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“Still can’t walk away, Aoif?” Case asked sadly. “Because he doesn’t seem to have the same problem.”
A MINOR DISAGREEMENT
SEPTEMBER 24TH 2001
JOEY
“Whose fist didyour face get on the wrong side of?” were the first words Podge Kelly said to me, when I slid into the desk beside his at the back of the classroom for Monday morning tutorial. “You look like you went ten rounds with Tyson.”
Yeah, and I felt it, too.
I could still remember the feel of my father’s steel-capped boot as he drove it into my ribcage on Friday night. I could remember the smell, the sensation, the pain, all of it. It was ingrained in my memory in vivid technicolor.
“That’s right, ya little bastard,”he laughed cruelly. “Hide behind a locked door like your sister! Do I have a son or two daughters in there?”
"Fuck you!" I roared back, as I staggered to my feet, with a lifetime’s worth of beatings urging me on.
“No, Joey, don’t,” Shannon cried, as she tried and failed to pull me to safety. “Don’t go out there.”
Dragging the chest of drawers away from the door, I clumsily unlocked the door and swung it open, knowing that I wasn't quite big enough to get the better of the bastard yet, but not giving two shits either way.
I would rather take another lifetime of beatings than let him think he got the better of me.
Refusingto curl into a ball like a wounded animal would, like my mother would, I had pushed onto my hands and knees, trying and failing to climb back up with every forceful hit of his boot.
With one handslung across my aching chest, I had taken comfort in the feel of the frantic thump of my heartbeat against my ribcage, while silently counting my teeth with my tongue.
Forcing myself to swallow down the steady trickle of blood that was coming from my lip, I remained perfectly still, as my mind wildly pondered my predicament.
When he hadme on the ground, good and beaten, the bastard had spat in my face.
Broken and barely breathing, I’d laid on my bedroom floor like a child, listening as his footsteps slowly retreated from my room.
You can go,a voice deep inside of my mind hissed, you don’t have to put up with his shit a second longer. Pack your bags, do a Darren, and run!
Refuting the notion, I shook my head and released a pained groan, feeling groggy as shit, and about three kicks to the head away from the grave.If you don’t get out of this house, you’re going to die in it…
Yeah,I had a real stellar weekend.
Shrugging, I dropped my bag on the floor beside me, and quickly tugged my hoodie off, knowing if I didn’t, I would be taking the familiar trip to the office. “Got it in a match.”
“We didn’t have a match at the weekend.”
"Training then."
"We didn’t have training either, lad."
"Who are you, my mother?" I snapped, bristling. "Do you want a list of my whereabouts? Fuck off with your questions, ya spanner."
Leaning over, he pulled at the collar of my shirt. “Jesus Christ, Joe, your neck is black and blue.“
“Touch me again and won’t have a hand to wank yourself off with,” I warned him, shoving his hand away before quickly fixing the collar of my grey school shirt.
Frowning, Podge ran a hand through his bright red hair and mumbled, “Relax, lad, I was only asking out of concern,” under his breath, “Sorry for caring.”
“Well don’t.”
"What? Don’t worry about my friend? Don’t ask questions when you come into school looking like you’ve had the living shite beaten out of you?"
