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Locking the door behind me, I wobbled like a newborn foal towards the sink, and then clutched the basin with a death grip, while I clenched my eyes shut and forced myself to smother the scream trying to escape me.
"Argh!" the tearing sound ripped out of me, and I cringed, tightening my fingers on the porcelain rim until my knuckles turned white.
You will not fall apart.
I held my breath to steady the sobbing.
You will not crumble.
Trembling, I reached for my toothbrush and ran it under the cold tap before squeezing a dollop of toothpaste on the brush and shoving it into my mouth.
I scrubbed my teeth with a viciousness that threatened to make my gums bleed.
I didn’t care.
I just needed to wash it all away somehow.
Erase everything.
Nothing could do that for me, though.
I kept thinking that if I had handled my emotions differently that morning, then maybe I could have prevented this.
If I had only waited until he was stable enough to have a coherent conversation, then maybe we wouldn’t have ended the way we had.
Shaking my head, I pushed the thoughts away and focused on small mundane tasks like rinsing my toothbrush, screwing the cap back on the paste, turning off the tap, setting my toothbrush back in its holder.
Those, I could manage.
When I had regathered some semblance of self-control, I switched on the shower and stripped, peeling every stitch of clothing off before stepping under the blistering spray of scalding water. Yet I was frozen to the bone, trembling from head to toe, with my teeth chattering violently.
I felt violated.
I felt ripped fucking open.
“I wantyou to know that you’ve been the best part of my day for every day since I was twelve years old."
His words continuedto circle around in my mind until I felt like climbing into my car, driving to his house, and throttling him.
And then, the image of how he looked on that mattress, with a needle in his arm, and his eyes rolling back in his head, infiltrated my thoughts, and I wanted to hold him to my chest and never let go.
No, scratch that; I wanted to die from the unfairness of it all.
“So, do you have a name, boy-who-can-think-for-himself?”
“Does it matter? We both know that you’ll be calling me baby by the end of the day.”
Numb,I grabbed a bottle of shampoo from the rack and lathered my hair. Taking a clean facecloth, I soaked it under the water and then pressed it to my face, breathing in the hot steam.
“I’m not okay?Is that what you wanted me to admit? Is that what you want to hear, Molloy? That I’m not okay.”
Tearingat my face with the cloth, I roughly washed any residue makeup away, and then stared lifelessly down at the white cloth streaked with a concoction of mascara, foundation, and lipstick.
“He will never wantyou more than he wants his next fix, Aoife. That’s the sad truth of my son’s life.”
Numb and broken,I switched off the shower and stepped out, wrapping myself in the biggest, fluffiest white towel I could find before padding back to my room.
Music continued to waft from downstairs, and sound of laughter assured me that my parents had friends over for drinks.
