He didn’t laugh.
Instead, he blew out a frustrated breath and said, “I’m not good at this, Molloy.”
“Good at what, Joe?”
“Talking shit through,” he admitted gruffly. “Resolving an argument with words.”
The Pogues’ Fairytale of New York wafted from the speakers above the bar then, as the DJ started his set.
“Remember this time last year?” His lips twitched. “You told me this was our song.”
“Yeah, I remember,” I drawled. “And it certainly fits us better this year.”
“That’s fair.” He let out a sigh. “I still can’t understand how you lasted a whole year without running for the hills.”
“I don’t run, remember?” I shot back, reaching across the table with my palm up. “And neither do you.”
Joey stared at my outstretched hand for a long moment before placing his on top of it and entwining our fingers. “I guess we’re both too stubborn for running, huh, Molloy?”
“Or too in love.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, tone gruff, as he pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. “Or that.”
SNUFFED OUT HOPES AND DREAMS
DECEMBER 23RD 2004
JOEY
I knew I was trip-tumbling down a slippery slope with no sight of stopping, no hope of slamming on the brakes, and still, I was too selfish to do the right thing by my girlfriend.
I had the perfect opportunity to let her go the other night, to free her from my bullshit, and I choked.
I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t pull the trigger.
It was like I’d inhaled her so deeply inside of me that my head and heart refused to function. I couldn’t release the air in my burning lungs without the absolute guarantee that I would get to see her face again.
Whether I deserved to or not.
Sitting across from her at Biddies the other night, it had really hit me just how fucking beautiful she was – and I wasn’t talking about the outside, either.
Aoife Molloy had a heart of gold and was hellbent on handing it over to a piece of shit like me.
She was my momentary escape from all of the fucking dark.
She was the only bit of brightness I had in my life, and it scared me to think of how little else I had going for me.
Without her, I had nothing.
Without her, I was nothing.
Weakened and demoralized with life, I had clung to the lifeline she offered me, because that meant that I got to keep her for just a little bit longer.
I didn’t have a backup plan or a safety net to land on when everything went to hell, and it would go to hell on me.
It always did.
People like me didn’t get second chances.
When she finally came to her senses and left, which I had no doubt she would, I would be completely alone.
Fuck.
My mind kept drifting back to how she looked the other night when she took me home with her.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, hovering in the bathroom doorway, as I stood with my back to her, with a rolled-up tenner pressed to my nose. “Joe?”
Snorting the crushed powder of a D2 up my nose, I clutched the basin and exhaled a heavy breath, preparing for the fight I knew was about to erupt between us.
Wordlessly she walked up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Come to bed.”
Confusion filled me. “But you just saw—"
“I know what I saw,” she whispered, kissing my back again. “Just come to bed.”
Higher than Everest, I lay on her mattress and watched as she climbed on top of me.
Her face was ingrained in my mind. I was high, in pain, and close to breaking point, but her face.
Jesus, her face was all I could see.
Her smell was all around me, her hair cloaking my face as she leaned into my lips, kissing me, doing all the work.
She was shining.
Fucking shining.
The moon was illuminating her.
Powerful.
She was so fucking powerful.
“Are you mad at me?” I slurred, feeling weak and disorientated by her calmness.
“Yes.”
“Then why aren’t you shouting at me?” I shook my head in clouded confusion. “I’ve stopped trying, Molloy. I can’t try anymore. Why aren’t you kicking me out?”
“Because you might not love yourself, but I do. I love you enough for the both of us,” she whispered, fisting my cock in her hand. “And if keeping you here with me means that you’re off the streets and safe, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
And as she lowered herself down on me, the reality of what I'd done to this girl hit me like a fucking wrecking ball.
I was a fucking mess.
Almost as much as the prick who was standing in front of me when I came downstairs on Thursday, freshly showered and ready to meet up with Molloy for my birthday.
Nah, I thought to myself, as I watched him clamp a beefy hand around my mother’s arm and press her against the fridge, I would never be as big of a mess as him.
I could see them arguing from the kitchen doorway, but unlike every other time I saw him manhandle her, I just didn’t seem to have the fight in me to take him on.
Or I just didn’t have the strength, I thought dejectedly, as I forced myself to dig deep, and do my duty. I had to protect the woman who bore me from the man who was responsible for fifty percent of my genetic makeup.
“Back off,” I warned, stepping in between them, and forcing him to release her arm.
Mam had the cop on to bolt to the other side of the kitchen, but even more shockingly, Dad didn’t throw a punch.
“We were only talking,” he said, offering me a rare explanation for his shitty behavior.
He’s wary, I suddenly realized, of me.
“I don’t care.” My tone resembled how I felt, flat and empty, as I forced him to step aside when I yanked the fridge open. “Keep your hands to yourself and we’ll be peachy.”
Reaching inside the fridge, I grabbed a can of coke off the top shelf and quickly snapped it open, feeling dry-mouthed and itchy. “I’m going out tonight,” I added, between gulps. “Don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Suit yourself,” Dad replied with a shrug, as he moved towards the kettle.
So, he’s on the wagon again, I thought to myself, as I watched him make a cup of coffee. I give it a week.
“I plan to,” was my response, as I downed the can, and quickly reached for another, feeling an unquenchable thirst inside of me.
“Who are you going out with?” Mam asked, resuming her usual perch at the table. “Are you going right now? Because your father and I wanted to speak to you about a few things.”
“Friends, and yeah, I’m going now,” I repeated flatly.
“Just sit down and talk to us for a few minutes,” she coaxed, pushing a chair out with her foot. “Please, Joey.”
Stiffening, I relented and walked over to the table. “What?”
“Sit down.”
“Fine. I’m sitting. Now, what?”
She glanced over at my father who walked over and took the seat at the head of the table, opposite her. “Your mother is worried about you.”
I shrugged. “Okay.”
He continued to stir his coffee as he spoke, “Thinks you need counselling, or some nonsense like that.”
Mam sighed heavily. “Teddy.”
“What?” Dad tossed his teaspoon down and took a sip from his cup. “You know how I feel about that kind of thing, Marie. It’s a load of bollox. The young fella is grand. He’s stretching his wings a bit.”
“With heroin!” Mam cried, and then turned to look at me. “I know what you’re doing. I know, and I want you to stop right this instant, do you hear me, Joey? I want you to stop this!”
“Okay.”
She blinked at me. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” My hands were shaking. Everything hurt to the point I could hardly fucking breathe. I needed to get out of this house. I needed an out from the world I'd been cast into. “Whatever you say, Mam.”
She didn’t care.
She didn’t give a damn about me.
All I was good for was holding the fort.
For carrying the burden.
For taking the weight off her shoulders.
She didn’t care, and that concept made me want to peel the skin from my bones.
My own mother didn’t give a fuck about me.
Hell, I didn’t give a fuck about me.
But I cared about those kids that spent most of their lives cowering in their beds.