Usually, when he’d fall asleep, I’d take the cigarette and put it out in the ashtray. I’d wait until I heard him snoring and then sneak out of my room to go get Lottie and me something to eat. There were too many nights we’d go to bed hungry.
I was so mad. I wanted him to burn himself, wanted him to know what it was like to be burnt with one—how he had burnt me. I wanted him to feel the same pain.
So, I left it between his fingers and went back to Lottie with two slices of bread and margarine. It was when I snuck back to my room that the smoke first hit me and then—the hiss and the heat from the flames. I didn’t know what to do. It’s still hazy, my memory, but I know I tried to put it out. It was wild and out of control—it’s how I ended up being burnt.
I ran to my mum’s room, but she wouldn’t wake up. I picked up Lottie and managed to get her out, but my parents never made it. And all because I wanted my father to suffer as I had.
“I never put his cigarette out. They both died because of me, and in the end, I was no better than him. I became the monster I despised.”
My mother is crying, holding my hands in a tight grip. “Oh, Oliver, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your job to take care of your parents. That burden should never have fallen on you in the first place.”
“I disagree. In the end, I was no better than he was, and no matter how much I try to redeem myself, I fear I never will.”
She shifts and pulls me into an embrace. “Olly, you already have, don’t you see? Nobody is all bad or all good. But you’re the best parts of your biological parents. Why do you think I read Frankenstein to you?”
I pull back so I can see her face. “Because I feared I was a monster. Because of all the times I came home from school crying from the name calling?”
“In part, yes, but also because of this quote: ‘Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.’ And you always have defended life, Olly. You are not, and never will be the monster you fear.”
I cry then, for the little boy who blamed himself for the death of his parents. For all the times I was bullied and taunted—too afraid to defend myself.
Chapter Sixty-One
OLLY
I missed the text from Rachel. I had been on the phone for hours, and by the time I saw it, I decided it was too late to text her back. Sleep is the holy grail when you’re a mum, and more so when you are a single parent.
There is so much I want to say, so much I need to tell her. I get a cab to the gym so I can go over the self-defence classes for the upcoming weeks. I might not be able to do anything physical, but I want to make sure everything is ready in preparation.
“Man, what are you doing here?”
I smile when I see Henry. “Just wanted to check the rota.”
He comes over and holds out his fist. “It’s good to see you, but I told you, I got this.” He sits in the chair opposite my desk.
“I know, but I still think it’s too much with your fight coming up.”
He waves his hand. “It’s months away, and it’s not like the days are booked out solid—it’s a couple of classes a week.”
I drop the pen and lean back. “Fair enough. Thanks, man, I appreciate it.”
“So, where’s your girl at?” he asks.
My stomach drops. I need to see her. I can’t go another week with things being like this. “Work, I think.”
He straightens. “What did you do?”
I cross my arms. “Why do you assume I did anything?”
“Because you are a self-saboteur. I’ve known you long enough.”
He’s right, but with Rachel, it’s different. I want to be selfish by being with her. “We had a disagreement when I came out of the hospital, but I intend to make it right.”
It’s a strange sensation—the longing I have for her. It’s so intense, it has manifested into a physical ache.
“And yet you’re here?” I throw my pen at him; he catches it without effort.
“You’re a fine one to talk. What the fuck is going on with you and Meg? I heard about Emilio showing up at the fight and getting in her face?”
