the front door. “Again; thanks for the food.”
“No problem,” I replied, holding the door open for him.
He pulled his hood up, concealing his face, and stepped into the night. “I’ll be seeing ya, Molloy.”
“Yeah, Joey Lynch.” I blew out a shaky breath. “You will.”
YOU ARE JUST LIKE HIM
FEBRUARY 25TH 2000
JOEY
My youngest memoriesbegan around the time of my third birthday. I couldn't say for sure if the events that occurred before that day had been particularly good because all I seemed to remember was the bad.
And right now, at ten o clock on a Friday night, after breaking up another shitstorm between my parents, all I could remember was the bad.
Aching in places I didn’t know existed, I couldn’t stop my brain from rehashing some of the more disturbing memories from my childhood…
"You can cry, Joey,"Mam whispered, fingers curling around my skinny arm. Her touch was soft and warm and the feel of her made something twist inside of my stomach. "It's okay to feel, baby."
Nope.
She was wrong.
Again.
Furious with her and the whole fucking world, I swallowed my pain, pushed my feelings to the back of my mind, and concentrated on my job – a job I was fairly certain no other boy in my school was doing for their mam.
Rocking baby Ollie in my arms, I held the bottle to his lips, watching carefully for any sign of wind just like Mam showed me to do.
She couldn’t do it herself.
Nope, of course she couldn't.
Postpartum hemorrhage my hole.
More like postpartum battery.
He beat her the other night because the baby wouldn’t stop crying.
