Twisting sideways in her seat, she leaned in close and whispered something in his ear.
Whatever they were whispering to each other had Joey giving her a heated look, and Neasa rising from her seat and walking out of class.
Not missing a beat, Joey stood up and followed her out of the room, completely ignoring me when he passed our desk.
My heart sank.
Forget sinking; it shattered in my chest.
It didn’t take a genius to know where they were going, or what they planned to do when they got there.
“Still can’t walk away, Aoif?” Case asked sadly. “Because he doesn’t seem to have the same problem.”
A MINOR DISAGREEMENT
SEPTEMBER 24TH 2001
JOEY
“Whose fist did your face get on the wrong side of?” were the first words Podge Kelly said to me, when I slid into the desk beside his at the back of the classroom for Monday morning tutorial. “You look like you went ten rounds with Tyson.”
Yeah, and I felt it, too.
I could still remember the feel of my father’s steel-capped boot as he drove it into my ribcage on Friday night. I could remember the smell, the sensation, the pain, all of it. It was ingrained in my memory in vivid technicolor.
“That’s right, ya little bastard,” he laughed cruelly. “Hide behind a locked door like your sister! Do I have a son or two daughters in there?”
"Fuck you!" I roared back, as I staggered to my feet, with a lifetime’s worth of beatings urging me on.
“No, Joey, don’t,” Shannon cried, as she tried and failed to pull me to safety. “Don’t go out there.”
Dragging the chest of drawers away from the door, I clumsily unlocked the door and swung it open, knowing that I wasn't quite big enough to get the better of the bastard yet, but not giving two shits either way.
I would rather take another lifetime of beatings than let him think he got the better of me.
Refusing to curl into a ball like a wounded animal would, like my mother would, I had pushed onto my hands and knees, trying and failing to climb back up with every forceful hit of his boot.
With one hand slung across my aching chest, I had taken comfort in the feel of the frantic thump of my heartbeat against my ribcage, while silently counting my teeth with my tongue.
Forcing myself to swallow down the steady trickle of blood that was coming from my lip, I remained perfectly still, as my mind wildly pondered my predicament.
When he had me on the ground, good and beaten, the bastard had spat in my face.
Broken and barely breathing, I’d laid on my bedroom floor like a child, listening as his footsteps slowly retreated from my room.
You can go, a voice deep inside of my mind hissed, you don’t have to put up with his shit a second longer. Pack your bags, do a Darren, and run!
Refuting the notion, I shook my head and released a pained groan, feeling groggy as shit, and about three kicks to the head away from the grave. If you don’t get out of this house, you’re going to die in it…
Yeah, I had a real stellar weekend.
Shrugging, I dropped my bag on the floor beside me, and quickly tugged my hoodie off, knowing if I didn’t, I would be taking the familiar trip to the office. “Got it in a match.”
“We didn’t have a match at the weekend.”
"Training then."
"We didn’t have training either, lad."
"Who are you, my mother?" I snapped, bristling. "Do you want a list of my whereabouts? Fuck off with your questions, ya spanner."
Leaning over, he pulled at the collar of my shirt. “Jesus Christ, Joe, your neck is black and blue.“
“Touch me again and won’t have a hand to wank yourself off with,” I warned him, shoving his hand away before quickly fixing the collar of my grey school shirt.
Frowning, Podge ran a hand through his bright red hair and mumbled, “Relax, lad, I was only asking out of concern,” under his breath, “Sorry for caring.”
“Well don’t.”
"What? Don’t worry about my friend? Don’t ask questions when you come into school looking like you’ve had the living shite beaten out of you?"
"Exactly," I shot back, reaching into my bag for my homework journal. “Don’t ask and don’t care.”
"Fine," he snapped, and for a brief moment I wondered what would happen if I told him the truth, before mentally flinching when Darren’s words of warning reverberated in my mind.
“Go ahead and tell your teacher. See what’ll happen when you do. See what’ll happen to the rest of them. They’ll take us all away; split us up. Maybe your conscience can live with them having their innocence stolen, but mine sure as hell can’t.”
I’m trapped, I thought to myself, feeling my resolve seep back into my veins at a rapid pace, I’m all alone.
I felt snared, fucking cornered.
Surrounded by liars and cheats, I couldn’t turn my back for a goddamn second.
Exhausted from fighting a war I would never win, and cut open from betrayal, I struggled to rein in my tumultuous thoughts.
Nothing made sense anymore.
It felt like everyone was out to get me.
I couldn’t trust a goddamn soul, that was for sure.
Help wasn’t available for people like us, with families like ours.
We were fucked, royally screwed, and I was too broken to keep these kids alive any longer.
Not when I wanted to die.
It was at that exact moment that my phone vibrated, signaling a text message. Sliding it out of my pocket, I quickly glanced at the screen.
Holland: Smoke @ lunch?
Mentally sagging in relief, I quickly tapped out a response and pressed send.
Lynchy: I’ll be there.
Shaking my head, I bounced my knee as I quickly typed out another message.
Lynchy: Got anything else?
Holland: Like?
Lynchy: Something stronger. Something to shut my brain off.
Holland: It’s your lucky day. Got a batch of 512s with your name on them.
Lynchy: 512s? Will that do what I need it to do?
Holland: like you wouldn’t fucking believe, my friend.
Lynchy: Then I’m all in.
Somewhere in my mind, I knew I was behaving in a self-destructing manner, bringing on unnecessary pain, inflicting harm upon my own body and mind, but I couldn’t stop myself – the depression eating me from the inside out forbid me to.
My body was in pilot mode. I was going through the motions, just trying to get from A to B by any means necessary.
A smoke used to do that for me, but not anymore. I could feel my love affair with cannabis beginning to wane, because as the beatings from my father continued to intensify, my control continued to slip, and my desperate need to escape grew to epic proportions.
I needed something stronger.
Something to make it all stop.
Something to help me make it through the days.
"What's the story with the two of you?" Podge asked then, obviously trying to clear the air, as he gestured across the classroom. “And don’t feed me the same line you give everyone else.”
“Who?” I replied flatly, sliding my phone back into my pocket.
“Who?” Podge gave me a ‘don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining’ look. “Aoife, ya bollox. Who else?”
The minute he said her name, I found myself searching the room for her familiar blonde hair, only to discover that she was already staring at me.