High cheekbones, pink pouty lips, big green eyes, and hair that looked like something out of a magazine, she was, hands down, the best-looking thing my eyes had ever seen. “I can definitely think for myself.”
“You saw me back there,” she stated evenly, green eyes snaring me.
“I did.”
“You kept walking.”
I nodded like a fool. “I did.”
“Don’t do that again.”
Fuck me. “I won’t.”
She looked me over once more before nodding in approval. “You’re beautiful.”
Well shit. “Likewise.”
“Hm.” Her lips tipped up. “So, do you have a name, boy-who-can-think-for-himself?”
“Does it matter?” I countered, needing to regain some ground I had lost to this powerhouse of a girl. “We both know that you’ll be calling me baby by the end of the day.”
She licked her lips to bury her smile. “Is that so?”
I stepped closer. “You tell me, blondie.”
Now, she did, and it was a glorious sight. “Okay, that was seriously smooth.”
I smirked. “Thanks.”
“I’m Aoife,” she laughed, holding her hand out to me.
“Joey,” I replied, accepting her small hand in mine.
“Joey.” Shaking my hand, she tilted her head to one side, and studied me without a hint of shyness. “Your name suits you.”
“I could say the same thing about you,” I replied. “Your name means radiance and beauty, right?”
She grinned. “You know your Irish.”
Yeah, I knew my Irish, but not that well.
There had been a girl in my class at primary school named Aoife, who had constantly droned on about how she had been named after an Irish warrior queen, with a level of beauty that was rumored to rival that of Helen of Troy.
I wasn’t, however, about to tell this particular Aoife that.
Not when I needed every advantage I could get.
“So, what class have you been assigned to?” she asked, retrieving her folded-up timetable from the pocket of her short, pleated skirt. “I’m in First Year 3.”
Fuck if I knew.
I straightened out the crumpled-up ball of paper that was my class timetable for the school year. I was fucking thrilled when I read the words First Year 3 on the page. “Same here.”
She was in my class.
Get in there!
Maybe my luck was changing.
“So, you’re as mediocre a student as I am,” she laughed. “My brother got assigned to First Year 1. That’s the class for the brainiacs.”
“You’re a twin?”
She nodded. “For my sins.”
“So, we’re the third smartest class?”
“Or the third thickest,” she laughed. “Whichever way your glass is filled.”
“Why? How many classes has our year been split into?”
“Four.”
“Jesus,” I laughed. “That doesn’t say much for us, does it?”
“Nope.” She grinned back at me. “Not a whole pile. So, what primary school are you coming from?”
“Sacred Heart,” I replied. “You?”
“St. Bernadette’s,” she said with a grimace. “That’s the—“
“All-girls primary school run by the nuns outside of the town?” I winced in sympathy. “Well, that’s shit luck on you, huh?”
“Yep. Eight years with the nuns. Can’t you see my halo shining?”
“Oh yeah, it’s blinding.”
“According to Sister Alphonsus, I should be continuing my education in an all-girls environment,” she mused with a devilish smile. “Apparently, I have a wild streak in me, with a penchant for the male form that no amount of prayer can eliminate.” She rolled her eyes. “All because I said I thought the guy playing Jesus in a movie they showed us was gorgeous.”
I arched a brow. “Gorgeous?”
“What?” she laughed. “He was.”
“Well, it sounds to me like you need to spend less time on your knees praying and more time —“
“Don’t say it,” she warned reaching up to cover my mouth with her hand.
“With the male form,” I chuckled, peeling her fingers off my lips with my hand.
“So, should I spend more time with the male form in general?” she laughed, and somehow our fingers were entwined now. “Or with you? Because it’s safe to say that I’m impressed with the male form standing in front of me.”
“Is that your way of telling me that you don’t have a boyfriend?”
“No, it’s my way of telling you that I will have a boyfriend once you ask me.”
“Jesus.” My heartrate sped up. “You’re not backwards about anything, are you?”
She winked and slid her school bag off her shoulder. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Thrown off kilter by this girl, I took the bag she held out for me and slung it over my free shoulder.
“There,” she said with an approving nod, admiring her bright pink bag on my shoulder. “That should do it.”
“Should do what?”
“Warn the other girls away.”
“Warn the other girls away?” My brows rose up. “Did you just mark me with your bag?”
“I sure did,” she replied, smiling sweetly up at me before turning on her heels and sauntering off in the direction of the school. “Now, let’s go, baby.”
I laughed, because, in all honesty, what else could I do?
I had a distinct feeling that I would be doing a lot of following after this girl.
Still, my feet moved after her.
FIRST YEAR
THE MONSTERS UNDER MY BED
NOVEMBER 30TH 1999
JOEY
With the sound of my own pulse thundering in my ears, I kept my eyes trained on my bedroom floor, and concentrated on my breathing, on the cracks in the skirting board, on the freshly burrowed hole in my sock, on anything but the asshole pounding and demanding to get in.
"Open this door, boy, and I'll put manners on ya!"
"Useless little cunt, just like your brother."
"Not such a big man now, are you, ya little prick!"
"Get your hole out here, ya little bollox, before I break the fucking door down!"
My heart was racing violently in my chest, every inch of my body was battered and bruised, and while I knew my mam was out there and defenseless, I honest to God didn’t have it in me to go another round with the man she called her husband.
Not when he'd gotten the better of me so easily tonight.
Swallowing the blood that was trickling down the back of my throat, I twisted my head to the side, and considered my options.
Fight.
Die.
Run.
Die.
Tell.
Die.
Hide.
Die.
Die.
Die.
After spending a selfish amount of time contemplating taking a knife to my wrists, I clenched my eyes shut and locked every muscle in my body tight until my entire frame shook from the tension.
Don’t do it, lad.
It's not your turn yet.
Don't give him the satisfaction of checking out.
Think of the others.
Desperate to distract myself from the temptation, I held my breath and concentrated on why I couldn’t leave this house.
On why I had to stay.
Shannon. Tadhg. Ollie…
Shannon. Tadhg. Ollie…
Shannon. Tadhg. Ollie …
Slowly, as my mind resigned to the fact that there was no way I could leave three innocent children with the monsters that created us, I felt my muscles unlock, causing me to sink deeper into depression.
Trapping me…
Resentment bubbled to life inside of me, with my mind honing in on one face.
On one name.
Fuck Darren for leaving me alone in this.
Mam was crying in her room, with her clothes strewn everywhere, and her dignity smeared all over his dick, and I couldn’t do shit for her.
And just like last time, I couldn’t save her.
And just like all the times before that, I couldn’t stop him.
The deep timbre of my father’s voice echoed through my bedroom walls, as the threats he had been doling out to me late into the night slowly morphed into frustrated snarls and then eventually drunken slurs.
“Fucking prick,” was the last thing I heard him call me before his heavy footsteps clumsily retreated from my door.
Minutes later, his voice could be heard again, but at the other end of the landing this time, with my mother, once again, the target of his whiskey tantrum.
Heart hammering violently in my chest, I reached for the alarm clock on my bedside locker and squinted, trying to make out the time with only the dull hue of the street light outside my window to guide me.
02:34
For fuck’s sake.
Setting the clock back down, I released a frustrated breath, drummed my fingers against my chest, and tried to calm the fuck down.
It wasn’t coming easy, though.
Not tonight.