Connor eyes the bong and I know he's going to do it. He's started toeing the line recently, drinking with me and coming to watch fights. He's actually pretty handy with his fists himself now. And when Poppy's not with us, he smokes, too. See, that's the difference between us—Con tries not to be bad around her, and I just don't give a shit.
He grabs the bong and holds the lighter to it, sucking in a deep lungful and holding it like a champ.
Poppy's sitting there, staring at the wall with wide eyes. She slams her palm over her heart. "I'm dying." Shit, the weed must have kicked in. She glances over at me with her teary, bloodshot eyes. "Don't let me die," she whispers and grabs onto me.
"Fuck me. This is why you don't give your pikey weed to the kid who's only smoked a cigarette one time," Hope says, laughing.
"Don't let me die!" Poppy shouts at me.
"I won't let you die, possum." She crawls off the bed and into my crossed legs, grabbing a handful of my shirt. Hope laughs so hard she tips over backward. Connor just frowns at me, smoke streaming from between his lips.
One fucking drag, and it takes me the better part of thirty minutes to make her believe she's not going to die And now...now...shit...
She moves about as slow as a sloth when she turns to face me. Her eyes are glassy as fuck. God, she is beyond stoned.
"What?" She asks, then starts giggling.
"Nothing."
Then she slaps my cheek and giggles some more.
"That's right, hit the cunt," Hope says.
"Guys, guys..." Connor sits up and places his hands on my shoulders. "Guys."
"Yeah..."
"What if," Connor shakes his head and grabs it with his hands, "what if we are just this cell. A big blood cell in some giant's body, just, you know, floating around..." He holds his arms out like he's the Marshmallow Puff Guy from Ghostbuster.
I drag my hand over my face. I can't work out if these two are just a mess, or if I smoke way too much weed.
"Oh my God," Poppy gasps. "What if we are."
Connor looks at her and nods. "Yes, and what if we're just like ants, like the tiny cell workers working on this one cell and we've built this entire infrastructure that means absolute shit. What if...what if... The end of the world is just when he shits us out?"
Hope raises a brow at me and I grab the bong, lighting and inhaling again before I pass it to her.
"Oh, no!" Poppy says. "What if—I have a better one—what if the color purple to me is actually the color brown to you? What if I actually look like a three-headed alien with wiggly tentacles, but just think I look like a human. How would I ever know?"
Poppy makes a grab for the bong again, but I wrench it away from her, holding it above my head. "Nah, you just look like a possum."
Her eyes go wide. "So you think I'm ugly? Those little beasts are so ugly."
"Prettiest possum I ever saw."
"We live in Ireland. You've never seen a possum," Connor says.
"I have," Poppy says. "They used to come up on my back porch in America and eat my cat's food." She glares at me. "They. Are. Ugly."
"So what you're saying, is a possum is like a fat, less cute hedgehog?" Hope asks.
I shrug. "Why would you call her that, you cunt?"
Poppy tries to swipe the bong from me and I yank it away. "I call her a possum because I carry her around on my back like a little possum."
Hope rolls her eyes. "So...you're a mother possum?"
Connor laughs so hard he spits out his water.
"Fuck off," I say, standing and heading to the bathroom...with the bong.
I hear Poppy stumble and fall into the wall behind me and I turn around, walking backwards down the hallway. "Give it back, Brandon."
I laugh. "Or what?"
"Or I'll...I'll..."
I stop and she walks straight into my chest, face first. "You'll what, poss?" I whisper.
She grabs my cheeks, steadying herself as she pulls her face to mine. "I hate you."
"I hate you more." I smirk.
And then...she tries to kiss me. I squeeze my eyes shut and release a heavy breath, gripping her chin in my hand. Her eyes go wide. I can see the hurt swimming in her eyes. I kiss her forehead and smile at her. "You love me, really." I muss her hair and turn away, going into the bathroom and closing the door behind me. Shit. I swipe my hand down my face and take another drag of weed. She's just high. That's all.
When I come out of the bathroom ten minutes later the weed is nearly gone and Poppy is passed out on Hope's bed, curled into Connor's side.
"You smoked all the weed?" Hope whines. "And in the bathroom? God, I'm going to have to spray enough air freshener to kill a cat. I swear my dad is like a sniffer dog for weed."
I snort. "Your whole room smells of weed."
"Yeah, but he doesn't come in here. He went in Teagan's room one time when she was blowing her boyfriend." Hope laughs. "Poor Daddy nearly had a heart attack. He stays away now."
"On that note, I'm going to bed," I say, getting up.
"You can sleep in the spare room. I don't trust your wandering pikey hands." Little does she know, my wandering hands are more likely to nick her expensive whiskey than go near her ginger arse.
20
Poppy
16 years old
"I'm telling you, Poppy. Silas is a grade A hottie."
Silas is Slutty Suzie's older brother who’s just come back from war. I glare at her. "Hope, he's twenty. Twenty!"
"And?"
"That's..." I shake my head. "I don't know. Why wouldn't he date a twenty-year-old?"
"Excuse me, but..." She waves her hand over her body like it's a prize on some game show, "why would Silas want a twenty-year-old hag when he can have all of this? Plus, he's military. Tell me that's not hot."
"There are no words."
She goes back to painting her nails. The window bangs open and she jumps, swiping nail polish halfway up her leg as she screams. I turn around just in time to see a very drunk Brandon fall to the floor.
"What is that cunt doing here?" Hope says. "Poppy, I swear to God, if you're fucking him..." She kicks a brow up. "I mean, have standards. He's a gypo for Christ's sake."
I snort, my heart clanging against my ribs. "No, give me a break." I can't believe I tried to kiss him the other night.
"Possuuuum," Brandon sings. The smell of whiskey permeates the room. He's sprawled out on his back, a smirk plastered over his lips. "Why are you friends with that ginger bitch? You know they have no souls and eat babies and shit."
"Brandon O'Keiffe, you know you're a cunt!" Hope chucks the bottle of nail polish at him.
He salutes. "That I am."
"Oh my god." I stand up and walk over to him. His jaw is red and swelling, knuckles bloody. "What are you doing?"
"Well, I was drinking my whiskey—"
"Standard," Hope snickers. Brandon glares at her.
"...and then I thought: I should share with my possum. Sharing is caring." He holds up the whiskey bottle, brandishing it like a grand prize.
"Wow..." I laugh, staring at him. He waves the bottle around and the hem of his shirt inches up his stomach. I swallow when my eyes drift down to the deep V cut into his sides.
There's a knock on the door and Hope opens it. Connor's standing in the doorway, his gaze slowly falling to Brandon sprawled out on the floor. "What the hell, Bran?"
"Con!" Brandon cheers from the floor. "You came."
"Yeah, and you look like you need an ice pack." Connor sighs.
"Yeah, well I won. Shoulda seen the other guy."
Hope fans her nails while she glares at him. "Neive'll love his face all bashed in like that." She snickers.
"Yeah, she does," he says, laughing and tipping the bottle up. Whiskey spills everywhere and I snatch the bottle away.
"Really? What doesn't Nieve like if there's a penis involved?" I shake my head before glancing back to Hope and Connor. "You two go ahead, we'll catch up with you."
Connor rubs his hand
over the back of his neck, his gaze drifting from me to Brandon and back. "We can wait..."
"Nope." Hope links her arm through Connor's. "I'm not waiting around on that drunk cunt. Come on, Milkybar kid, let's get there before all the wine coolers are gone."
"Stop calling me that, would you? I haven't had a damn Milkybar in two years."
Hope grabs his face, squeezing his cheeks. "But it's soooo cute."
He rolls his eyes and flashes me a pleading look before she drags him from the room.
As soon as the door closes I turn to Brandon. "How bad?"
"Well, I managed to duck and the old prick put his fist through the glass door. And then," he smiles a lazy, drunk smile. "I knocked his arse clean out."
"You knocked him out, again?"
He reaches for the whiskey in my hand so I set the bottle out of his reach before I drop next to him and lean against the bed. "Brandon..."
"It's fine, poss." His eyes are lulling shut. He grabs onto my thighs and pulls up, resting his head in my lap. He takes my hand and moves it, forcing my fingers to scratch through his thick hair. "It's fine..."
And here I sit, in my floor, brushing through Brandon's messy hair. The way his dad treats him makes me so sad. It's not fair because deep down, Brandon has the kindest heart. He's just so broken. I want to make him see that he is worth so much more than what his dad tells him. Brandon's my best friend, but I'd love him in a heartbeat if he'd let me, and that's a secret I'll always keep because I'm not the kind of girl he goes for. I'm not a Nieve Kirkpatrick or a Lola Stevens, and anyway, I'd rather be the girl he leans on than the girl who ends up with him between her legs. I'd rather keep his respect than lose it. I'm his possum. Always and forever.
21
Connor
16 years old
Nieve's backyard is full of people. There's music playing and Davie Logan's already so pissed he's waltzing around in one of Nieve's bikinis, his ballbag on full display.
I take a seat on the retaining wall by the fountain and Hope sits next to me. "They're not coming," Hope says before she polishes off her sixth wine cooler.
"Yeah, I know..."
"Why don't you just tell her you like her, Con?"
I look at the full beer in my hands and pick at the label.
"It's obvious as shit. Has been since I met you."
I don't say anything. I don't want to say anything. I've tried three times to work up the nerve to kiss Poppy and failed each time. It's just...I've had a crush on her since I first saw her all sad and moping on the playground. It was nothing back then, I just thought her pigtails and accent were cute, but now...now, I can't imagine my life without her. And if I kiss her…if she kisses me back...what if I screw it all up? Mary Anne Wayford was best friends with Jimmy McAdams ever since they were kids. They ended up dating last year and now they hate each other. I don't want her to ever hate me, so sometimes I think it's just best if I sit back and wait for someone else to sweep her off her feet.
"She's my friend," I say before I turn the beer up. "And besides, I think she has a thing for Brandon." I pull the label off the bottle and drop it to the ground.
"Connor, every girl has a thing for Brandon. He's a heathen. A proper bad boy."
"What the hell are you talking about? He's just Brandon."
Hope rolls her eyes and groans. "Dear God, he's always in trouble, he nicked a car when he was fourteen, he fights dirty fights...and he's pretty. Brandon is the kind of guy girls with daddy issues date." She shrugs. "Well that and sluts."
"What..." That makes no sense.
"Trust me, it makes total sense. Poppy doesn't have any daddy issues—at least not that I know of. Girls like Poppy end up dating guys like you."
Guys like me.
Hope pats me on the back. "Look, you just have to make her see you. That cunt stays the center of attention." She stands up. "You're not that little fat kid anymore, Con."
***break***
I open the front door and Brandon's standing on the doorstep.
"Where are we going?" I ask as I close the door behind me.
"To get a tat."
"We're not old enough."
Brandon just smirks as he digs in his wallet. "Well, these beauts right here say that we are." He hands me an ID with a crooked picture of myself glued on the front. I read over the info. "Twenty-one?" I ask. "Why the hell didn't you just put eighteen?"
He shrugs. "Mine says I'm twenty-five. Plus, the older you are, the more girls you can pull. Trust me." He grins.
All I can do is shake my head.
"You going to get one?"
"Dunno."
He shrugs. "Well, you're coming with me anyway. I brought the car."
I roll my eyes. "Nicked the car..." I mumble.
"Same thing." I follow him down the path and hop into the beat-up Defender. How he hasn't been pulled over driving this, I do not know. The bonnet is tied down with bailing twine and a small garden is growing out of the seats. Not to mention the fact that black smoke belches out of it every time he starts it. Oh, and of course, he's not even old enough to drive. But he just insists that he's been doing it since he was twelve so that makes it okay.
He drives across town, the car chugging and spluttering along until we pull up outside a shop with blacked out front windows. The sign is halfway hanging off and paint is peeling from the door and window frames.
"Here. You're getting a tat here?"
"Yep. Old man McGinty drinks with Big Bill." I glance up at the sign: Big Bill's Tats—only the ‘a’ from tats is missing so it kind of reads tits.
"You're going to get hepatitis."
"Nah, it'll be grand."
That's his solution to everything...it'll be grand.
We get out of the car and I follow him to the door. A bell tinkles when he steps through the door, and it’s even worse inside. A little wooden table serves as some kind of front desk and there's a ratty old couch pushed up against the window. The walls are covered in graffiti and pictures of tattoos. Yep, he's going to get HIV and die.
A guy comes out of a back room and, judging by the size of him, I'm guessing that's Big Bill. "You here for a tat?"
"Yeah, Old Man McGinty sent me."
He smiles. "Ah, so you're the young'n. Come on back."
We follow him into the room at the back and Brandon hops up on a torn up chair. "What do you want?" Big Bill asks. Brandon takes a bit of paper from his pocket and thrusts it at him. Bill glances at it. "Alright."
A couple of hours later and Brandon has some Celtic, razor-wire thing wrapped around his bicep. It looks badass.
"Well?" Brandon looks at me. "You getting some ink?"
I glance around the room at the different designs taped up to the wall. "I dunno..." My eyes land on a shamrock with the Irish flag colored into the leaves. Why not? "Yeah, you know what." I shove Brandon out of the seat. "I'll get that shamrock, right here on my bicep." Slapping my hand over my arm.
Brandon grins and high fives me. "We're gonna look so good."
Chapter
Brandon
16 years old
I take a swig of the whiskey, wincing against the burn. Truthfully, I don't really like the taste of it, but my old man seems to find something he's looking for at the bottom of that bottle. I used to think it was because he missed my ma, but he treated her like shit, too, so I figure it's the oblivion he’s chasing. That feeling when you're shit faced drunk and nothing matters. I forget what it is to miss my ma. I forget that I'm stuck with that old bastard as a father, and it's just here and now and nothing else.
I stumble through the doorway and people shift out of my way. I won another fight yesterday, but my jaw is covered in deep purple bruises, and people give me a wide berth. All except one. Nieve walks up to me all hips and tits and a tiny waist. Long blonde hair falls over her shoulder, and she flicks it as she places a hand on my chest.
"Hey, Brandon." She presses her body against me and my dick goes hard instantly.
"Are you going to just stand there or kiss me?"
She sets the bottle on a nearby table and I grab her by the waist, pressing my lips to hers. I lose all focus because all I can think about is my dick and her lips and those long legs...and getting between them.
I push her against the wall and when her tongue touches mine, I groan. I'm this close to shoving her skirt up and copping a feel when she pushes me away.
I frown and she smiles. She glances over her shoulder as she makes her way towards the stairs. I start after her, and happen to spot Poppy standing in the doorway with her eyes fixed on me. My heart thuds awkwardly in my chest, and it's a different kind of pull to the one going on in my boxers, but just as powerful. She's looking at me with this hurt expression. I kind of hate it, but this is how it needs to be.
So, giving into my dick, I follow Nieve. Halfway up the stairs, I hear Connor shout my name. I stop and look down at him. "Hey."
"Hey. I just got here. You out already?" he asks with a small smile, his eyes locking on Nieve's arse.
"Give me ten minutes and I'll be back," I say on a smirk.
He shakes his head. "You get all the luck." So would he if he wasn't holding such a torch for Poppy. He's captain of the rugby team for Christ’s sake. Girls would queue up for him, but he doesn't even notice them. I get it, it's Poppy, but seriously, that boy needs to get laid.
"Hey, do me a favour, go find possum."
He rolls his eyes. "I am not stopping guys from hitting on her again. She gets mad and tries to hit me."
"So hit on her yourself.” I flash him a grin “About time you got your willy wet mate, and we both know you're holding out for her."
He glares at me, and I laugh as I disappear up the stairs so I can screw Nieve and force myself not to pretend it's Poppy.
* * *
I stagger out of Nieve's house at three in the morning. I can't find Connor or Poppy, so I guess they left. It's just me and a few guys from the rugby team left standing. I start walking, heading in the direction of home, but the closer I get, the heavier my feet feel. I'm drunk. My dad will be drunk. If I'm lucky he’ll have passed out, but if he's awake—it's going to be a fight. I'm pretty sure I could take the old man, but I won't because my ma would have hated it, so I do the same thing she did for all those years, the same thing I did when she was alive, I just take the hits.
Pre-war: A War Series Novella Page 8