Saving 6: Boys of Tommen #3

DECEMBER 28TH 2004

JOEY

MY FATHER HAD FALLEN off the wagon before my mother had finished carving the turkey, and I ended up spending the rest of Christmas day breaking up arguments and shielding my siblings from his swinging fists.

It was during one of his whiskey tantrums that I found myself taking stock of my life, and I mean really taking stock of it.

I felt trapped.

I felt overwhelmed by responsibility.

I felt angry.

I felt hard done by.

I felt wronged.

But all of those feelings paled in comparison to the feeling of shame that had come crashing down around me when I found myself wrestling a bottle of whiskey from my father’s hands on Christmas night and saw my future-self staring back at me.

I’d been knocked down many times in my life, but the cold, hard reality of knowing that I was turning into Teddy Lynch made me contemplate staying down.

Like a wounded dog, I wanted to crawl into a hole and lick my wounds.

Because I was wounded.

I was fucking breaking apart piece by piece, fueled further by the knowledge that my mother was right; this was my future.

If I didn’t do something to turn this around, I would become everything I hated.

I would become another version of my father, of Dricko, of Shane Holland, of Danny Fitz, of Philly Heffernan, of their fathers, and every other asshole from our area that had buried his head in Powers, powder, and pussy.

I was a disgrace, and I didn’t want to be this person anymore.

I was disgusted with how far I’d fallen.

Above it all, at the top of my ladder of priorities, was Molloy.

The devastation in her eyes, so similar to the pain my mother bore daily, was imbedded in the forefront of my mind, unwilling to dilute or dissipate, no matter how much time passed.

Her heartbroken expression when I climbed out of her window, the hurt in her voice, the angry words she had thrown in the heat of the moment… I had caused that pain.

I had put that hurt in her eyes, and those words in her mouth.

Me.

Not my father.

Not my mother.

It was all on me.

The road I was traveling down scared the shit out of me, and the prospect of a future that resembled my parents was the wakeup call that I needed.

It was a wakeup call that had led me to spending an innate amount of time since that night with my head in the toilet.

The horrible familiar sickly cold bead of sweat trickled down the back of my neck, dampening my brow, my lip, and every other inch of my skin, as I fought against the insurmountable demon inside of my head that demanded I stop fighting and just feed it.

Trembling violently, I kept my limbs locked tight, my muscles rigid, as I fought what felt like a hopeless battle.

One more hour, I mentally challenged myself. Give it all you’ve got for one more hour, and if it still hurts as bad, you can call him.

Coaxing myself like this was how I had made it through the last seventy-two hours.

The thought of having to feel this way forever was too huge a concept and too fucking demoralizing, so I concentrated on a period of time that I could tolerate.

One hour at a time.

I could do that.

“Are you still sick?” Tadhg asked, dragging me from my thoughts, as he stood in the bathroom doorway, and watched me hug the toilet. “Jesus, lad, you’ve been puking since Christmas.”

“He’s still sick?” Shannon appeared in the doorway her eyes laced with concern. “Oh my god, Joe, should I call the doctor?”

“No, no, no.” Cradling the bowl, I continued to wretch and tremble. “I’m…” Teeth chattering, I forced myself to swallow down a wave of nausea, before finishing, “I’ll be grand.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Tadhg demanded sounding anxiously frustrated. “Is it a bug?” He eyed me warily. “Can we catch it?”

“No, it’s not contagious.“ Pausing, I heaved and wretched as another flood of clear liquid ejected itself from my body. “Will one of you do me a favor?”

“Yeah, of course,” they both chimed.

Reaching into the pocket of my sweatpants, I retrieved my phone and held it out for them. “Hide it.”

“Huh?”

“You want us to hide your phone?” Tadhg asked, tone incredulous. “Why?”

“Please just take it,” I bit out through clenched teeth as a wave of nausea washed over me. “Hide it somewhere, fucking break it if you have to, just… just don’t give it back to me.”

“What if you get mad at us?” Shannon asked uncertainly.

“I won’t.”

“But what if you do?” Tadhg piped up.

“I won’t,” I snapped. “Fuck!”

“You’re getting mad now,” he reminded me.

“Please,” I whisper-hissed. “Please just do this for me. I never ask any of you for anything.”

“Can I keep it?”

Shannon sighed heavily. “No, Tadhg, you can’t keep his phone.”

“But he said that we could break it. Surely that means he doesn’t want—’

“He wants his phone,” Shannon countered.

“But he just—’

“He just doesn’t want it right now,” she added. “He’ll have it back when the time is right.”

“Then why don’t you take it?”

“Because I’m weak and I’ll give it back to him the minute he asks for it.”

“So?”

“So, that’s not what he needs us to do for him.”

“Okay, none of this makes any sense to me.“

“Tadhg!” I snapped. “Fuck!”

“Alright, alright.” Sauntering into the bathroom, my little brother snatched up my phone and quickly pocketed it. “Consider it gone. But don’t come bitching to me when you’re out of credit and can’t call your girlfriend. I plan on taking full advantage of this baby. How do you block your number when you’re making a prank phone call? It’s #31# right?”

“Tadhg!”

“Fine, Jesus, I won’t prank anyone in your phonebook,” he grumbled, stalking out of the bathroom. “Enjoy romancing the toilet, Joe.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call a doctor?” Shannon asked when Tadhg had skulked off with my phone. “What about Aoife?” she offered. “I could call her for you.“

“No, don’t call Aoife,” I warned with a shake of my head. “Don’t call anyone.”

I hadn’t told Shannon that I’d broken up with Molloy.

I hadn’t told a soul.

Terrorizing my baby sister with my issues, when she was already laden down with anxiety, was something that I had no intention of doing. She didn’t need to be exposed to what I hadn’t been able to protect my own girlfriend from witnessing.

Disgust filled me at a rapid pace, and I heaved noisily, expelling another rush of bile.

Besides, I was too ashamed of myself, and too fucking raw, to form the words that were required to explain the latest level of fucking up I had reached.

I might have been the one doing the breaking up, but I wasn’t ready to admit it out loud, much less talk about it.

I’d given a year of my life to the girl, and there was a small part of me, a tiny spark of hope still flickering around in my chest. One that allowed me to believe that if I could get a handle on my shit, if I could just overcome this horrible fucking habit I’d fallen into, then maybe, in time, I could win her back.

Maybe, I could become someone deserving of being with her, because the current version of me sure as hell wasn’t.

And if I couldn’t beat this thing that had crept up on me and sunk it’s claws in me, then at least I wasn’t going to drag her down with me.

Because I loved Aoife Molloy enough to force her hand with a get-out-of-jail card, even if it almost killed me to do it.

I would not turn her into another Sam.

Or worse, my mam.

I would rather cut my bollocks off and join the priesthood before I let that happen.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call Aoife for you?” Gingerly padding into the bathroom, my sister lowered herself onto the bathroom floor, opposite me, and rested her back against the bath. Her blue eyes were laced with worry when she said, “If I had a boyfriend, I would want to know if he was sick.” Shrugging helplessly, she added, “I would want to help him.”

“She can’t help me,” I bit out, slowly leaning back to rest against the wall. “No one can.”

Sadness enveloped her features. “Joe.”

I knew that Shannon knew what was really happening here, and Shannon knew that I knew she knew.

Still, neither one of us spoke a word about the elephant in the room, and I was grateful for her in this moment.

She wasn’t lecturing me.

She wasn’t calling me names and reminding me of what a terrible person I had become.

She was just here.

“It’s okay.” Breathing labored, I forced myself to look her in the eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”

She blew out a shaky breath. “You promise?”

“Yeah.” I nodded stiffly. “I promise.”