by Chloe Walsh
I didn't need to finish that sentence. Johnny's eyes were locked on mine and the word home hung heavily between us, unspoken and painful. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, I tore my eyes away and climbed the rest of the steps.
Concern roared to life inside of me as I watched Johnny struggle up the remaining steps. "Hey – are you okay?" I asked when he finally reached me, jaw tight and shoulders rigid.
He stiffened, and for a moment, I expected the same cold brush off I was used to receiving when I asked him about his pain. But he surprised me by turning to face me. "I'm okay." His tone was soft, eyes gentle. Leaning against the bannister railing, he released another heavy sigh. "I'm sore," he offered with a small, vulnerable shrug. "I'm stiff, and I despise being slowed down, but I'm on the mend, okay?"
I studied his face, looked for the lies, and when I didn't find any, I nodded. "Yeah, okay."
"What about you?"
"Me?"
"Yeah, you." Reaching out, he traced his thumb across my cheekbone. "How are you feeling?"
"Same as you," I offered in a small voice, unable to suppress the shiver that rolled through my body when he put his hands on me. "Stiff and sore, but on the mend." I paused, thinking of something positive to say. "I can breathe again," I blurted and then cringed when I said it. "Sorry."
Pain flickered in his blue eyes. "It's killing me," he admitted, voice low and gruff. "Knowing what happened to you, seeing what that bastard did every time I look at your face, and not being able to fix it."
I released a shaky breath. "Johnny."
"I've spent days waiting for this," he quickly hurried on, his words coming fast, his accent thickening as he spoke. "To get time with you. To just be with you, and now I have you here?" His hand snaked out and entwined with mine. "Where I know you're safe? All I want to do is just…" Shaking his head, he pulled me closer. "Keep you right here with me and never give you back."
Oh god, I want that, too.
I want you to keep me.
"I know you have a lot of stuff going on in your life right now with your family, and there's a shitstorm falling down around us," he added, voice gruff. "I know there's a conversation we need to have, Shannon, an important one, but I just want you to know – no, I need you to know that I'm –"
"A little help, Kav!" Gibsie's voice boomed down the landing. "We have a code puke situation going on in here."
"Jesus Christ," Johnny hissed, throwing his head back. "I can't catch a bleeding break."
"I'm sorry," Claire croaked out as she barreled towards us, holding her stomach. "But I'm a sympathetic vomiter and that boy is spewing his guts up in there." Flustered, she gagged before adding, "Honestly, I'd love to help, really I would, but I had a heavy meal before I came here and if I stay in that room, it will be carnage."
"Oh god." Turning, I moved to go check on my brother, but Johnny tugged my hand and pulled me back to him.
"Don't go in there," he said, releasing my hand. "He doesn't need his sister seeing him like that."
"Yeah, Shan," Claire agreed, coming to stand beside me. "Let the boys take care of him."
"He's my brother," I countered shakily.
"Your naked brother," Claire shot back. "Gerard had to take his clothes off because he's covered in –" She paused to gawk. "Ugh, it smells so bad. He needs a shower and you can't do that in your condition."
"You remember the layout of the downstairs?" Johnny asked, directing his question to me. "Where everything is?"
I nodded, flustered. "I think so?"
"Take Claire downstairs with you," he instructed calmly. "Make whatever you want in the kitchen or chill out in the sitting room. Whatever you want. Gibs and I will sort him out."
"Are you sure?" I asked, not feeling very sure at all.
"Positive." He gave me one last, final look and then walked stiffly in the direction of his bedroom. "I've got this."
"You know," Claire mused. "When I signed up for this jailbreak, I didn't anticipate vomit." Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, she led me down the impressive staircase to the entrance hall. "Or penises."
"Penii," I corrected with a defeated sigh.
"Huh?"
"Mrs. O Leary, our science teacher, says that's the appropriate plural." Not that it even mattered.
"Oh." She scrunched her nose up at the notion. "Well, I don't know anything about penii, I must have zoned out during class, but this house is amazing. It's like…Mucross or something."
"That's what I said," I whispered, taking comfort in having her with me.
"He'll be okay, Shan," she added quietly. "You both will."
"Yeah." I hope so.
"Now, come on," she said, tightening her hold on me. "I want to know everything."
17
Dangerous Pussy
Johnny
I had no explanation for how my life had unraveled to the point where I was showering a semi-comatose, drugged-up hurler other than this: I fell in love with a girl who had more layers and complications attached to her life than a Rubik's cube.
A Rubik's cube, I could solve.
Shannon Lynch's life, not so much.
"Did you get under his arms?" Gibsie asked as he stood fully-clothed in my shower, holding a very naked Joey the hurler up. "Make sure you get the creases."
"How is this happening to us, Gibs?" I asked my best friend. "One minute, we're playing rugby for Tommen, hanging out at Biddies with the lads and running drills, and the next, we're hosing puke off a hurler from BCS." Shaking my head at the absolute lunacy of the situation, I squirted another dollop of body wash on Joey's chest and aimed the shower hose, careful to avoid the bruising. "How did we fall into this, lad?"
"You love his sister, and I love his sister's best friend," Gibsie replied, scrubbing Joey down with a sponge. "It's safe to say that pussy got us into this, Kav."
Wasn't that the fucking truth…
"Here," Gibs said as he turned Joey in his arms. "Make sure you get the back of him again."
Bile rose in my throat as my eyes took in the sight of bruise after discolored bruise, and scar after faded scar on his body.
His entire back was littered with a mixture of blemishes, faint lines, and scars.
Jesus Christ.
I studied his bare skin with cool, calculated eyes. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who had put those marks on his body.
Their piece of shit father.
Maybe he used a belt, or maybe he used something worse. Fuck, I didn’t know. But he had scars everywhere.
How the fuck had this gone unnoticed?
What about his girlfriend? Or their mother? His trainers?
Did nobody see him?
"This is so wrong," Gibsie grumbled, voicing my thoughts aloud. He turned him back to face me and wrapped an arm around his chest to hold him up. "So fucking wrong, Johnny."
"Yeah, lad," I bit out, careful not to spray the areas on his stomach with fresh bruises. "I know."
"Stop," Joey groaned, shivering violently, as he pushed against the arm Gibsie had wrapped around him. "I'm gonna be –"
Gibsie swung them both around just in time for Joey to shower the wall with a fresh coating of chunks. "Lad," Gibs said as he scrubbed the sponge over Joey's face. "You don't ever mix your drugs."
"Like you'd know," I scoffed.
"Well, I presume it's similar to mixing your drink," Gibsie shot back. "A big, fat no-no!"
"It's better he gets it all out of his system." Leaning around them both, I hosed down the vomit on the wall before retackling the never-ending stream of vomit coming from Joey. "They'd only pump him out in the hospital anyway."
"Exactly," Gibsie agreed, patting Joey's cheek. "Consider this your own personal, free-range stomach pumping session – Gibsie style."
"Fuck off, ya creepy bastard," Joey groaned, shaking from head to toe.
"Normally, I would take offense to that," Gibsie huffed. "But considering we're in a shower together and your naked ass is pressed to my dick, I'm
going to let that comment slide, because I, too, find this situation slightly creepy."
"He's saving your neck," I growled. "We both are, so why don't you show your appreciation by shutting the fuck up and puking out the poison."
"Fuck you, Kav –"
More vomiting.
"That's it," Gibsie coaxed, dabbing his mouth once more. "Puke out all the expensive, class A drugs. Good job. Let the water wash your sins and wages down the drain."
My phone began to ring loudly in my pocket and I frowned, my eyes shifting to Gibsie. "You're here."
Gibsie rolled his eyes. "I'm not the only one with your number."
Wiping my hand on my t-shirt, I slipped my hand into my pocket and dragged out my phone. "Shite." I stared at the name flashing on the screen and groaned. "It's my Ma."
"Oh, Jesus," Gibsie joined me in groaning. "She knows, doesn't she? Of course she fucking does." He continued to scrub Joey down as he ranted. "She probably has a tracker on your ass."
"Get off me," Joey slurred, slapping at Gibsie's hand. "Christ."
"Keep him quiet," I warned, eye-balling Gibsie as I clicked accept and put the phone on loudspeaker. "Ma, how's it going?"
"Johnny, love," Mam sighed down the phone. "Are you alright? You took a long time answering me."
"I'm grand, Ma. What's up?"
"Oh, love, I was calling to let you know that I might not –"
"Stop!" Joey groaned loudly. "It burns."
Gibsie and I both froze and stared at each other in horror.
"What burns?" Mam demanded. "Are you okay?"
"Fuck me!' Joey continued to flinch and hiss. "It's too hot."
Glaring at Gibsie, I mouthed, "Shut him up."
Gibsie gaped back at me, whisper-hissing, "How?"
Give me strength… I aimed the hose at his face and mouthed, "With your hand, genius!"
With water spluttering from his own lips, Gibsie slapped a hand over Joey's mouth and I nodded in approval. Leaning over the tub, I adjusted the setting on the shower and lowered the temperature of the water. "Happy now?" I mouthed, glaring at Joey as I hosed him down.
"Johnny? Is Gerard messing with the cooker again?" Mam asked, sounding flustered. "Tell that boy he better not touch the matches. There's a hole melted into the extractor fan from his last outing with flammables."
"That was you!" Gibsie mouthed, outraged.
"No, Ma, he's not cooking." Shaking my head, I looked up to the ceiling and blurted the first thing that came to mind, "That was just some fella on the television."
"The television?"
"Yeah, we're, ah –" Narrowing my eyes, I aimed the hose at a stubborn chunk of puke on Joey's shoulder. "We're watching a film."
"Oh, Johnny," Mam grumbled. "Not one of those dirty ones. The doctors warned you to avoid interfering with yourself until your stitches heal completely."
Gibsie snickered.
Jesus Christ. I let my head fall back in silent despair. "No, Ma, we're watching…"
"You're watching what, Johnny?"
"My Left Foot!" Gibsie blurted out loudly. "For the leaving cert, Mammy K!"
"I'm doing Gatsby, ya bollox," I mouthed, glaring.
"Ah, that's lovely," Mam cooed, mollified. "Good boy, Gerard! Very educational."
Gibsie arched a brow and grinned.
"Did you need something?" I asked, getting back to the point. "Because I'm trying to watch Christy Brown here."
"Oh, right, well here's the thing, love," Mam said, tone hesitant. I rolled my eyes with impatience and waited for her to get to the point. "I might not make it back home tonight."
Thank you, Jesus! "That's a shame."
"Traffic was insane getting up here and the thought of driving back down in bumper to bumper backlog is more than I can handle."
Gibsie gleamed in approval.
"Then you should definitely stop over at the old house with Da," I replied, tone soothing. "You're tired, Ma – too tired to be making that journey."
"On your own in the dark," Gibsie offered. "Alone and female."
"Gibs," I warned.
"Sounds too dangerous if you ask me, Mammy K," he continued, ignoring me. "Driving through Dublin city at night, all by your lonesome."
"She's from Ballymun, ya spanner," I grumbled. "She'd take your culchie arse out in a heartbeat."
"Boys!" Mam snapped and then sighed heavily down the line. "I'll be home no later than lunchtime tomorrow to take you to your physio appointment… if you're sure you'll be okay without me –"
"I'm sure," I quickly interjected, leaving out the snippet that I had been just fine without either of them for years. "I'll be grand." Leaning over the tub, I reached up and switched off the shower. "We both will." Grabbing two towels off the rack, I tossed one to Gibs and tucked the other under my arm. "No worries."
"I love you, Johnny," Mam finally said.
"Yeah –" Balancing my phone on the side of the tub, I draped the towel over Joey's shoulders before snatching my phone back up. "Love ya, too, Ma."
"Oh, before I forget–"
"Gotta go, Ma. Bye, bye, bye –" Ending the call, I slipped my phone back into my pocket and exhaled a huge sigh. "Thank Christ for that."
"I'll say," Gibsie agreed, dropping his hand from Joey's mouth. "I'd say we're in the clear, lad."
"Jesus," Joey hissed, teeth chattering. "You're a mammy's boy, aren't ya?"
"Do you want to be gagged again?" I narrowed my eyes. "Because that can be arranged."
"Fuck you both," Joey mumbled, breathing hard. "Don't do me any favors."
My mouth fell open. "Are you shitting me right now, Joey?"
"I think the word you're looking for is thank you both," Gibsie interjected cheerfully. He cast me a meaningful look and shook his head in warning. "And you are more than welcome, Joseph."
Holding my tongue and reining in my temper, I took a step back and watched as Gibsie helped him out of the tub.
"Don't fucking touch me!" Roughly shoving Gibsie away, Joey staggered backwards and collapsed on the floor. "I don't need your help."
"Well, tough shit because you're getting it," I snapped. "Whether you want it or not."
"You're a little fucked up, Joey the hurler," Gibsie mused. "You know that, right?"
"Yeah, I'm fucked up," Joey sneered, shaking from head to toe. "And you're just plain fucked in the head."
"Indeed," Gibsie agreed solemnly.
Breathing hard, Joey dropped his head in his hands and pulled on his hair. "Where's my phone?" Exhaling a choked breath, he hissed, "I need my phone. I need to call my…fuck!"
"You don't have a phone anymore, lad – or a wallet," Gibsie replied calmly. "Your sister said you sold it, right along with your dignity, for that horrendous pain you're in." Grabbing another towel off the rack, Gibsie tossed it on his lap, covering him up. "All that shit flushing its way out of your system right now? Everything you puked out of your body? It cost you exactly one wallet, one phone, and one soul. Pretty high price, huh? I sure hope it was worth it." He patted his shoulder. "Now, if you'll both excuse me, I need a shower of my own." Peeling his drenched shirt over his head, Gibsie tossed it in the laundry hamper next to the door before strolling out of the bathroom.
I half expected Joey Lynch to erupt right there in the middle of my bathroom, but he didn't do a thing. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his knees and dropped his head. "Fuck." Cupping the back of his neck with one hand, he rocked back and forth, muttering the word "fuck" over and over.
"What did you take?"
Silence.
"Okay." Lowering myself onto the edge of the tub, I rubbed a hand down my thigh and tried a different approach. "Why did you do it?"
"Don’t judge me," he hissed, swinging his gaze to meet me. "Don’t you dare fucking judge me…" Squeezing his eyes shut, he balled his hands into fists and made a hitched sound in his throat as his body trembled violently. "Not until you've been in my shoes. Seen what I've seen. Heard what I've heard."
> I remained still as a statue and resisted the urge to reach over and steady him. "I'm not judging you, lad."
"No?" Tortured green eyes locked on mine. "You saw her. Saw what he did to her. And I didn't…I couldn't –" His words broke off and he dropped his head in his hands. "Fuck it. What's the point?"
"It's not your fault," I replied slowly, brows furrowing. "You have to know that."
More silence.
"I didn't mean it," I tried again. "What I said on the phone? It was my panic talking, lad."
Nothing.
His lack of response caused a trickle of unease to creep up my spine. "You are not responsible for your father's actions," I repeated, fighting down the huge swell of sympathy flooding my body. "You're not, so don't fuck up your life and your future by thinking you are."
Dropping his gaze to his knees, he whispered, "I couldn't protect her." Shaking his head, he exhaled a broken sob. "I couldn't protect any of them."
"That's not your job." My heart hammered wildly in my chest. Jesus. I felt like I was drowning in his pain. "You're not supposed to protect them. They're supposed to protect them. They're supposed to protect all of you, lad. Including you."
"I thought she was dead," he confessed in a voice so low it was barely audible. "All the blood? On the floor? On the walls? On my clothes? Coming out of her mouth? Those gargling sounds she was making because she couldn't breathe? Because she was fucking dying! And then the silence? The sound of nothing at all?" He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and hissed, "I can't get the image out of my head – and believe me, I've tried."
Jesus Christ.
Reeling, I sat there, cold to the bone, and listened to his truth.
"I couldn't get him off me," he strangled out, chest heaving. "I knew she needed help – I fucking knew it – but I couldn't fight him off. I couldn't do anything!" Shaking his head, he let out a humorless laugh as tears trickled down his cheeks. "And my brother, my eleven-year-old baby brother, had to get him off me." Sniffing, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand and choked out a harsh sob. "While she stood by and did nothing."