* * *
School drop-off is the same as always.Warren chatters the whole walk, telling me about a game he wants to play at break, a friend who has a new football, a story his teacher read yesterday.I listen, nod, ask questions, and let his voice wash over me.
The school's small, but it's safe.The teachers know our situation.Know to call me if anything seems off with Warren.Know not to let Declan near him if he ever shows up.
He won't.He hasn't in three years.But the fear's still there, living under my skin.
At the gate, I crouch down and straighten Warren's jacket."Be good, yeah?"
"I'm always good."
I smile."That's true.Love you."
"Love you too, Mam."
He kisses my cheek then runs off toward his friends, backpack bouncing.I watch until he's safely inside, then turn and head back the way I came.
The walk home feels longer.Lonelier.My mind drifts back to last night, back to Tank, back to the way his hands felt on my skin before everything went to shite.
I hate that I'm thinking about him.I hate that part of me wants to understand.Wants to know who Emma was and why she still has such a hold on him.
But it's not my business.He's not my business.
One night.That's all it was supposed to be.And it didn't even make it through to morning.
I'm better off without him.
Better off alone.
The mantra repeats in my head, but it doesn't feel true.It feels like something I'm trying to convince myself of and failing.
By the time I get back to the flat, I've got two hours before my shift at O’Hara’s.Not enough time to sleep.Too much time to sit with my thoughts.
I clean instead.Dishes, laundry, scrubbing the bathroom until it smells like bleach and my hands are raw.Keep moving.Keep busy.Don't think.
But my mind won't cooperate.
I keep seeing Tank's face.The horror when he realized what he'd said.The shame.
At least he had the decency to be ashamed.
Doesn't make it hurt less.
* * *
O’Hara's is busy when I arrive for my shift, the Friday afternoon crowd already trickling in, construction workers and office types looking to start the weekend early.I tie on my apron, pull my hair back tighter, and slip into work mode.
This I can do.This I'm good at.
Ciara's already behind the bar, pouring a pint for a regular.She looks up when I walk in, raising an eyebrow.
"Rough night?"
"Don't start."
"I'm just saying, you look like?—"
"Ciara."
