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I firmly assert, "I want to know."
He takes another sip, answering, "I gave ya to the bosses."
"Bosses? What boss?" I fret.
"The bosses," he repeats.
Bosses? He gave me to two men? Three men? How many?
I panic some more, speechless, trying to find words.
Da advises, "It's best ya do what they say at all times. I know you're used to getting your own way and fighting for what ya want, but ya can't do it with these men, Maeve. If ya do, there'll be bad consequences for ya." He drinks another mouthful.
I shake my head, not wanting to hear or believe what he's saying, but it sinks into my soul, making me nauseous.
Bile crawls up my throat. I swallow it down. My mouth turns drier, and my voice cracks. "Da, ya don't have to do this. Untie me and help me get out of here. Ya can come with me. Tynan will take care of us, I promise. You'll be fine. I'll be fine."
He grunts. "Tynan? That pig of an O'Connor?"
"That pig's my husband," I snap.
His eyes turn to slits. He snarls, "Do not choose O'Connors over your blood."
"The way you've chosen to give me away when I'm your blood?" I accuse, angry, no longer able to hold it in.
He sighs, takes another sip, then steps forward. He grabs the gag and holds it up.
"Da, no, don't. Please."
"You're giving me no choice, Maeve. You've got to learn. Ya have a place in this world. It's not to do whatever it is ya want to do. Now, open your mouth."
"No," I assert and turn my head the other way.
He tries to shove it in my mouth, but I don't make it easy.
We fight for several moments until he finally jams it in my mouth.
"Stop fighting me," he blurts out as he secures the tape over my lips.
I stare at him, more tears falling.
He paces the room, scratching his head, drinking more as the liquid in the bottle gets less and less.
The sinking hole in my gut gets bigger. I realize how much of my life I've wasted on him. My time, energy, and infinite love that I gave him, no matter what bad thing he did, was all in vain.
He sits on the cot. Half the bottle is gone. He sets it on the ground, then puts his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.
I assess the pathetic man that's my da. He's frail, skin and bones, an old man who somehow made it to his fifties, yet looks like he's in his eighties. He's escaped more death scares than anyone I've ever met, mostly because of my help. Now, he's thrown every ounce of my love for him in my face.
For the first time ever, I realize he's selfish. All he's ever done is think about himself.
I try to speak again, and my muffles grow louder and louder.
"Shut up," he orders.
I don't. I continue to throw a fit.
He finally comes over and rips the gag off my mouth. "I said to shut up. What do ya think you're doing, Maeve?"
