My eyes sting.
My mother takes my father’s place, and the smoke assaults me. I cough, and she holds the cigarette behind her back. This close, I can see every crack around her lips. The gouges grow deeper when she smokes. “I’ll mind you since your father doesn’t want us anymore.”
“Jesus, Jane.” My father drags her to her feet and away from me.
“Is there another woman? Who is she?” My mother’s words are barked.
“What about Declan?” I ask, and both my parents stop and stare at me.
My father shakes his head, and I hate the look of defeat I see in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sweet Pea.” He turns and continues to pack his bag. The only person who wanted me doesn’t want me anymore.
“I promise. I’ll be better.” My lip trembles, and I want to grab my dad and stop him, but he continues packing.
He won’t look at me. “It’s not you, kiddo.”
“No. It’s me. It’s always me.” My mother stomps over to her vanity set and puts out a cigarette before picking up a mug.
“What’s in the mug, Jane?” My father’s angry words have my mother putting it back down, and she pushes dry blond hair behind her ear.
“Coffee.” I hear the lie; we all know what’s in the mug.
“Daddy,” I call him again, and he steps away from my mother. “Please. Don’t leave.” I start to beg as he drags the bag over his wide shoulder. A panic to keep him here has me running towards him, and I hug his torso with every ounce of strength I possess.
“Jack O’Reagan said nasty things to me; I need you to tell his dad. I need you to make him apologize.” Tears stream down my face, and I have no idea if it’s because of what just happened with Jack or the fact my dad wants to leave us.
“Jack O’Reagan, the rich kid, who thinks he’s better than everyone else; keep away from them.” My mother’s order dries up my tears, and my father slowly untangles my hands from his waist.
“I have to go.”
“Please don’t leave me.”
“Jesus, Jane, comfort her.” My father’s voice quivers as he launches himself into the hall with his favorite red cap pulled on his head. I know he would never leave that behind. He was actually leaving us. He was really leaving me.
I can’t let him leave.
A scream erupts in the pit of my stomach and races up my throat. When it pours out of my mouth, my father swings around with tears in his eyes. It’s a brief pause before he tugs the red cap further down and disappears out the front door.
“Stop it, Maeve.” The smell of smoke and alcohol envelopes me as my mother drags me into her arms.
“He doesn’t want us.” Her words are the final nail in the coffin.
No one wants me.
Even the woman that holds me will only want me when she needs something.
“I hate you,” I speak to her chest, and she drags me closer.
She cost me my father and my friendship with Dana. Everyone knows she is a drunk. I push her away, and her unbalanced frame lands heavily on the ground. Shock morphs into anger, and I’m running down the hall with her on my heels. She’s not fast on her feet, and I consider knocking Declan’s bike into her path, but I don’t want to hurt her. I dive into my room and lock the door. It rattles, and she screams at me from the other side of the door.
“You’re such a brat. No wonder your father left.”
My hands cover my ears, and her words become muffled as I lower myself to the bare floor beneath me—splatters of paint coat the boards from my attempt at painting my room. Closing my eyes doesn’t cut off the pain. I never knew pain like this.
A part of me died at that very moment, in that room. A part of me that I didn’t believe could ever be revived.
CHAPTER ONE
PRESENT DAY - MAEVE
The keys rattle in the door, and I press my foot to the base of the wood that normally gets jammed. Years of forcing the door open this way have damaged the base further; any day it could cave in. Pushing the door open, I hold my breath. I know the drill by now. Being away in college all week leaves my mother and brother alone, and they can barely keep themselves alive.
“Mom,” I call as I force the door closed behind me. It takes three attempts before the lock slides into place, sealing me into the house. I step around the pile of cardboard that’s being stacked against the skirting board. The yellow floor tiles are neglected and grubby.
The moment I step into the kitchen, I drop my bag on the floor. The table is flooded with plates with food caked onto them - the type that will take an hour of steeping to remove. I lift a pile of unopened mail and drop it back down as I scan all the empty vodka and wine bottles. Walking around the table, I force the window open and let some air filter in to try and get rid of the smell.
“Mom.” I call louder as I open the back door and place a chair behind it to hold it open. My heart leaps as Sandy pounces off the counter and races out the back door. I don’t even look at the counters to see what the cat’s been doing. Takeaway bags and opened food are stacked high. It always looks like this when I get back from college. My weekend will be cleaning, working at the local grocery store, and trying to get some homework done.
