Saving 6: Boys of Tommen #3

DECEMBER 31ST 2003

JOEY

MY LIFE WAS a sequence of one disaster after the next.

The first of which happened to be the day I was born.

Yeah, that was a fucking mistake in itself.

I didn’t say that because I was suicidal, looking for pity, or depressed. I said it because it was the wholehearted truth. I had been born into a family that never wanted me.

To a weak mother and a wicked bastard of a father.

I was the spare son, the backup, second best to my mother’s favored firstborn, and from day one, it had been a shit show, a train wreck.

More children followed after me, my father’s inability to put a condom on his dick the root cause of our household overpopulation – well, that, along with his inability to hear the word no.

Growing up in a home like ours made it difficult for me to work right. I didn’t mean hold down a job, I’d had one of those since childhood. I meant that I didn’t work right in the head, not like other people my age, at least.

There was a whole host of things wrong with me.

Things I was too scared to invest time in trying to figure out.

Truth be told, my brain was a scary place to be, and I didn’t want to be anywhere near me most of the time.

How fucked up was that?

The current piss-poor state of my life was a direct result of poor choices.

Choices I had made.

Choices that had been made for me by people who were supposed to love me but either didn’t have the capacity to love me or just plain didn’t.

I knew I was far from a saint, and I wasn’t blaming my wrongdoings on anyone other than yours truly. But fuck, things might have been different if I had been given a different start in life – a start like the prick standing in front me had been given, for example.

Yeah, with a stable family, a nice house, and a few quid tucked away in the bank, Paul Rice had been given a good start in life.

A better one than me.

It must be nice to be able to sleep at night without the fear of being dragged out from under the covers and beaten to within an inch of your life.

Must be nice to not be distracted by the screams of your half-starved siblings, or the low wails of your battered and bruised, not to mention brutally raped mother on the daily.

Dick.

“Babe, lay off the vodka tonight, yeah?” he told Molloy, as they wandered into Danielle Long’s jam-packed parent-free kitchen on New Year’s Eve, while her house party was in full swing.

They had spent most of the party in the sitting room. I knew this because I’d legged it out here to get away from them.

I was determined to get off to a good start this year – new year, new me, and all that bullshit – but if I had to watch that prick molest the side of Molloy’s face with his tongue a second longer, I would have lost before I even started.

“…I care. Too much.”

“…See? That’s all I wanted to hear…”

Blinking away the memory before it took hold and depressed me, I concentrated on the prick in front of me as he spoke down to her like she was a small child.

Seriously, I gave more respect to Sean, and I wiped his ass on the daily.

“You know how you get aggressive after drinking,” Ricey continued to put her down by saying. Acting like he owned the air around him, he opened the fridge and retrieved what had to be his seventh can of lager, leaving his girlfriend empty handed. “And I can’t stand it when you get sloppy.”

Leaning against the back door, I watched as Molloy’s cheeks flushed bright pink, but instead of giving him a piece of her mind like she normally would, she just brushed it off.

She just let it go.

She let him speak to her like he was her keeper.

It didn’t settle well with me.

Fuck it, though, I wasn’t getting involved in anymore of her drama. Last time I tried to defend her, I lost the head so badly that I almost killed her brother.

You spoke to her like shit, too, asshole, my mind reminded me, and I flinched at the horrible fucking mess of things I had made with her before Christmas.

My inability to produce a competent fucking sentence to explain to Molloy how very wrong I was for her, had resulted in me spewing poison and making her cry.

Tearing my eyes off her, I took a deep drag from my joint and held it in my lungs for the longest time, reveling in the burn, in the dizziness, in the momentary release it gave me.

It wasn’t enough, though.

It never was.

The little baggie of benzos in the ass pocket of my jeans were proof to that. Mixed in with vodka and vicodin, and I was getting somewhere.

I could forget her voice for a while.

I could forget everything

Staring out the back door into the darkness, I found my mind wandering back to the earlier conversation I had with my mother.

“How could they be so cruel?” Mam demanded, holding her head in her hands, as she stared down at Shannon’s torn, blood-encrusted jumper strewn on top of the kitchen table. “I just don’t understand this, Joey.”

“Neither do I,” I agreed, feeling at a complete fucking loss as to what to do for my sister.

We were on Christmas break from school, and somehow, the bullies from school had managed to follow her home from a walk.

A bloody nose and a torn jumper had been the result.

Since she started second year, the bullying had ramped up to epic proportions. I tried to sort it, I fucking tried to nip it in the bud, but it was like I was fighting against the tide. The more scores I settled; the faster they seemed to keep rising up against me.

It was fucking exhausting, and I was running on empty.

“I thought you said you would look out for her this year,” Mam sobbed then, and I couldn’t miss the accusation in her tone. “She looks up to you so much, Joey.”

“No, no, no, don’t even think about putting this on me,” I warned, holding up a hand. “I didn’t do this to her. And I looked after her last year, too, Mam. I did everything I could for the girl.”

“I know you did,” Mam strangled out. “But couldn’t you have done something to stop it today?”

“Like what?” I demanded, throwing my hands up. “I can’t watch her twenty-four-seven, Mam. I have class, and training, and work and—“

“Something,” Mam cried. “Anything.”

“What do you want me to do, Mam? Go around beating the shit out of her bullies? Because I can’t, Mam. They’re girls. I’m out of my fucking depth with this as much as she is.” Running a hand through my hair, I expelled a harsh breath. “I can’t keep fighting all of Shannon’s battles for her, and I can’t keep fighting all of yours, either.”

“Steal any more cars lately?” Molloy’s familiar voice infiltrated my thoughts, dragging me back to the present, and fuck if my heart didn’t take a U-turn in my chest when she sidled up beside me and nudged my arm with her shoulder. “Nice hoodie.”

“Nah, just the one,” I shot back, returning her nudge. “And nice legs.”

“I’m wearing jeans tonight.”

“Not in my head.”

“Funny.” She grinned up at me and I couldn’t stop myself from mirroring her actions. ““So, what are we smoking tonight?”

Her disapproval was blatant. “How’s your halo, Molloy?”

“In better shape than yours by the smell of it.” Standing in the doorway beside me, I watched as she leaned in close and took a whiff of my smoke. “Mm-mm-mm,” she said in a tone laced with sarcasm. “Smells like debauchery.”

I arched a brow. “You’re killing my buzz, Molloy.”

“Am I?” She beamed up at me. “That’s the best news I’ve had this whole entire shit-fest of a night.”

“Not in the festive spirit?”

“I would prefer to be anywhere than here tonight, Joe, and that’s not an exaggeration,” she told me with a sigh. “Including that freezer that you guys call a garage. Even with my father’s hairy ass crack staring me in the face.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I mean, he owns like ten belts. You’d think he’d wear one.”

A reluctant smile spread across my face. “Maybe you should have a drink; being as it’s New Year’s Eve and all.” Reaching for the bottle of vodka I’d hidden behind the microwave; I waved it in front of her. “Besides, I’ve heard it’s good for the nerves.”

“I’ve already had three beers,” she replied, by way of explanation, as she batted the bottle.

“And?”

“And Paul always gets shitty with me if I have too much to drink?”

“And?”

“And…” She cast a glance to the kitchen door behind her and then shook her head. “And fuck him.”

That’s my girl. “That’s the spirit.”

Turning to grin at me, she asked, “You got any coke to go with that?”

I cocked a brow.

Her eyes widened. “I meant the drink, asshole.”

I winked back at her. “Grab a glass.”

“No, no, no,” Molloy laughed a couple of hours later, as she sloshed her drink around in her hand, and staggered towards me. “There’s no way you can keep this going.”

“I can go all night, Molloy,” I shot back, feeling a lot more relaxed now that I had half a bottle of vodka in my system.

We were outside the back of Danielle’s house, had been for over an hour, playing this fucked game that Molloy referred to as the one-word game.

What had started with us joking around, taking turns to add one word to make a sentence, had turned into a fucked-up story.

I’d never played before, but as the vodka kept coming, the story kept getting more inventive.

Knotting her fingers in the front of my hoodie, she pulled me close and grinned up at my face. “Gimme that bottle.”

“I don’t know, Molloy,” I taunted, unscrewing the cap, and drinking straight from the bottle. “Any more debauchery and your wings won’t take you up to heaven.”

“Then I’ll just have to stay in hell with you, won’t I?” she teased back, swiping the bottle out of my hand and taking a huge gulp.

She wasn’t an aggressive drunk.

She was a fucking hilarious one.

Obviously, the girl wasn’t keeping the right company on night’s out.

“You’re my best friend,” she blurted out of left field. “But don’t tell Casey, because she’ll claw your eyes out for that title.”

“I’m honored.”

“You should be.”

“Well, you’re mine, too,” I agreed with a chuckle. “But don’t tell Podge because…yeah, he won’t give a shit.”

“So, we’re besties?” she asked, holding her pinkie finger up.

“Fuck it.” I shrugged and hooked mine around hers. “Why not?”

“Yay. Okay, okay,” she laughed, sinking down on the edge of the trampoline, bottle in hand. “Where were we?”

“He was reaching between her legs,” I reminded her, sinking down beside her.

“Oh yes,” she squealed with delight and flopped on to her back, causing the trampoline to sway beneath us.

“And don’t be fucking around with it this time,” I warned, swiping the bottle out of her hands to take a swig. “When it gets to the good bit, don’t choke.”

“I didn’t choke,” she snickered, pulling herself up on her elbows. “Okay, so he was reaching between her legs…” Frowning, she thought hard for a moment, before adding, “when.”

I rolled my eyes. “All.”

“Of.”

“A.”

Her eyes widened. “Sudden.”

“He.”

“Stopped.”

She smirked. “To.”

I arched a brow. “Slide.”

“Her.”

“Thong.”

“Down.”

“Her.”

“Legs.”

“Full stop,” she cackled. “Then.”

“His.”

Her cheeks flushed bright pink when she added, “Mouth.”

“Was.”

“There.”

“There?” I arched a brow. “The fuck, Molloy? Where’s there?”

“Okay, okay,” she conceded, giggle. “His mouth was on.”

“Her.” Grinning, I gestured to her to go right ahead and take her turn.

“No, I can’t, I can’t,” she choked out through fits of laughter, as she flopped back on the trampoline. “Stop trying to make me.”

“Yes, you can,” I laughed. “Say it.”

“I can’t.”

“Say it!”

“Pussy!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “His mouth was on her pussy! There I said it.” Choking out another fit of laugher, she strangled out, “I’m going to wet myself.”

“Jump the fuck off if you are,” I laughed, twisting sideways to watch her roll around on the mat, clutching her side. “If you piss on this trampoline with me on it, I’m going to have to revoke your friendship status, Molloy, and find somebody else to play the one-word game with.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Twisting onto her hands and knees, she crawled back to me and sighed in contentment. “I’m irreplaceable.”

That she was.

“Joey?” A familiar voice called out from the back door. “Are you coming inside?” Danielle asked, as she hovered in the doorway. “I was hoping we could have a dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Oh. I was really hoping we could.”

“Like I said, I don’t dance.”

“Well, come inside soon, yeah? I want to ring in the new year with you.”

“Yeah, grand, Dan, I’ll be inside in a bit.”

Snickering when the door closed behind Danielle, Molloy ribbed me with her elbow. “Sounds like she wants to do more than just ring in the new year with you.”

Grinning, I shook my head and looked at her. “Is that right?”

“Yep.” Bursting out in another fit of giggles, she added, “Sounds like she wants your mouth on her pussy.”

My brows shot up. “Bold words coming from the girl who was too shy to say the word pussy two minutes ago?”

“Pussy, pussy, meow-meow,” she countered with a fake purr. “How’s that for too shy?”

“I take it back,” I replied dryly. “You’re a wild one.”

“And you’re the opposite of pussy,” she offered with a supportive smile.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, you’re welcome.” Smiling, she reached up to pat my cheek. “Take it down,” she instructed then, pulling down my hood. “I wanna see your pretty face.”

“Pretty,” I snorted. “Jesus, keep those compliments coming, Molloy. You’ll do wonders for my ego.”

“You are, though,” she sighed, hand moving from my cheek to cup the back of my neck. “If I had a packet of Rolos right now, I’d give you my last one.”

“Yeah?” I smiled, indulging her. “Well, if I had a packet of Rolos right now, Molloy, I’d give them all to you.”

“You would?” Her eyes widened like saucers, as she looked up at me like I’d just offered her the moon on a string. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me.”

I shook my head and laughed. “You’re such a lightweight.”

She grinned. “Okay, okay, how’s this for the next word in the story.” Pressing her fingers to her temples, she hummed before blurting out, “She.”

“Spread.”

“Her.”

“Legs.”

“Wider.”

“For.”

“Him.”

“To.”

“Taste.”

“Her.”

“Throbbing.”

“Clit.”

She blew out a shaky breath and leaned in closer. “She.”

“Used.”

“Her.”

I felt her shift closer. “Hands.”

“To.”

“Push”

“His.”

“Boxers.”

She exhaled a ragged breath and whispered, “Down.”

“And.”

“Then.”

“He.”

Her hand tightened around the back of my neck. “Buried.”

“His.”

“Hard.”

Her breath hitched when I whispered, “Cock.”

She gripped my neck so tight, her nails dug into my skin. “Deep.”

My heart was gunning in my chest, so loud and violently, that I was surprised to still be breathing. I resisted the urge to rest my forehead against hers.

Instead, I held my ground, and watched her watch me.

It was too much – her, the moment, my feelings, the way my heart beat – it was all too fucking much.

And still, I remained completely motionless, watching her watch me. “Inside.”

I felt her lips sway dangerously close to mine. “Of.”

“His girlfriend,” Paul said coldly, startling us. “What’s going on out here?”

“Hey Paul, we’re in the middle of the one-word game,” Molloy chirped, oblivious to the look of murder etched on her boyfriend’s face. “Wanna join us?”

“No,” he said flatly. “I want to spend time alone with my girlfriend, but I haven’t been able to find her for the last hour and a half.”

“That’s because she was out here playing with Joe, silly,” she reeled off happily.

“Well, would you mind coming inside and ringing in the new year with me?” he argued. “If it isn’t too much of a bother for you to peel yourself away from Lynchy, that is.”

“Sure, Paul.” Smiling up at me, she tapped my nose with her finger. “And I’ll see you… later.”

“I’ll be seeing ya, Molloy,” I replied, watching her peachy ass as she shimmied into the house.

“You won’t,” Paul said, when Molloy had gone back inside. “You won’t be seeing her, playing games with her, or having anything to fucking do with her.”

I laughed. “You’ve got some serious issues with control, lad.”

“I mean it, Lynchy,” he warned. “Stay away from her.”

“She’s the one who keeps coming back to me, lad,” I drawled, draining the last remnants of vodka from the bottle. “What does that tell you?”

“It tells me that she’s bored and you’re the perfect charity case to work on.”

“Really?” I shrugged. “That’s funny, because it tells me that you’re too boring for her, and I’m giving her exactly what you can’t.”

“And what’s that?” he sneered. “A tramp stamp on her ass and a rap sheet the length of her arm?”

“Not yet.” I smirked. “But there’s always tomorrow.”

“Listen, prick, I’m only going to say this one more time; leave my girlfriend alone. Stay out of her face and stay out of her life.”

“Whatever you say,” I replied, unwilling to brawl with him tonight. Not when I was in such a good mood now.

“Oh, one thing I will say before I go.” Swinging around to glare at me, he added, “Thanks for getting her drunk for me.”

I narrowed my eyes and his smile darkened. “It’s always easier to get her knickers off when she’s off her face from drink.”

With that, he turned around and disappeared inside the house.

I stood up and moved to go after him, but what could I do?

The fuck could I say to that?

I could hardly stop them.

She chose to be with him.

Repeatedly.

He was her boyfriend.

I was her… nothing.

I was her nothing.

Fuck my life.