by Chloe Walsh
"I didn’t want you either," Dad snarled, turning his glare on Joey.
"My heart's bleeding," Joey shot back mockingly.
"Well, we feel the same about you," Tadhg growled, hand shaking on my shoulder as he stared at our father. "None of us want you!"
"Tadhg," Joey said in a low, warning tone, panic lighting his eyes. "Be quiet. I've got this."
"No, I won't be quiet, Joe," Tadhg strangled out, filled with more rage than any eleven-year-old boy should be carrying. "He's the fucking problem in this family and he needs to hear it."
"Get him out of my sight!" Dad roared, turning his attention to Mam, who was hovering slightly apart from both of them. "Now, Marie!" Dad bellowed, pointing a finger at her. "Get him out before I do away with the little bastard."
"I'd like to see you fucking try," Joey taunted, shifting both Ollie and Sean, who were clinging to his sides, behind him.
"No!" Sniffling, Mam moved to stand between our father and Joey. "You need to go."
Dad took a step towards her and Mam automatically cowered away, hands shooting out in front of her face.
It was the epitome of pathetic.
None of us ever had a fighting chance with these people.
How could love and fear coincide in one human heart?
How could she love him when she feared him so much?
"What did you say to me?" he hissed, turning his fury on our mother. "What the fuck did you say to me!"
"Leave," Mam choked out, shaking from head to toe, as she backed up a couple of steps. "It's over, Teddy. I'm done – we're done. I can't…I need you to go away!"
"You're done?" Dad sneered, glaring at her. "You think you're leaving me?" He laughed cruelly. "You're mine, Marie. Do ya hear me? You're fucking mine." He took another step towards my mother. "Think you can throw me out? Walk away from me?"
"Just go," Mam strangled out. "I want you gone, Teddy! Get out of our lives."
"You think you have a life without me? You are nothing without me, bitch!" Dad roared, eyes wild and full of unrestrained madness. "The only way you're leaving me is in a box, girl! I'll kill you before I let you leave me. Do ya hear me? I'll burn this fucking house to the ground with you and your cunts in it before I let you go."
"Stop." A small cry tore from Ollie's throat as he clutched Joey's leg. "Make him stop," he sobbed, clinging to our brother like he held all the answers. "Please."
"Are you a girl now?" Dad demanded, looking disgusted. "Toughen up, Ollie, ya little bollox!"
"That’s enough, Teddy!" Mam screamed, clutching her chest. "Get out!"
"This is my fucking house," Dad roared back. "I'm going nowhere!"
"That's fine," Joey stated in a cool tone before turning to look at our brothers. "Ollie, go outside and take Sean with you." Sliding his hand into his jeans pocket, Joey pulled out his phone and handed it to him. "Here – take this and phone Aoife, okay? Call her up and she'll come get us."
"No, no, no!" Mam began to panic. "Joey, please, don’t take them away from me."
Nodding once, Ollie caught ahold of Sean's hand and hurried from the kitchen, running past the outstretched arms of our mother without hesitation.
At nine and three years old, they didn’t trust her. Because they knew, even at their tender, young ages, whether she meant to or not, their mother would inevitably let them down.
"I told him to go – I told him, Joey. Please, I choose you. Of course, of course, I choose you!" Hurrying towards my brother, Mam fisted Joey's hoodie in her frail hands and looked up at him. "Please don’t do this…please, Joey. Don’t take my children."
"What good are you to them when you can't keep them safe?" Joey demanded, unmoving. His voice was shaking, though, as our mother clung to him, begging him for one more chance to let us down. "You're a fucking ghost in this house," he bit out. "You're wallpaper, Mam. A mouse." He ran a shaky hand through his blond hair and hissed, "You are not good for us!"
"Joey, wait – wait! Please don’t do this." Clutching my brother's hands, she dropped to her knees and began to beg. "Don’t take them from me."
"I can't leave them here," Joey strangled out, chest heaving. "And you've made your choice."
"You don’t understand," she cried, shaking her head. "You don’t see."
"Then get up, Mam," Joey choked out, tone pleading. "Get up off your knees and walk out of this house with me."
"I can't." Shaking her head, Mam exhaled a broken sob. "He'll kill me."
"Then die," was all Joey replied, tone void of all emotion.
"Let him go, Marie," Dad barked, tone laced with malice. "He'll be back with his tail between his legs. Cunt is useless. Won't survive a day on his own –"
"Shut up!" Mam screamed, louder than I had ever heard her. Sniffling, she scrambled to her feet and swung around to glare at Dad. "Just shut up! This is all your fault. You've ruined my life. You've destroyed my children. You're a fucking madman–"
Whack.
Our mother's words morphed into a wailed cry as our father's fist connected full force with her face. She dropped to the floor like a sack of stones.
"Think you can talk to me like that?" Dad snarled, glowering down at Mam. "You're the worst of the lot, you fucking whore!"
It took Joey all of two seconds to backtrack on all he had just said, because his hands shot out as he roughly shoved Dad away from her. "Keep your fucking hands off my mother." He shoved him hard again. "Don't touch her!" Crouching down, Joey attempted to pull Mam to her feet. "Mam, please –" His voice cracked as he knelt on the ground and brushed her hair back off her face. "Just walk away from him." He cupped her face in his bloodied hands. "We'll figure something out, okay? We'll sort this, but we can't stay here. I'll take care of you–"
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Dad roared menacingly, lunging for Joey. "Think you know it all, boy? Think you're better than me?" Clamping his huge hand around the back of Joey's neck, he forced him onto his knees. "Think you can take her away from me? She's going nowhere!" Dad pressed down harder, shoving Joey's forehead to the tiled floor. "I told you I'd put manners on you, ya ungrateful, little bastard." He pressed his knee into Joey's lower back, rendering him helpless. "Think you're a man now, boy? Show your mother what kind of a man you are, crying on your knees like a little bitch."
"Stop it!" Mam screamed and pulled at my father's shoulders. "Get off him, Teddy."
"I'm more of a man than you," Joey hissed, voice muffled from the force it was taking to hold himself up with the weight of our father looming over him.
"Oh, you think so?" Dad grabbed a fistful of Joey's hair, reined back, and then slammed his face into the tiles. "You're a piece of shit, boy."
Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Joey planted his hands on the tiles once more and heaved his body up, desperately trying and failing to break free of our father's hold, as he continued to slam his face against the tiles. The sound of bone crunching filled my ears and my stomach churned, but Joey refused to give in. "That all you got?" He bared his teeth, blood glistening over white, as he snarled and fought wildly against Dad's hold. "You're losing your touch, old man!"
"Get off him!" Mam continued to scream as she pulled at Dad's shoulders. "Teddy, you're going to kill him!"
"Good!" Dad roared, throwing an arm back and knocking Mam away once more. "And you're next, ya turncoat whore!"
Trembling violently, I moved to do something, but I couldn’t.
I couldn’t get my limbs to move.
I didn’t have the strength left inside of me to get back up.
Years of mistreatment, mixed with the beating I had just taken, had driven me to the point where at sixteen years old, I couldn’t stand up on my own two feet.
Pathetic, I remained slumped on the chair Joey had set me in, with blood flowing freely down my face, and my heart slowing in my chest.
I was dying, I realized. That, or my body had gone into shock. Either way, something was very wrong with me, and I couldn’t help the one per
son who had never failed to help me.
With my head spinning wildly, I watched through glazed eyes as Joey managed to twist his body sideways, only for them to both end up wrestling on the floor.
My heart plummeted into the pit of my stomach when Dad came out on top once more. With his hand curled around Joey's throat, he closed his fist and began to hit him repeatedly in the face. Joey bucked wildly beneath him, desperately trying to get out from beneath him, but it was no use. Our father had at least forty pounds on him.
He's going to die, the fire in my heart screamed, save him.
I tried.
Panic ridden, I tried to get to Joey, but I just couldn’t move.
I felt like I had been paralyzed.
"Help her," I could hear Joey strangle out, coughing and spluttering. "Fucking help her!"
Help who?
Help who, Joe?
Every few seconds my vision went blank and I knew that meant I must be drifting in and out of consciousness. I also knew that this was a bad sign, alerting me to the fact that he had hurt me worse than before.
So much worse.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Tadhg move for the cupboard. Yanking open one of the drawers, he withdrew a knife, and without a hint of hesitation, he lunged.
Do it, I sent a silent plea to the heavens above to give my brother the courage to just do it.
"Get off my brother!" Tadhg screamed as he held the tip of the knife to our father's throat, hand steady as a rock, eyes locked on our father.
"Tadhg, put down the knife," Mam cried, moving slowly towards him. "Please, baby."
"Fuck you," Tadhg shot back, never taking his eyes off our father. "Get. Off. My. Brother."
Do it, Tadhg, I silently prayed, make him stop forever.
"Don’t be stupid, boy," Dad laughed, but there was no humor in his voice now – just apprehension.
Good.
Be afraid.
"I'm not stupid," Tadhg replied, voice deathly cold. "And I'm not Joey." He stepped closer, pressing the tip of the knife that bit closer. "I won't stop because Shannon says so."
My heart broke.
He was eleven years old and this was what they had turned him into.
I was praying for him to kill our father, to finish this off.
What the hell did that make me?
A part of me wanted to beg my brother to just stick that knife through me so I could be done with it all.
They were all so strong and I was weak.
I wasn’t tough enough.
I couldn’t bounce back like the rest of them.
I was defected.
"Tadhg," Joey panted from the floor, chest rising and falling quickly as he drew in breath after desperate breath into his lungs, our father's hand still wrapped around his throat, "It's okay." His face was covered in blood, his nose clearly broken again. Both of his hands were wrapped around the one hand Dad had pinning his throat. "Just take it easy –"
"It's not okay, Joe," Tadhg replied, voice void of all emotion. "None of this is okay."
"What are you going to do, boy?" Dad sneered, still straddling Joey, but his bloodshot eyes were full of anxiety and locked on my little brother. "Stab me?"
"Yes."
Calling his bluff, Dad reached a hand up to take the knife, but quickly flinched away as a trickle of blood ran down the side of his neck. "Jesus Christ, Tadhg!" he bellowed, throat bobbing nervously. "You cut me."
"This ends now," Tadhg replied, taking another step forward. "Get off my brother and get out of this house for good, or I'll slit your throat and you can die."
I wasn’t sure if it was immense relief or bitter regret I felt when I watched my father release Joey and climb to his feet.
A mixture of both, I suspected, though it was hard to form coherent thoughts anymore so I couldn’t be sure.
Too tired to hold up my own body weight, I leaned forward and rested my cheek on the table. Taking in quick, short breaths, I tried to hold still, to not move and jostle my bones.
Everything hurt so bad.
The taste of blood in my mouth, trickling down the back of my throat, made me gag.
Shuddering, I whimpered from the reflex and just stopped moving altogether.
I resigned myself to the sensation of it sliding down the back of my throat, to the metallic taste of copper on my tongue.
Feeling woozy and disconnected, I allowed my eyelids to flutter shut, blocking out their voices as they shouted at one another by concentrating on the erratic beat of my heart as it thundered in my ears.
"Fucking help her, will ya!"
Thump, thump, thump.
"I'm going to kill you, Marie."
Th-thump…thump, thump, thump.
"Get the fuck out!"
Thump…. thump…. thu…. thump….
"You're a dead woman walking."
Thump………thump…..thu…thump…
Door slamming.
Thuuuuump…. thu…. thu…thump…
"I love you, Shannon like the river…"
Thump, thump, thump, thump…
Devastation flooded my body, joined by deep regret. Johnny's face a beacon of lost hope behind my closed eyelids, as I accepted the hand I had been dealt.
Hot tears of bitterness and regret dripped from my lashes, splashing onto my cheeks and mixing with the dried blood.
I felt so sad, like I had been robbed.
Maybe in another life things could have been different.
I could have been happy.
"I think I need you for keeps…"
"What's wrong with her?" I heard someone demand then, someone who sounded an awful lot like Joey's girlfriend, Aoife. "Why is she bleeding out of her mouth?"
"Don’t look so scared. I won't hurt you…"
"Shannon! Shannon! Jesus Christ, do something!"
"Tell me who put their hands on you and I'll make it better..."
"Look what you've done!" I heard my mother scream.
"I'll look after you…"
"Call an ambulance."
"You're safe with me…"
"She's dying. He killed my sister. And you're doing nothing!"
"I won't let you fall…it's okay, I've got you…"
"Call a fucking ambulance!"
"Stay with me…"
I could feel the warmth of two hands against my face and reveled in the gentle touch. "Can you hear me?" Joey's voice filled my ears. "I'm going to get you out of here, okay?"
"Just keep kissing me…"
"Shannon, can you hear me?"
"I love you, Shannon like the river…"
"Shan?" I felt something poke at my eyeball then, Joey's fingers, I realized, as he lifted my lids. "Shannon, come on, talk to me."
Eyelids fluttering open, I forced myself to focus on his terrified looking face as he stared right back at me. "I'm going to get you help, okay?" He exhaled a ragged breath. "The ambulance is on the way."
I opened my mouth to respond but nothing came out.
My lips couldn't form the words I needed.
"Shannon, breathe." My mother crouched in front of me then, kneeling beside Joey's feet, touching my face with one hand as she held a bag of frozen peas to my chest with the other. "Breathe, Shannon," she kept repeating. "Breathe, baby."
Was it helping?
Was it making it worse?
I didn’t know.
I only knew that I couldn’t breathe.
The scariest thing was that I didn’t care.
I wasn’t panicking.
I wasn’t scared.
I was just…done.
"Shan," Joey repeated, voice rising as fear enveloped his features. "Shannon, please." Crouching down in front of me, he placed both hands on my shoulders and gently shook me. "Jesus Christ, Shannon, talk to me!"
I tried, but nothing came out.
Coughing, I began to gag against the foreign taste of metallic as it spilled out of my mouth in a thick, oozy gush.
My head lolle
d to one side, brought back to an upright position when Joey held my face in his hands. "Aoife, give me your keys," he strangled out, green eyes glued to mine. Releasing my face, he moved out of sight. "I'll take her myself."
"Joey, don’t move her. She could have internal –"
"Give me the fucking keys, baby!"
Without the strength of his hands holding me up, I automatically slumped forward, only to sag heavily against my mother.
"It's okay," she whispered, wrapping her arms around me, fingers moving through my hair. "Everything's going to be fine."
I wished I could hold my own weight and not lean on my mother. I didn’t want her touch but I had nothing left inside of me.
The last thing I remembered before darkness enveloped me was my brother's touch as he folded me into his arms, followed by the sound of his voice as he whispered the words, "don’t leave me," in my ear.
2
Balls High
Johnny
No rugby for at least six weeks.
Father.
Bed rest for seven to ten days.
Father.
Your feet won't be touching grass until May.
Father.
Torn adductor, adhesions, and Athletic Pubalgia.
Father.
Rehabilitation.
"Fuck!" Fisting the blankets around my body, I threw my head back and stifled a roar, knowing that if I had another outburst, I was going to get bleeding sedated again. I was on thin ice with the nurses stationed down the corridor from my room. Getting out of bed to take a piss and collapsing on the floor beside my bed had rendered me blacklisted. I'd been given a huge bollocking for not asking for help, reminded I had a catheter in place, and then given another shot of whatever the hell it was they kept flushing into my IV. They told me it was for pain, but I was suspicious. I was high as a kite. Nobody needed that volume of drugs in their system. Not even me, the eejit with the self-proclaimed broken dick. "Jesus fucking Christ!"
Blinking away the blurriness, I tried to focus on the wall opposite my bed with the television mounted to it, and Pat Kenny hosting The Late Late Show, but it was no use. I kept zoning out, my thoughts leading me back to that one word that had been haunting me, playing around in my brain like a broken record.
