I was now regretting ever laying eyes on him again.
“I had a job, it was simple, eh? Go in, do it and get out. But it didn’t happen dat way. Got out, alright. But fuck if dose slimy bastards hadn’t made me look like a fool.” He rested his elbows on the table, clenching and unclenching his fists as he glared at them. When his eyes rose to meet Mum’s, I knew that it was even worse than I’d imagined. “I’m no longer trusted,” he whispered.
Mum made a mournful noise in her throat and raised shaky fingers to rest against her forehead. My body suddenly felt as if the muscles would burst, my skin too tight for my body.
“What does dat mean?” I asked, slamming my fist on the table. “What have ye brought down on us?”
“I’ve not brought anyt’in’ to de two of ye,” he replied calmly, raising his hand to my mum, who’d begun to cry. “I’m not certain what will happen now. I’ve got to find a way to make me way back in. If I don’t… well, I wanted to see me wife.”
Mum sniffled and rounded the table, letting my Da pull her onto his lap. As she continued to cry, she pulled his head to her breasts and his whole body seemed to wilt into hers. I couldn’t watch it.
I stood from the table quietly and they didn’t notice as I left the house.
I thought about my Da’s words as I nursed a Guinness in a pub near my house. I’d been there a while, just having finished my exams with what I was sure were barely passing marks. How a lad was supposed to focus on coursework when so many other things were happening around him was a mystery to me, but I’d continued on until the term was finished. I’d not have to take the classes over, at least that was something.
I should have been celebrating, but fuck if I could celebrate anything at that point. I’d seen my Da a few times since the day in my mum’s kitchen, but we’d barely said a word to each other. Mostly we just passed each other in the street near the university. He didn’t belong anywhere near there, but I never mentioned it. I knew he was making himself visible to assure me that things had not changed. He was still alive. For how long? That was anyone’s guess.
I didn’t want to know what was happening. I was glad, of course, that he was still alive, but I didn’t want to be pulled into his life and the shadow that loomed above him. I was a scholar, for Christ’s sake. I believed in a unified Ireland, aye, but fighting amongst ourselves was getting us nowhere. I believed things would change when we began to use our words instead of our fists, an ideal my mum had ironically beat into me when I’d fought with Kevie as a child. Brute force could change a man’s mind, of course it could, but when two opponents were so clearly matched and unwilling to give up? It made for a long, bloody and unnecessary battle. One I wanted no part of.
My body felt languid as I tipped the last of my drink against my lips and I was relaxed for the first time in months until three men entered the pub. My back straightened at their arrival and every muscle bunched in preparation. I knew of them. The smallest of the three was the leader, higher in the ranks than my Da, but not at the top. His two followers were larger, muscled and stupid looking, and as I peered closer I realized the blonde one was from Ballyshannon. Kevie’s older brother.
I’d been in that pub more times than I could count, but I’d never seen them there before. I’d idiotically thought that I could avoid it all there, that the tiny pub only two streets away from the university was somehow shielded from the things I tried to ignore. Naïve, perhaps, but I’d been frequenting the place for over two years and it was the first time I’d seen anything that would keep me from coming back.
My body grew more tense as the small guy leaned down behind a slight blonde woman who was laughing merrily with her friends.
She froze with one hand in the air as she heard his voice. She knew him, but it was clear she didn’t like him. Her eyes went wide as she faced my way, but I knew she wasn’t seeing me. I was tucked back at the end of the bar, and her eyes were unfocused as she began to nod at whatever he was saying. When his fingers began to dig into her shoulder, it took every ounce of restraint I had not to stand from my stool.
Instead, I watched as he let her go and went to a separate table with his men. As he got comfortable, ordering a pint loudly enough for the entire place to hear him, she began making excuses to her friends with a small, uncomfortable smile on her face. She left just minutes later, and in a moment of absolute stupidity, I followed her.
“Miss, are ye alright?” I asked quietly when I’d caught up to her a few blocks away.
She screeched in reply, swinging around to meet me with her hands held up in a defensive pose. I’d scared her… and Christ, she was gorgeous.
“What de hell is de matter wit’ ye?” she scolded, her arms dropping as she looked at my face. I’m quite sure I looked like an idiot as I stared at her. She was flawless. Honey colored curls were wild and untamed around her heart shaped face and partially covering wide brown eyes with long curled lashes and a little bow mouth with a fuller bottom lip. Her thick sweater hid most of her torso from me, but it couldn’t disguise her high breasts and slim waist that tapered down to an arse that seemed too wide and round to match the rest of her. Perfection. She was absolutely perfect in a way that stopped men in their tracks and caused women to scowl defensively.
“I know ye,” she said. Then all of a sudden, she was blushing. Her blushing face was even better.
“Huh?”
“We have a few classes toget’er. I’m Moira Murphy.”
“Sorry, beautiful, it’s not ringin’ a bell.” Her face fell and I could have kicked myself. Fuck. I should have lied.
“Oh, well…” She ran a hand over her curly hair and laughed uncomfortably. “Right, well, yes, I’m fine and t’ank ye for askin.’ I’ll just be headin’ home now.”
She spun away from me and began walking briskly down the dark street before I pulled my head out of my arse and stopped her again. I couldn’t let her get away. “Me flat’s just around de corner,” I told her, tilting my head to the side and giving her my most charming smile. “If yer not ready to go home just yet.”
Things were a bit fuzzy as I waited for her answer. I’d been so fucking tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop, I’d had more than I should have at the pub. I knew I was playing with fire, but the thought of fucking with that man in the pub—the embodiment of every reason I’d not had a father as I grew, was too delicious to resist. I wanted to lash out. I wanted to fuck her so well that I ruined her for that asshole who’d ruined her night out. And frankly, I wanted to forget for a while that the shit around me was getting thicker and I was so goddamn homesick that I could barely follow through with the plans I’d had since primary school.
She was built for sex and the way she’d told me she knew who I was made me confident. She’d seen me, and she’d liked what she saw.
Moira looked back the way we came for a moment, then sniffed defiantly. “Alright,” she answered, her voice confident.
Soon the only thought running through my mind was the unlikely chance that my level of consumption would hamper my ability to perform. The longer we were outside, the more fuzzy my head became, the last few Guinness’ I’d consumed finally catching up with me. I wasn’t even sure how we made it back to my flat with the way I was feeling. I’m sure it had been sheer will on my part. The woman had curves in all the right places, and a way of moving her body that assured me that she knew exactly how she looked.
I was so hot for her by the time we got inside, we didn’t even make it to the bed before I was inside her. I was frustrated and angry and looking for anything that would make me feel better. We were ravenous, the both of us, and I was just drunk enough to think that she found me as appealing as I did her. It never once occurred to me that she’d have a different reason for ripping the clothes from my body.
I’d find out later that we’d both been running from things that night—the heavy weight of responsibilities, fear, threats, worries, and in her case, oppression. We explored each other long
into the night, the need arcing between us leaving no room in our brains for anything beyond the ache for satiation. Exactly what I’d hoped for.
It wasn’t until the next morning as I awoke to the telephone ringing on my counter, that the crushing weight of my responsibilities and unspoken promises broke through the haze of lust and alcohol. She was already gone, but my sheets smelled of sex and the perfume she’d been wearing, a reminder of what I’d done.
As I climbed naked from the twisted bedding, I rubbed my hand down my face. The interaction in the bar had been a clear indication that she was somehow connected to the life I was trying so fucking hard to stay away from, and the new worry was like a weight in my gut. She was a nice girl, the few times we’d spoken when our mouths were not otherwise occupied led me to believe she was intelligent, and she had a dry sense of humor that was at odds with her sweet face. If life was different, there was a good chance I would have pursued her. Her personality, however, didn’t change matters. My only recourse was to refuse to acknowledge that it had even happened should I run into her again.
The decision made, I stumbled to the phone. I’d come too far to let heavy breasts and a warm cunt fuck up my life.
“Yeah?”
“Patrick, it’s yer mum.”
“Mum, why are ye ringin’ me at…” I turned to check the clock on the crate next to my bed. “Seven in de fuckin’ mornin’?”
My breath paused as she remained silent, not even chastising me for my language.
“I think there’s somethin’ wrong with Amy.”
Christ Jesus. In all my recriminations that morning, I’d not once thought about the girl waiting for me in Ballyshannon. This would destroy her. I’d not made any promises, but Christ, I’d implied plenty. It was one more reason on top of an overwhelming list that convinced me I had to forget the night before had ever happened.
Suddenly, the flat felt as if it was closing in around me.
“Exams are over, I’m on me way.”
Chapter 13
Amy
Time was passing at an alarming rate no matter how I tried to slow it, and I was sure that hiding out in my bedroom wasn’t helping. I’d spent more time than usual with Peg, too, but that seemed to make things even harder, so I’d stopped making an effort. She was worried, but she didn’t push me for answers.
I wasn’t ready to talk about it. If I didn’t say it out loud, I could try to pretend it wasn’t happening.
My parents were too busy for their usual social calendar, which meant I was sleeping at home every night. I hated it and loved it at the same time, wishing I was at Peg’s while still clinging to my small bedroom like a piece of driftwood in the ocean. I couldn’t see my way out of the situation, there was no way out, and yet I continued to pray every night for some sort of help.
And then suddenly, help arrived.
I woke up that morning after a restless night of sleep to my bed tilting as someone sat down next to me. This was becoming familiar. The scent of mint, cigarette smoke and something unfamiliar hit my nostrils before I’d even opened my eyes, and I felt a lump grow in my throat. I recognized that smell.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing my hair away from my face. “Time to wake up.”
My breath caught at the tenderness in his voice, and my heart started thumping hard in my chest. Embarrassment that he’d found me unwashed and sleep tousled warred with overwhelming relief that he was finally there. I’d missed him so much.
It was odd, really, how one weekend had completely changed the way I viewed things. I no longer went along with the feeling of apathy I had developed over the past few years. When your life changes so often, it’s easy to stop caring about the new people you meet and the new places you go. If you know that sooner rather than later you’ll have to leave somewhere with no choice as to when or why, you learn to see everything in a fog, easily changeable and forgettable. It’s a defense mechanism—if you don’t fall in love with a place, you’re not sad to leave it.
Patrick had somehow brought everything into vivid detail. When I saw something, I wanted to tell him about it. I wanted to discuss the grocer where Peg worked. I wanted to bitch about the priest at my school who had a perpetual scowl on his face. I wanted to pull him out into the rain and jump in puddles with him just to see him laugh. I wanted to discuss books, and politics, and the way my fingers ached when it was cold outside.
I’d just flat out missed him.
“Hey.” My eyes opened and I cleared my scratchy throat as I took him in. He was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, his hair hidden under a knitted cap that I knew Peg had made him two Christmases ago. He looked like some sort of thug, with the hat pulled down low and his face scruffy… and he’d never been so appealing.
“Ye look like shite.” Okay, maybe not that appealing.
“Thanks, dick.” I closed my eyes and tried in vain to pull the blankets farther up my shoulders. “You can go away now.”
“Ach, don’t be like dat.”
“Well, you look like a criminal,” I grumbled.
Nice comeback, Amy. Fantastic. Really.
He burst out laughing, and I couldn’t help but follow, pushing my face into my pillow. His laugh was deeper than his regular voice, thick and guttural, like it had come from deep in his belly, and the noise was infectious.
“Up and out,” he ordered as his laughter drifted away. “Ye smell, and yer hair is…”
My face burned as his words trailed off. I knew what I looked like. Shit—just like he’d said. But I hadn’t been able to find it in me to care until I woke up with him next to me. Suddenly, my refusal to get out of bed seemed silly and immature.
I didn’t say a word as I pushed the blankets down and climbed out of bed, ignoring his sharp intake of breath. I’d worn very little to bed—just a tank top and some underwear—and even though I was sure I looked and smelled really gross, I was still baring a lot of skin.
My shower took a while. I hadn’t shaved my legs in over a week and… oh, shit, my armpits! I hadn’t raised my arms, had I? Gross. I had a hell of a time getting the knots out of my long hair and I also brushed my teeth. Twice. God knows I needed it. The entire time I wondered what he was doing there, in my house. It had been a little over a week since my birthday, and from his letters I knew he had tests at school that he couldn’t miss. Was he done with them already? My school only had a few months left until graduation, and my stomach cramped at the thought.
What the hell was I going to do?
When I got back to my room in a warm flannel and jeans, Patrick had stripped my bed. The laundry was wrapped into a ball, and he was sitting on the bare mattress, leaning over with his elbows on his knees and his head tipped toward the floor.
“All clean,” I announced quietly, grabbing his attention. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Ye’ve dark circles under yer eyes, and I’ve just found ye sleepin’ like de dead at eleven in de mornin’,” he said, ignoring my question. “What’s goin’ on, Amy?”
“Nothing.” My reply was too fast—too sharp and definitive to pass as anything but a lie.
He searched my eyes for a long moment, then his gaze traveled down my body slowly before meeting mine again. “Mum’s worried about ye.”
“I—”
“Called me dis mornin’, full o’tears, tellin’ me dere’s somet’in’ wrong wit’ ye,” his mouth firmed into a straight line as he looked away from me. “Den I get here and yer sleepin’ like de dead in de middle of t’day.” He stood and I took an involuntary step backward. I’d forgotten how much bigger he was than me, and while it didn’t frighten me, it did make me incredibly aware of the small size of my room. “I can see dat dere’s somet’in’ goin’ on, yeah? I can tell by lookin’ at ye. So why don’t we cut t’rough de bullshite, and ye just tell me already before I lose me fuckin’ mind.”
My jaw dropped as I realized how wound up he was. His hands were flexing at his sides, and his head was tilted in
question as he stared me down. I could even see his chest rising and falling hard beneath his sweatshirt, almost as if he’d been running.
The words came tumbling out of my mouth without thought.
“I’m eighteen. My parents are moving. Back to the states, I think. I’m not sure and they haven’t told me. But they said I can’t go with them. Well, they didn’t say that exactly, it was more along the lines of, ‘You’re an adult now and can pay your own way, so we’re moving.’ They didn’t specifically kick me out. They said I could stay in this house if I wanted, but I can’t pay the rent and I don’t have a job and I still have a couple months of school left and I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Actually saying the words aloud brought such a relief that I said the last sentence in one long wail, my words rolling over each other, and by the time I was finished, I could feel a sob bubbling up my throat. “Why would they do this?”
He didn’t say a word as he stepped in against me, and before I could take another breath, he slid one hand around my waist and the other under my ass, boosting me up until I was wrapped around him. I buried my face in his neck as he began to walk through the house, talking quietly and kissing my temple.
“Dis is what has ye sleepin’ t’day away? Shhh, now. Shhh, we can fix dis.”
I’m not sure if he even shut the front door as we left, his long legs eating up the distance between my house and Peg’s quickly. It was abnormally quiet as we entered, and I remembered that Peg was at work for a few more hours, but I didn’t say a word as he rounded the couch and sat down heavily. His hand was rubbing up and down my back in long, sweeping motions, and I didn’t fight him as he grabbed first one leg and then the other from around his waist and bent them at his sides so I was straddling his thighs. I was more comfortable that way, the position feeling anything but sexual as I burrowed even deeper into the front of his sweatshirt.