The decision made, I stumbled to the phone. I’d come too far to let heavy breasts and a warm cunt fuck up my life.
“Yeah?”
“Patrick, it’s yer mum.”
“Mum, why are ye ringin’ me at…” I turned to check the clock on the crate next to my bed. “Seven in de fuckin’ mornin’?”
My breath paused as she remained silent, not even chastising me for my language.
“I think there’s somethin’ wrong with Amy.”
Christ Jesus. In all my recriminations that morning, I’d not once thought about the girl waiting for me in Ballyshannon. This would destroy her. I’d not made any promises, but Christ, I’d implied plenty. It was one more reason on top of an overwhelming list that convinced me I had to forget the night before had ever happened.
Suddenly, the flat felt as if it was closing in around me.
“Exams are over, I’m on me way.”
Chapter 13
Amy
Time was passing at an alarming rate no matter how I tried to slow it, and I was sure that hiding out in my bedroom wasn’t helping. I’d spent more time than usual with Peg, too, but that seemed to make things even harder, so I’d stopped making an effort. She was worried, but she didn’t push me for answers.
I wasn’t ready to talk about it. If I didn’t say it out loud, I could try to pretend it wasn’t happening.
My parents were too busy for their usual social calendar, which meant I was sleeping at home every night. I hated it and loved it at the same time, wishing I was at Peg’s while still clinging to my small bedroom like a piece of driftwood in the ocean. I couldn’t see my way out of the situation, there was no way out, and yet I continued to pray every night for some sort of help.
And then suddenly, help arrived.
I woke up that morning after a restless night of sleep to my bed tilting as someone sat down next to me. This was becoming familiar. The scent of mint, cigarette smoke and something unfamiliar hit my nostrils before I’d even opened my eyes, and I felt a lump grow in my throat. I recognized that smell.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing my hair away from my face. “Time to wake up.”
My breath caught at the tenderness in his voice, and my heart started thumping hard in my chest. Embarrassment that he’d found me unwashed and sleep tousled warred with overwhelming relief that he was finally there. I’d missed him so much.
It was odd, really, how one weekend had completely changed the way I viewed things. I no longer went along with the feeling of apathy I had developed over the past few years. When your life changes so often, it’s easy to stop caring about the new people you meet and the new places you go. If you know that sooner rather than later you’ll have to leave somewhere with no choice as to when or why, you learn to see everything in a fog, easily changeable and forgettable. It’s a defense mechanism—if you don’t fall in love with a place, you’re not sad to leave it.
Patrick had somehow brought everything into vivid detail. When I saw something, I wanted to tell him about it. I wanted to discuss the grocer where Peg worked. I wanted to bitch about the priest at my school who had a perpetual scowl on his face. I wanted to pull him out into the rain and jump in puddles with him just to see him laugh. I wanted to discuss books, and politics, and the way my fingers ached when it was cold outside.
I’d just flat out missed him.
“Hey.” My eyes opened and I cleared my scratchy throat as I took him in. He was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, his hair hidden under a knitted cap that I knew Peg had made him two Christmases ago. He looked like some sort of thug, with the hat pulled down low and his face scruffy… and he’d never been so appealing.
“Ye look like shite.” Okay, maybe not that appealing.
“Thanks, dick.” I closed my eyes and tried in vain to pull the blankets farther up my shoulders. “You can go away now.”
“Ach, don’t be like dat.”
“Well, you look like a criminal,” I grumbled.
Nice comeback, Amy. Fantastic. Really.
He burst out laughing, and I couldn’t help but follow, pushing my face into my pillow. His laugh was deeper than his regular voice, thick and guttural, like it had come from deep in his belly, and the noise was infectious.
“Up and out,” he ordered as his laughter drifted away. “Ye smell, and yer hair is…”
My face burned as his words trailed off. I knew what I looked like. Shit—just like he’d said. But I hadn’t been able to find it in me to care until I woke up with him next to me. Suddenly, my refusal to get out of bed seemed silly and immature.
I didn’t say a word as I pushed the blankets down and climbed out of bed, ignoring his sharp intake of breath. I’d worn very little to bed—just a tank top and some underwear—and even though I was sure I looked and smelled really gross, I was still baring a lot of skin.
My shower took a while. I hadn’t shaved my legs in over a week and… oh, shit, my armpits! I hadn’t raised my arms, had I? Gross. I had a hell of a time getting the knots out of my long hair and I also brushed my teeth. Twice. God knows I needed it. The entire time I wondered what he was doing there, in my house. It had been a little over a week since my birthday, and from his letters I knew he had tests at school that he couldn’t miss. Was he done with them already? My school only had a few months left until graduation, and my stomach cramped at the thought.
What the hell was I going to do?