A tear slid down my cheek as his words only enforced what I already knew to be true; that I would never get over this boy. “Then put me first by not doing this, because I don’t want this, Joey. I don’t want your goodbyes.”
“You might not want me to say goodbye, but you need me to.” And then he cut me deeper than a guillotine ever could when he added, “I was always going to fuck this up, Molloy.” With a resigned look, he slowly released me and backed away. “I’m only sorry that I didn’t put you first sooner.”
"Oh my fucking god!" I screamed, throwing my hands up in frustration and panic, as I watched him walk away from me. "You just love ripping the rug out from under my feet, don’t you?" When he didn’t answer, I screamed, "Fine. Walk away!”
With a small shake of his head, he moved for the window.
“Go on.” Desperately trying to save face while my heart shattered to pieces in my chest, I hissed. "Get the fuck out."
My heart hammered as I desperately resisted the urge to stop him from climbing out of my bedroom window.
“Off you go,” I spat instead, bawling like a baby, as I watched him leave. “Turning your back on us at the first sign of trouble.”
"Because I’m not good for you!" Joey roared, climbing back through my window, and stalking back towards where I was standing. “Fuck, Molloy, don’t you get that? I’m not fucking good for you! Last night was just a taster of how it will be, because I can’t change, okay—"
Reckless, I grabbed his neck and pulled his face down to mine, kissing him hard and rough and furiously.
He kissed me back with equal passion and hunger, as he fisted handfuls of my hair and clutched my face between his hands.
“Don’t do this,” I cried against his lips, feeling my tears mix with his. “Please.”
He pressed one final kiss to my brow before stepping away from me. “If I don’t walk away from you now, I never will.”
And then he disappeared out of my bedroom window, dropping onto the roof of the shed below.
“Joey,” I cried, leaning out the window. “Don’t do this.”
With one final glance at me, he pulled his hood up, dropped to the ground, and called out, "I'll be seeing ya, Molloy, " over his shoulder.
And then he was gone.
CUT FROM THE SAME CLOTH
DECEMBER 25TH 2004
JOEY
Shook to my core, I made my way home on autopilot, barely managing to put one foot in front of the other, while an internal war raged on inside of me.
My heart was demanding that I turn my ass around and go back to her and beg her to forgive me for something that my brain knew I would do again.
Because that’s what would happen.
I couldn’t get out of this.
I couldn’t break the fuck free.
And taking her down with me was out of the question.
Feeling worse than I had in a very long time, I ignored multiple groups of children and young families playing out on the streets with their new bikes and scooters, as I crossed through her estate, and headed across the bridge towards mine.
Don’t do this.
Don’t walk away from her.
She’s the only good thing you’ve got going for you.
She’s the only one who gives a shit about you.
With my hood pulled up, I ignored all of my selfish thoughts, urges, and instincts, knowing that I needed to put her first this time.
And putting her first meant that I needed to put space between us.
Do it for her.
Give her a chance at normal.
Don’t drag her down with you.
She’s too good for you.
“Alright, Lynchy?” Jason O’ Driscoll, aka Dricko, one of the lads from my terrace, called out, as I walked past him. I smelled the familiar scent of weed wafting from the rollie he was balancing between his fingers. “Happy Christmas.”
“Alright, Dricko,” I replied, stopping to acknowledge the lad who used to be in my year at BCS until he dropped out after our junior cert in third year. We had hurled together all the way up through underage club level as well, until life caught up with him. “How’s the small fella of yours keeping? Did Santa come?”
“Luke? Ah, he’s grand,” he replied, as he lounged against the side of his baby mama’s dilapidated house, in a pink, frilly dressing gown. “He’s only a year and a half, so he doesn’t have a notion of what’s happening.” Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he held out the rollie, offering me a drag. “Smoke?”
“Nah, I’m good.” I shook my head, and kept my hands firmly clamped in the front pocket of my hoodie. “How’s Sam keeping nowadays?” I offered instead, as my thoughts cast to another one of my former classmates. “Are you living here with her now?” I asked, gesturing to the council house I knew she’d been given not long after she had his baby.
“Am I fuck,” he choked out a laugh. “I’ve my own life to be living. Sam handles the kid.”
I cocked a brow. “Pretty sure she had one of those too, lad, before you saddled her with your son at sixteen.”
“Ah, you know what I mean.” Dricko hurried to add, having the good grace to look sheepish. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s a great mam. Luke’s lucky to have her, because I sure as hell don’t know what to do with him, but the girl thinks she owns me because she had a kid off me.”
Again, I just stared blankly.
“Seriously, it’s a fucking nightmare. I can’t move without her, Joe. She’s constantly breathing down my goddamn neck,” he muttered bitterly, casting a narrowing glance to the front door. “I’m surprised she let me come outside for a smoke without chasing after me.”
I shrugged. “Maybe if you did a little more staying, she wouldn’t have to do so much chasing.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” he shot back with a chuckle. “When you’ve got that little ride from Rosewood Estate to stay put for. You were lucky that she was there the night of your eighteenth to hide you after you went nuclear on that car,” he continued to give me a dose of my own medicine by adding. “The Gards were scouring the terrace for the culprit.”
I didn’t answer him.
I couldn’t.
Because Molloy’s face was instantly at the fore point of my mind, and my guilt was fucking choking me.
“What have I got to stick around for?” he continued to rant. “Shitty nappies, overdue bills, constant nagging, and a screaming baby?” He shook his head. “Nah, lad, step into my shoes for a week, and you wouldn’t be long coming off that high horse.” The front door swung inwards then, and Dricko released a pained growl. “See what I mean?”
“He wants his father,” Sam snapped, red-faced and teary-eyed, as she stood in the doorway, with a small, dark-haired infant balancing on her hip.
“Yeah, well, his father’s busy,” Dricko tossed over his shoulder. “Tell him that his mother will have to do.”
“He’s your son, too, Jason. It’s Christmas morning. You could at least pretend like you’re interested in him for more than thirty seconds,” Sam bit out, before her gaze landed on me. “Oh, hey, Joey.”