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It had been my mantra for a long time now.
I knew I was too young to be walking this particular line, but in all honesty, I didn’t have any other options available to me.
In my head it was die or get high.
And I had too many people depending on me not to die.
Fuck.
Pushing all thoughts of self-loathing out of my head before I snapped and did something reckless, I turned to my parents and said, “I think ye should send her.”
“To Tommen?” Mam asked, tone hopeful.
“Yeah.” I nodded, chewing down a mouthful of my sandwich. “It’d be good for her. You’re right, Mam. Shannon will get swallowed up at BCS.”
“And how do you propose we fund this ‘several thousand euro each year’ private school?” Dad demanded, turning his glare on me.
“Gee, I don’t know,” I shot back, gesturing to my oil-stained overalls. “Maybe by getting off your hole and getting a job like the rest of us.”
“Oh, Joey,” Mam sighed, dropping her head in her hands, as my father jerked to his feet so fast it caused the chair that he’d been sitting on to slide across the kitchen tiles.
“The fuck did you say to me, ya little bastard?”
“Do you need a hearing aid? I said get off your hole and get a job.” Unwilling or just plain unable to keep my mouth shut, I continued to sign my own death certificate. “Believe it or not, there’s plenty of them out there. Granted, I’m yet to hear of one that pays well for your qualifications. I suppose, in your defense, it won’t be easy to find a pub that’ll pay you to prop up their bar – expert that you are and all that.”
I didn’t duck or try to avoid the fist that crushed into my jaw.
There was no point.
He wouldn’t stop until he got his pound of flesh.
It was either take my beating now or later.
I chose to get it over with now.
I did, however, regret not putting my can of coke down first as it flew out of my hand across the kitchen.
That shit was expensive.
My head snapped back from the force, the pain from his knuckles took the air clean out of my lungs, but I didn’t let him see it. I would rather die than expose an ounce of vulnerability to the man I had the misfortune of calling my father.
Breathing hard and fast, I quickly ran my tongue over my teeth, assessing the damage, as the familiar tangy taste of blood filled my mouth.
My body was a map of cuts and bruises, scars and distortion. Nothing would change. Nobody would ask and I wouldn’t – couldn’t – tell.
Taking it on the chin seemed to be the norm for me. Besides, if I took the brunt of his bad mood, it meant that they were spared – that she was spared.
My father was a powerful man, and there was a hell of a lot of force behind those punches he threw. They were hard enough to knock me sideways, but not enough to shut me up.
“Is that it?” Like a suicidal masochist, I laughed into his face. “You’re getting soft, old man.”
“Teddy, don’t,” Mam begged, rushing over to intercept her husband’s arm before he could rear back once more. “He’s only a boy.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” I sneered, hating her for defending me. She didn’t fucking love me. She thought I was the same as him. “I don’t need you to do shit for me.”
“Watch your mouth, ya little fucker,” Dad warned, knotting his beefy hand in my t-shirt. “Don’t talk to your mother like that. Not in her condition.”
“Like what? Like you do?” I laughed, roughly shoving him away, quickly backpedaling once I registered what he said. “Wait, what do you mean in her condition…” I held up a hand, feeling like I was suddenly suffocating as the walls closed in around me. “Don’t say it.” Feeling lightheaded, I glanced between them before my eyes reluctantly settled on her stomach. “Don’t fucking say it.”
