Saving 6: Boys of Tommen

She would never understand how it felt to transition from controlling your life with something you once enjoyed to becoming controlled by the very thing you now despised.

How did you justify addiction to someone who had never lived through it?

How was I supposed to make her understand that, for most of my life, I had been desperate to escape. That the only solace I’d ever been able to find had been in the soothing drag of a joint, or a mind-altering line of coke, in the numbing effect of benzos, or the thrilling buzz of uppers? How could I forget the euphoric fucking feeling of heroin?

Because Molloy didn’t know what it felt like to wake up every morning with a strong inclination to attempt suicide.

She didn’t know how it felt to be a helpless child, half-starved from hunger, and even more starved for a way out of a home she wasn’t wanted in.

She didn’t know what it felt like to be that hopeless kid who finally found something that helped him through the pain and sheer fucking misery that was his life.

And she had no idea how quickly the shift in balance had happened for that kid, how it had snuck up on him so unexpectantly.

She could never understand the excruciating self-loathing that came with the realization that the one vice that had once helped that kid make it through the day had silently morphed into something he couldn’t make it through a day without.

“Yes, really,” I snapped. “I really and truly despise the guy.”

For leaving me on my own in this.

For dropping the burden of responsibility on my shoulders when we should be sharing the load.

For snatching my future away from me when he walked out the door.

Because when I got drunk, I got sloppy, and when I got sloppy, I got high.

“You can’t show weakness,” I explained, tossing her a bar of chocolate from my pocket. “Boys grouped up like that are like a pack of rabid dogs. They can smell fear a mile away, and the minute you bare your neck to them, they’ll go straight for the jugular.”

“Wow,” she mused, unwrapping her bar. “What an interesting parenting concept.”

Don’t do it, my pride warned, don’t be so desperate.

Oh my god, do it! my heart encouraged, you know he still loves us.

Eyes landing on my car keys, I quickly snatched them up and hurried out of my room.

Yay, you’re going to do it, my heart cheered.

You can leave me at the door, my pride declared, checking out on me, this is beyond pathetic.

“You were saying you weren’t trying to put distance between us, and then you legged it away to the bar,” I offered wryly.

But just remember that protectiveness can switch to possessiveness in the blink of an eye. Headstrong can switch to commanding, and, well, recklessness can lead to more than just addiction.”

Tony explained in an amused tone. “There’s something infectious about her personality, you see. It draws people in.” Chuckling to himself, he finished off his pint before adding, “Which puts the fear of god in her poor mother.”

I watched from a distance until I saw Eoin Caddigan wrap a strand of Molloy’s long blonde hair around his finger as he danced up behind her.

“And that’s me off, Tony,” I announced, tossing back the last of my drink. “It’s time to put the fear of god into someone else.”

“Ah, first love.” Laughing, he waved me off. “Keep the head, young fella.”

“Don’t count on it,” I muttered under my breath, as I pushed through the crowds, not stopping until I was on the dancefloor, with my arm wrapped around her waist.

“If by her, you’re referring to my fella’s sister, then I’ll give you a five second head-start to get the fuck out of her face before I cut your ponytail off and strangle you with it.”

“Stay out of this, Aoife,” Hannah tried to interject, glancing around nervously. “This isn’t your fight.”

“If you fight her, you fight me,” I warned, as unaffected by their bullshit as I was unwilling to back down. “So, are we fighting, or are you bitches keeping your hair for another day? I’m down either way.”