The remote smacked off my hip and landed on the floor, resulting in the batteries flying out and rolling under the couch.
"Sorry," I hurried out of his way of the television and quickly scrambled to retrieve the batteries and put them back in the remote for him.
"Why are you being like that?" Dad asked then, eyeing me with bleary mistrust.
Exhaling slowly, I set the remote down on the coffee table and picked up my phone before turning to look at him. "Being like what, Dad?"
"Acting strange," he accused, glaring at me. "Smirking to yourself."
I shrugged my response, unsure how to answer that.
"What's going on?" he growled, watching me like a hawk, his brown eyes hard and unyielding.
"Nothing's going on," I replied quietly.
He pushed his recliner down and stood up.
The move evoked a tsunami of terror to flood my body and I scuttled backwards.
"Give me that," he instructed, holding a hand out to me.
My brows shot up. "My phone?"
"Yes, your phone," he sneered. "Give it to me."
Trembling, I walked over to him and placed it in his palm.
Immediately, he began to scroll through my messages and call list.
I didn’t understand why, considering he was swaying so much I doubted he could read in his state.
But I didn’t dare move, knowing that if I walked out, this could turn messy.
"Where's his number?" he demanded, gripping my phone in his huge hand.
"Whose number, Dad?" I croaked out.
"The lad sniffing around ya," he snarled. "The hotshot from the papers."
My heart sank. "What?"
His gaze flicked from my phone to me. "Fran, next door, said she saw a lad from your school driving around here," he slurred. "Said she saw him drop you home from school today." He turned his attention back to my phone. "Where is his number? Where are his texts? Who the fuck are you knocking around with? Is it him? That rugby asshole? The Kavanagh prick?"
Dammit, Fran!
"Nobody, Dad," I lied through my teeth. "I was sick in school today and Claire and her brother Hughie drove me home."
"Hughie Biggs?" Dad hissed, swaying on his feet again. "That jumped-up gobshite? That's why you're walking about with a shit-eating grin on your face?"
"What – no!" I shook my head and backed away. "I'm not with Hughie. I'm not with anyone."
"I don’t believe you," he growled.
"I'm not lying," I choked out. "I don’t have a boyfriend."
"You don’t have to have a boyfriend to whore yourself," he hissed. "Ask your mother that."
"I'm not seeing anyone," I strangled out, panicked. "I swear to god, I'm not!"
Reaching out, he clamped a beefy hand on my shoulder and pressed down hard. "If you're lying to me –"
"I'm not, Dad," I cried out, buckling under the force of his touch. "Please –"
My words broke off when my father's fist connected with my cheek, hitting me so hard that my head snapped back from the force.
Fight back, Shannon.
Grab something.
Anything.
Do something.
Pain scorched through my face, tears filled my eyes, and still, I did nothing.
I didn’t fight back.
I didn’t try to run.
I just stood there.
"Come here," he snarled. Keeping his hand on my shoulder, fingers digging into my bones, Dad marched me into the kitchen, not stopping until we were at the sink.
"Turn it on," he instructed.
Without hesitation, I reached over and turned on the tap.
"Fill that up," he ordered, toppling a pint glass off the draining board and into the basin of the sink.
Thankfully, it didn’t break and I hurried to fill the glass, resisting the urge to tuck and roll to break free from his grip.
"See this?" he hissed as he dropped my phone into the water. "See it, girl?"
Motionless, I nodded, watching my phone sink to the bottom of the pint glass.
"If I find out you're lying to me, it won't be your phone I'll be drowning," he growled, digging his fingers so hard into my shoulder that my back bowed without my brain's permission. "Do ya hear me?"
"I hear you," I whimpered, shaking from head to toe.
"Don’t you go running to your brother with stories, either," he hissed in my ear. Shoving me away, he added, "Or I'll fuck you both on the streets."
I wish you would, I just about stopped myself from saying.
Because what would happen to Tadhg, Ollie, and Sean if we were gone?
Tadhg was next in line to me, therefore he would take the brunt of my father's wrath.
That concept was abhorrent to me.
Reaching up, I rubbed my cheek and forced myself to not cry.
He gave me one final look before shaking his head. "Go on – get out of my sight."
Without another word, I hurried out of room with tears stinging my eyes.
I hate you! I silent-screamed as I made the familiar run to my room, I fucking hate you!
Racing up to my room, I made a conscious decision to tip-toe past Joey's room, forcing myself not to make a sound, and then quickly locked myself inside my bedroom.
Flicking off my bedroom light, I scrambled into my bed, threw the covers over my head, and grabbed my discman.
Less than two minutes later, there was a soft knock on my bedroom door.
"Shan?" Joey's voice came from the other side of the frame. "Everything alright?"
I debated not answering him, but decided against it, knowing that he would automatically jump to the right conclusion and all hell would break loose.
He'd only just come back from Aoife's tonight.
I didn’t want him to go again.
So instead, I called back, "I'm fine, Joe. Just tired."
There was a long pause before he spoke again. "You sure?"
"Yeah," I croaked out, pressing my fingers to my bottom lip so it didn’t wobble and my voice didn’t tremble.
"You don’t sound fine," my brother replied.
Dammit.
Clearing my throat, I added, "I'm having female issues."
"Female issues?" he called back, sounding confused.
"I'm on my period."
"For fuck's sake, I really didn’t need to know that, Shan," Joey groaned, and I imagined him shuddering on the other side of the door.
A few moments later, the sound of his bedroom door clicking shut filled my ears.
Releasing a ragged breath, I batted away the hot tears burning my cheeks.
One of these days, I was going to get out of this house.
And when I did, I was never going to come back.
It was with that thought, that tiny slither of hope, and Johnny's mix CD playing in my ears, that I drifted off to a fitful sleep.
53
Sticky gifts
Johnny
From the age of six, I had been focused solely on rugby.
I believed in myself and my abilities.
There was something inside of me that sparked to life, an almost dancing sensation fluttering over my skin, when I had the ball in my hands.
I knew I was going to The Academy, and when I got there I wasn’t one bit surprised.
I was that sure of my future.
I refused to accept any other route in life.
A career in professional rugby was my goal, my purpose, my fucking fate, and I was grabbing it with both hands.
I wasn’t impulsive.
I was steady.
Goal orientated.
Driven.
Determined.
I was probably a lot of other negative traits, too, but I only focused on my strengths.
The only weaknesses I was interested in learning about were those that affected my game.
Once discovered, I worked like a madman to correct myself.
I was a fairly decisive person.
I didn’t fuck about with second guessing my decisions or any of that shite.
I made a decision and I stuck to it.
Like when I was six and decided I would make a career out of my passion.
Sorted.
Or when I decided a degree in Business was the perfect fall back for me.
Simple.
I made a choice and I stuck to it.
I had to be really fucking careful with my choices because once I made a decision, once I set my mind on something, or worse, my heart, it was in my nature to follow it through with an obsessive hunger.
No going back, no second guessing, and no changing my mind.
My personality more than likely had a lot to do with my hesitance.
I didn’t connect with people for the sheer sake of it – and never girls.
I was well aware that I possessed an obsessive personality.