My laughter fades out, and I continue puffing my joint, refusing to look at my sister.
“I thought maybe Father Mannion could have a word with Dillon, but?—”
“Jesus, Ma. Get real. You have more chance of Dillon talking to Father Fucking Christmas than Father Mannion.”
“Language, Aisling O’Donoghue.”
Ash rolls her eyes before her gaze latches on to the joint between my fingers, and she frowns. “You seriously need to lay off that shit, Dil. It’s scrambling your brain.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Please tell me what’s wrong.” My sister crawls up onto the bed beside me as I spy Ma creeping out of the room. “I just want to help you the same way you helped me.”
“I don’t need any help.”
She places her head on my shoulder. “I know how you must’ve felt now,” she quietly says. “Please let me in.”
I swing my legs out of the bed and stand, hearing the soft thunk as her head drops onto my vacant pillow. “I just want to be left alone. Why the fuck doesn’t anyone get that?” I roar, grabbing my clothes off the floor where I left them last night and hurriedly getting dressed.
Ash stands in front of me, watching me shove my feet into my boots. “You’re breaking my heart, Dil.”
I grab my keys, wallet, phone, laptop, hoodie, smokes, and a half-empty bottle of JD and stash them in my backpack before zipping it up. Swinging the bag over one shoulder, I jerk my head up and eyeball my sister. “That wasn’t me. That was Cillian.”
She sucks in a shocked gasp, and I feel instant regret when her soft sobs follow me out of the room, but it’s not enough to go back there and apologize. My heart is heavier than usual as I leave the house, slamming the door shut behind me.
I head to the Toxic Gods outbuilding, and the first thing I do is secure the lock I bought yesterday to the door. That’ll keep people out unless I want them here. My sleeping bag and a spare pillow are already strewn across the sofa, and I plan to sleep here the next few nights. At least that way the endless questions and the pointless nagging will stop. Plonking my sorry arse on a chair, I grab my guitar case and prepare to indulge in some musical therapy. I tune up my guitar and play, losing myself in the music in between knocking back swigs of JD. I’m not sure how long I’ve been playing when I’m interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Wanker!” Jamie yells, pounding his fists on the door. “Open the fuck up!”
I set my guitar down, unlock the door, and open it a smidgeon. “You’re not coming in if you’re here to lecture me.”
“What? Fuck no.” He dangles a plastic Centra bag in my face. “I brought rolls and crisps and beer to wash it down.”
My stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday. Opening the door wider, I step back to let him in. He arches a brow as I flip the lock behind him. “Where’d that come from?”
“Woodies.” I snatch the bag from his hand and rummage inside.
Jay doesn’t say anything else about it, and we devour our food in silence.
“By the way, practice is off,” he says around the last mouthful of his roll. “Aaron and Conor have the shits.”
“Nasty.”
Jay nods, swallowing the last of his food.
“Wanna jam for a bit and then get fucked up?” I ask, rolling up the tinfoil and tossing it in the bin.
“Sounds like a plan.” He clamps a hand on my shoulder and moves over to his guitar.
This is the reason Jamie is my best friend. He doesn’t push. He understands what it’s like to have shit to handle. To not want to talk about it. Like I understand if I ever want to speak about it, he will listen. If I’m gonna share what’s happened with anyone, it’d be Jay. But he’s got his own problems. He doesn’t need mine too. And in the same way, I don’t want to burden Ash with it when she’s still healing, and I can’t tell my parents because it would fucking gut them.
I know I’m being a prick, but I’m just trying to protect them.
There’s no point in all of us being mad.
I’ve got enough anger to fill the world’s oceans and then some.
14
