“Oh, so maybe it’s me then, is it? You’re a fucking queer, are you?”
My dad was laughing so hard, but my mom stayed completely silent. I was terrified, I tried to use my feet to push myself up the bed and away from him. My heart had started to race. Padriac reached out, grabbed one of my ankles and pulled me towards him. As if in slow motion I watched his hand reach forward. He grabbed my crotch and squeezed, laughing until I cried out in pain.
“Yeah, it’s me he fancies, dad. Fucking proof of it right here.”
When Padriac was that drunk it was hard to understand him, his Irish accent was so strong. I kicked out my legs, catching the inside of his elbow and he let go. I rolled to the other side of the bed and tried to stand. It was hard with the pain but I sucked in deep breaths. Fun time over, my father turned to leave and pushed my mother to one side as he did. Padriac fell face first on the bed having finally passed out at last. Only then did I allow that tear to fall. I felt it roll down my cheek and I looked at mom. She never said a word. Her eyes were sad, I could see that, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t come forward and comfort me. That’s when I started to hate her.
****
At every opportunity Padriac beat me, and worse, he seemed to think it amusing to grab my balls. At first I thought it was because he wanted to inflict pain but as time wore on, I saw a different look on his face and I felt sick to my stomach. I fought him every time, but I was no match for a drunken Padriac.
The summer wore on and the heat exhausted people, made them tired and angry. Most of the time we sat in a small park in the shade. Calling it a park was an exaggeration, it was really just a grassed area with a couple of benches in the middle of stifling apartment blocks. Even to call what we sat on ‘grass’ was wrong; it was more like scorched earth. Aileen took me there every day to get us out of the house, away from our parents and Padriac. Sometimes Carrig would join us, but most times not. He had started to idolise Padriac and wanted to join in the fighting. He loved to follow him to the bars and even at twelve years old he was starting to enjoy his first taste of beer. How he managed to get served was beyond me. No one seemed to care.
“How are you doing, Trav?” Aileen had been inspecting the latest round of bruises to my cheek.
“I hate them all, every one of them,” I replied.
“I know you do. We need to get away, Trav. I need to get you away before...” She didn’t finish her sentence.
“Before what?” I asked.
“Nothing, forget it,” she replied, smiling as she brushed the hair from my eyes.
She winced as she stood and rubbed her lower back. I didn’t need to ask why. Wincing and rubbing bruises was a normal occurrence for us. As we made our way home we walked past a couple of warehouses. One was being used to fix up cars and I noticed a guy stand and smile at Aileen. She smiled back before lowering her head to conceal the blush that had crept to her cheeks. Taking my hand, she rushed us on.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Just a friend,” she replied.
I hadn’t known her to have any friends; she always seemed to be too busy looking after us. Judging by the way she blushed; even at my age I knew he was more than just a friend.
****
Thankfully the apartment was empty when we arrived home. We made our way to the living room and Aileen sighed as she sat on the worn floral sofa. Another item of furniture donated or found, I remember my dad and Padriac carrying it home one time.
“We had a nice house back in Belfast,” she said, more to herself than me.
“Why did we end up here?” I asked.
“It’s a long story, Travis, and not a nice one at that.”
She patted the sofa beside her and I took a seat.
“Dad was a butcher, a drunk butcher but at least he had a job back then. Then he got into trouble and we had to run. Some men came in the middle of the night and we were all told to leave.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“There was a war going on. Not a war with soldiers, not like the programmes you watch on the TV, a different kind of war. A war between people of different religions, of different nationalities,” she said.
I wasn’t entirely sure what she meant, she seemed lost in her memories as she told me the story.
“Friends fought just because one was Catholic and one wasn’t. One of my best friends was killed. Some say dad helped a group of men, very bad men, kill some others. They called themselves the Shankill Butchers.”
“Did he kill someone?” I asked, wide-eyed.
“I don’t honestly know. Anyway, I shouldn’t be telling you this. How about I make us something to eat?”
She left me sitting on the sofa while she rummaged through the kitchen cupboards, looking for anything she could use to feed us. She managed to put together a sandwich after scraping off the mould off the bread. We sat together in silence, the only sound being the grumbling of our stomachs telling us that half a sandwich apiece wasn’t enough to satisfy our hunger.
“Aileen, did mom know what dad did? Is that why she’s always sad?” I asked.
“She’s always sad, Trav, because we had to leave our home and our family. You have aunts and uncles and cousins back home. Maybe she misses them too much. She doesn’t have friends here. People don’t want to get too close because of him.”
Him, I assumed, was our father. Dad didn’t like girls; I’d heard him say many times they were good for nothing, just ‘breeding machines’. I didn’t understand what that meant at the time. Aileen never called him dad, in fact she barely spoke to him and stayed out of his way as much as possible. He was always shouting at her to get a job, earn her keep but she was too afraid to leave me and Carrig unprotected. She had told me during one of our night-time chats that she would never leave us alone. She didn’t spend all day with me, sometimes she snuck out on her own for a while. I had followed her one day and saw her meet the guy who fixed up the cars. They talked and laughed, and he held her hand. She looked happy, and I was excited for her. I hadn’t seen her happy very often.
“Will you tell me a story?” I asked.
Aileen had the most wonderful imagination. She placed her arm around my shoulders and pulled me to her side. She told me of a place where the giant, Finn MacCool had lived, of a causeway across the channel with stones so he could cross and battle with a Scottish giant. She told me she would take me one day, we would leave New York, walk across that causeway and smell the grass that was so much greener than in America. While she was telling me the story I heard a small sob. Aileen and I looked towards the living room door. Our mom was standing there, her hand covering her mouth as tears rolled down her cheeks. I looked away, embarrassed. I had seen my mom cry many times but I couldn’t find it in myself to hug her, but Aileen always did. She released me, wrapped her arms around her and I watched as mom sobbed into her shoulder.
“Let’s run. Get back home,” Aileen said.
“I can’t,” my mom replied.
“We can, there must be someone who will help us. What about your family?”
“He’ll find us, Aileen. My family won’t help, they begged me to leave him and I didn’t. I made my bed and now I have to lie in it,” she replied.
“What about us? Me and Travis don’t deserve this,” Aileen pleaded.
Mom shook her head. In frustration, Aileen pushed past her and left the apartment. Mom looked over at me and sighed. She gave me a small smile before making her way to the kitchenette to unload the groceries she had been carrying.
****
As summer moved into fall the temperature finally dropped. My dad and Padriac got more aggressive. I think, for my dad, the work on the construction sites started to dry up, or maybe his boss just got fed up with him not showing up to work most of the time. Padriac had no excuse. He just looked for any opportunity to torment me or encourage Carrig to beat me. Carrig stopped apologising a while ago, and now he seemed to enjoy it as much as Pad. It was then that I started to
fight back. Before, when I thought Carrig would get a beating from Padriac if he didn’t win, I let him. Not any more.
I was sitting on the stone steps at the front of the block just minding my own business. I was about to turn eleven and the only one excited about my birthday was Aileen. Every year she baked a cake for me. Where she got the ingredients from, I had no idea but she managed it. We would sit, just the two of us, make a wish, blow out the candle and eat until we felt sick.
I watched Padriac and Carrig walk down the street, laughing and shouting out nasty comments to people passing by. Over the past year Carrig had grown tall, not as tall as Pad, but at thirteen he was taller than most his age. I watched Padriac nudge him, motioning towards me and I knew what was coming. I stood and waited, I was going to fight back. Perhaps seeing my mom cry and hearing what she said had changed my mind. I didn’t know, but I didn’t want to be a coward anymore. I didn’t want to be like her.
“There’s the poof,” Padriac said and Carrig laughed.
Calling me a poof was Padriac’s favourite insult.
“I bet he likes to wear Aileen’s clothes,” Carrig chimed in.
“Or mum’s lipstick,” Pad added. “Fucking gay boy. I hate poofs.”
“Maybe you want to stop grabbing my balls then, you’re the fucking poof,” I said, finding a little bravado inside.
Carrig smirked at me and I looked at his fists bunched by his sides. Padriac was laughing and it wasn’t long before a group of people had gathered around us. Pad encouraged them to bet.
“$1 on the young ‘un’,” I heard an old man say.
“I’ll gladly take that dollar, you won’t see it again,” Padriac replied.
I watched Carrig, the way he raised his fists to his face, and I copied him. He swung his arm; I ducked but felt it scrape across the top of my head. He was quick to follow up with another punch. That time I wasn’t fast enough and he caught me on the side of my jaw. Tears threatened but I bit down hard on my lip; there was no way I was going to let them see me cry. I took a step closer instead. I was much smaller than Carrig so by getting close I limited his reach. I pulled my elbow back and punched this stomach as hard as I could. I heard the rush of air leave his mouth as he bent over slightly; I don’t think he was expecting me to actually fight back. Padriac was shouting, people were laughing and I, finally, got mad.
I kicked, I punched, I even closed my eyes. I knew I was hitting something, I could feel the pain in my fists as they connected but I couldn’t stop. I was lashing out at the years of abuse I had suffered from my brothers, my father and my mother. I swung my arms, I grabbed his hair and dragged him to the ground. I kicked and kicked and kicked some more. Then I heard a scream, I heard my name being called and felt arms wrap tightly around me. I stopped my assault and it was only then that I realised I was sobbing, my face was soaked with the tears I’d been holding back for so long.
“Travis, stop this now,” I heard. Aileen held me tightly, my back to her chest.
“Fuck off, Aileen, I have money on this,” Padriac said.
“Jesus, girl, leave them be. It’ll toughen ‘em up,” the old man added.
“They’re little boys, why do they need to toughen up?” she said.
I finally saw my brother, Carrig, curled in a ball on the dirty sidewalk. Blood dripped from his nose and his eyebrow. I looked at my own bloody fists in shock. I turned to Aileen, she must have seen the sadness in my eyes as she tried to comfort me. I heard the scraping as Carrig rose from the ground before I felt another punch to the back of my head.
“Enough, both of you,” Aileen shouted.
“Fuck you,” Carrig shouted at her.
“You get away from him now, Carrig, or I swear, I’ll slap you myself,” she replied. The comment caused a ripple of laughter from the onlookers.
With one arm she tried to shield me, pushing me behind her, and with the other she stopped Carrig from coming at me again. I didn’t care that he was humiliated, I didn’t care that Pad would be angry with him, I didn’t care at all - about any of them. I was glad that I had finally beaten him, and I hoped they would leave me alone at last.
I was wrong. From that day on they targeted me. Carrig wanted revenge and we fought regularly. Sometimes he won and I was the curled mess on the sidewalk, bruised and bloodied, and sometimes I beat him. When I won I was forced to run and hide, as my reward for winning was Padriac coming after me. Aileen did her best to keep me away from them, but it was often at her own expense. Padriac and Carrig had no problem with punching me and they did the same to her.
Late one night I was sat on the mattress on the floor when a bruised Carrig came into the bedroom. He didn’t speak; just lay on the double bed. It was unusual for him to spend time in the same room as me even.
“Why do you do it?” I quietly asked.
“Do what?”
“Anything Pad tells you. Why do you do it?” I said. I saw him shrug his shoulders.
“You know why. I see what he does to you and he ain’t doing that to me. I do what he says and he leaves me alone. You should try it.”
I thought I heard his voice catch at the end of his sentence.
“You could help me.” I hated that I sounded weak and in need of him.
“Soon as I can I’m out of here, you should do the same. I promise you this, one day him and dad will be found dead in a ditch,” he whispered.
In the dim light of the evening I saw him turn on his side, conversation over.
****
It was after one fight that my future was decided once and for all. Aileen and I were in the bathroom; she was wiping the blood from my face and holding tissue to my nose to stop the bleeding when a very drunk Padriac crashed through the door. She used her body to block his path. My mother was screaming at him to stop, which surprised me; she had never intervened before. Padriac grabbed Aileen by the hair and dragged her towards him. At first I thought it was so he could get to me and I cowered against the bathroom sink. Instead, he reached around Aileen with one hand and grabbed her by the throat, crushing her against him.
She fought, I watched as she dug her nails into his hand and elbowed him in the stomach to no effect. My mom pulled on his arm, trying to drag him away, but he swiped it back knocking her to the floor. I was shaking, terrified. Just the look on Padriac’s face was enough to tell me he had totally lost it. As he squeezed her throat and her breathing became ragged, he ran his hand up her thigh and dragged her skirt to her waist.
I came around from the shock that had me frozen to the spot. Frantic, I pushed past and ran into the kitchen, stepping over my mom as she continued to lay on the floor. I was frantic; I could hear Aileen gasping for breath. I picked up a kitchen knife. My heart was hammering in my chest as I ran back determined to save her, even if it meant he’d kill me instead.
I didn’t think as I stabbed the knife as deeply as I could in Padriac’s arm, dragging it down his bicep. He howled as he let go of Aileen and spun around to face me.
“What the fuck? You fucking stabbed me,” he said in surprise.
There was a moment of silence, Padriac held his hand over the wound on his arm, the blood seeped through his fingers and ran down his arm dripping onto the tiled floor. My mom was now backed against the wall, hugging herself, sobbing and mumbling. My gaze shot between her and Padriac as I took in the murderous look in his face. I watched my sister slump forwards, her hands resting on the sink as she tried to catch her breath. Then I heard someone speak.
“Run, baby, run,” my mother said quietly.
The fact that mom spoke shocked us all, and it gave me time to do what she said. I dropped the knife to the floor, spun on my heels and ran. I was out and down the stairs before I heard the front door to the apartment smash against the wall. As I approached the block door, Mary opened hers. Placing a finger to her lips, she beckoned me and closed her door quietly behind us. It was then that reality hit. A sob escaped; I had been trying so hard not to cry. My heart was still hamme
ring in my chest and it hurt, everything began to hurt. I slid down the hall wall cradling my knees to my chest and gave in to it. Mary knelt in front of me; she placed her arms around my shoulders and held me. She let me cry myself out.
I don’t know how long we sat, but Mary had trouble getting back up. When she finally managed to stand she took my hand and led me to the kitchenette. I sat at her table in silence as she busied herself making dinner. We could hear crashing and banging from above, and I prayed Aileen was all right. Mary put a plate in front of me, some kind of meat stew and I ate it all, I was starving. I hadn’t spoken about what had happened and Mary let me be. She gave me some bread to wipe the juices from the plate and poured me a glass of milk. It was when I raised my hand to wipe my mouth that I focused on the bloodstains and broken skin and the tears came again.
“Hush now, Travis, it will be okay, I promise,” she whispered, holding my hands in hers.
“No, it won’t, Mary. Mom told me to run. Run to where?” I asked.
“You stay here tonight, let me talk to your mother in the morning.”
“He’s gonna kill me, I know it.”
“What happened? Do you want to tell me?”
“He, Padriac, makes me fight with Carrig, he likes it. If I win, he beats me because he wants Carrig to win,” I was trying to talk between sobs, the words were probably incoherent.
“Is that what happened today?” she asked, looking at my fists.
“Yes, I won and he came after me. Aileen tried to help and he strangled her. I was scared but for once mom tried to help and he knocked her down. I ran to the kitchen, there was a knife and...” I struggled to finish the sentence.
“What did you do, Travis?” Mary asked and a look of concern crossed her face.
“I stabbed him… in the arm, and he’s real pissed now. What am I going to do?”
“Oh, Travis, you poor thing. I’ll talk to your mom in the morning, okay?”
I nodded and wiped the tears from my face with the sleeve of my jumper. Mary rose from her chair and held out her hand to me; she led me to the bathroom and started to fill the bath. Placing a clean towel on the toilet seat she left me alone. I stripped off my dirty clothes and climbed in.
Travis: To accompany the Fallen Angel Series - A Mafia Romance Page 2