Putting the scalpel down, I step away from the table. I need a minute.
I can feel my mother’s Sunday dinner making its way backup my throat.
There is not enough Valium in the world to make me ok with what I’ve just seen.
Mouldy smegma,I heave again at the thought of it.
I’m not touching that thing again; that can stay a sad, disfigured banana now.
It’s for Katie. It’s for Katie. It’s for Katie. It’s for Katie. It’s for Katie. It’s for Katie. It’s for Katie. He hurt my bug. He deserves to suffer. Do it for her. It’s for Katie.I repeat the mantra in my head.
“Come on.” I slap myself across the face to snap out of it. Stepping for the table again, fixated on the chunk of cottage cheese hanging from the foreskin, I shudder. “I can’t do it!” Spinning on my heel, I toss my hands in the air.
Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I fixate on a shelf on the opposite side of the room. “Katie. Katie. Katie. Katie. Katie. Katie. Katie—come on, AJ, get your shit together!”
Right. That’s it. He’s getting it!
I turn back to the table Keane’s still sobbing on, grab the scalpel, and get to work.
* * *
There are four and a half hours I’m never getting back. Five and a half if you count the abduction. Keane McCarthy is no more. He hurt my girl, and I took his life. After I carved him up like a Christmas turkey, I took great joy in watching the life drain from his eyes once his cock was cut up into enoughpieces that I could have folded it into a neat origami swan—smegma-free. I really enjoyed the rest of the process. Keane was not a fan of his homemade cheese, but he wasn’t given a choice in the matter. The pieces of his manhood were shoved into his mouth, and I sewed his lips together.
That’s what he gets for assaulting my bug.
The prick.
I barely get out of the car when the front door swings open, and Katie greets me with a relieved smile that quickly turns into a glare.
There is no way she knows what I’ve done. There just isn’t. So why is she so upset?
As I try to figure out why I’m in trouble, I notice her eyes darting into the house, her body language becoming tense.
Someone is in my fucking house.
Looking to the opposite side of the drive, down by the side of the house, I spot Tracy’s Opal Corsa.
Stopping short of the top step, I ask, “When did she get here?”
“A little over an hour ago.” If she could set me on fire with that look, she would.
“Why is she still here?”
“She won’t leave. She wants to see you.” Katie steps aside to let me in, and if it were not for us leaving her car in Laois, I’d say she’d be long gone now. Thank God that I insisted on driving today. “I’ll leave you to it.”
She moves for the stairs, and I grab her back before she can escape. “You’re not going anywhere.” Tucking her against me so she can’t scramble off, I kiss her crown, “You don’t need to hide in our home.”
Her brow furrows, and her head tilts back to look at me. “Ours?”
“You’re mine, Katie.” I nuzzle her silken hair and breathe in her scent. “As long as it stays that way, everything that’s mine is yours.”
She quirks a challenging eyebrow. “Including your bank cards?” She means it as a joke; it’s evident when I pull out my wallet and hand her one of the cards. She immediately tries to shove it back into my hand, but I gently close her fingers around the card and say, “9236, go nuts.”
“AJ? Is that you?” Tracy calls out from down the hall; her head pokes out from the kitchen.
“Tracy.” Keeping Katie fixed to my side, I make my way towards her. Her hair is slicked back in a high ponytail, and her dress—if you can call it that—is all too revealing with its plunging neckline and barely-there fabric. It’s obvious why she’s here. She’ll be sadly disappointed. “What are you doing here?”
“You never told me you have a,” she cuts Katie a glare. Disrespectful, jealous bitch. “Friend.”
