“Don’t cry, Molloy.” Nuzzling her neck, I tried to raise my hands to her face to comfort her, but they felt so fucking heavy that I only managed to hook them loosely around her waist. “You know it kills me when you cry.”
“I’m not crying.” Sniffling, she pressed another kiss to my head before cradling my face to her chest. “It’s all good, Joe.”
“Shannon?”
“She’s fine,” Molloy was quick to soothe. “I already told you, remember?”
Nah.
I didn’t remember shit.
“I love you,” I slurred. “That’s all I remember.”
“I love you, too,” she replied, voice thick with emotion. “More than you’ll ever know.”
“Fuck, my eyes,” I groaned, wincing when the brightness around me became too much. “Where’s Seany?”
“He’s at home with Nanny Murphy.” Another kiss. “So are Ollie and Tadhg. They are all fine.”
“Tadhg was, ah…” Shaking my head, I gripped at her waist, needing to hold onto her in this moment because my body felt like it was falling apart. “He had a knife.”
“He’s not hurt, Joe,” she whispered. “Shh, baby. Don’t say anything else, okay? Just wait until you feel better. We’ll talk about it then, okay?”
Nodding weakly, I groaned when the pressure in my head grew to epic proportions. “Am I wearing pants?”
“No, baby, you’re not. You’re wearing your boxers and a hospital gown. They had to take off your clothes for the MRI.”
“Aw fuck.”
“Why?”
“I’ve a nodge of hash in my jeans,” I mumbled drowsily. “I could really use a smoke.”
“Oh, Joe.” A broken laugh escaped her. “Trust you to think about getting high in your condition.”
“Can I come in?” a strange voice asked and suddenly we were bathed in an abnormal amount of light as the sound of a curtain moving filled my ears. “Are you next of kin?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Is his mother or a guardian around?”
“No. It’s just me.”
“I can come back when his mother—”
“He’s over eighteen,” I heard her say. “I’m down on his paperwork as next of kin. He’s my baby’s father. We’re a family.” Cupping my face between her hands, she lifted my face to hers. “Can you see me, Joe?”
Wincing from the pain the bright lights were causing me, I forced myself to focus on the only face I’d been able to see since I was twelve. “Molloy?”
“The doctor’s here, Joe.” She smiled and my vision blurred in and out before settling on her green eyes. “We’re going to talk to the doctor, okay?”
“Okay.” I forced myself to nod and then winced in pain. “Whatever you say, queen.”
“His MRI results show three separate linear fractures to the skull,” the voice was telling her. “He has a nasal fracture, an orbital fracture, and hairline fracture to his left zygomatic bone.”
“Zig-o-what-ic?” I heard Molloy croak out. “In plain English please, doctor.”
“Aside from three hairline fractures on Joseph’s skull, he also has a broken cheekbone, a broken nose, a broken eye socket, and a grade three concussion,” I heard the man say. “His MRI also showed up several old contusions, extensive damage to his humerus not to mention signs of multiple metaphyseal-epiphyseal fractures that seem to have healed remarkably well without causing any major deformation or debilitation to his skeletal frame.”
“I don’t know what any of that means,” I heard my girlfriend strangle out. “What do you mean they’ve healed remarkably well?”
“May I be frank?”
“Yeah, yeah, be frank.”
“Joseph, may I be frank?”
“Be whoever the fuck you want, doc. I’m not your keeper,” I mumbled, enjoying the feel of Molloy’s fingers in my hair so much, I leaned in closer and rested my chin on her shoulder. “You be Frank and I’ll be Joey.”
“No, Joe, he meant… Never mind. Go ahead, doctor.”
“In cases like Joseph’s —”
“Joey,” I grumbled. “It’s Joey, Frank.”
“In cases like Joey’s, when patients present under these kinds of circumstances, there’s generally a long history of domestic violence, and to break it down for you, your partner’s test results reveal a pattern of child abuse that clearly stretches back to infancy.”
A pained sob escaped my girlfriend. “Infancy?”
“No, no, no,” I tried to coax, nuzzling her. “Don’t be crying, Molloy.”
“I’m okay, Joe,” she whispered, stroking me. “How can you tell, doctor?”
“The results of his scans clearly show evidence of malunion fractures that went untreated and healed improperly. There’s very clear evidence of a poorly healed mid-shaft fracture to his right humerus. Unfortunately, this is something commonly scene in infants under the age of eighteen months who have been exposed to physical abuse. In your partner’s case, while his bones may have healed over time, many of the injuries his body sustained left residual shadows. Or blemishes, if you will.”
“You’re saying this has been happening since he was a baby?”
“I’m saying there’s evidence that leads me to believe that your partner has sustained a tremendous level of physical abuse over an extended period of time.”
“That leads back to when he was a baby?”
“It’s possible.”
“Oh my god.” Molloy heaved out a sob and pulled me closer. “Oh my god!”
“Quite frankly, it’s a miracle he’s sitting here.”
FOR BETTER OR WORSE
AOIFE
Twenty-four hours had passed since we had barreled into the A&E with Joey carrying his sister in his arms, while I screamed the place down for help.
To be fair, help had come instantly, but once Shannon was rushed away on a gurney, surrounded by a flurry of nurses and doctors, Joey had unceremoniously collapsed in a heap on the waiting room floor.
Reeling didn’t come close to describing how I felt as I sat at my boyfriend’s bedside, behind a pale blue curtain, in the middle of a jam-packed accident and emergency, as we continued to wait for a bed on a ward to become available. Whatever they had given him for pain relief a few hours ago had knocked him out cold and I was relieved.
The longer he slept, the longer I knew he was safe.
The longer he was protected from the pain that I knew would swallow him up.
Because I knew in my heart once the meds wore off and his poor knocked around brain came back to its full senses that he would be up and out of here. It wouldn’t matter to him that he needed to rest, or that his body had taken an unmerciful battering. Joey would go straight to his sister’s bedside without thought for the consequences – or himself.
And after he visited his sister, I didn’t want to think about what would follow.
Resting my elbows on his bed, I continued to watch him sleep, and I continued to cry.