Redeeming 6: Boys of Tommen #4

AOIFE

WITH MY SCHOOL shirt hanging open, and only my bra and knickers covering my dignity, I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom on Wednesday morning, and studied every inch of my skin, paying extra close attention to the parts of my body where there were obvious changes.

My breasts were enormous, and that was saying something because I had never been lacking in that department.

Seriously, they were so full and heavy, that it felt like I was carrying around bowling balls in my bra.

My nipples had decided to turn about ten shades darker in color, and I had very noticeable, very blue, veins appearing on both breasts.

Gross.

And that slight swell in my lower abdomen, the one I had managed to play off as bloating up until now, wasn’t so slight anymore. The area of my stomach beneath my belly button had distended into a small but firm pooch.

The sight of it alone caused my pulse to skyrocket.

I called it a pooch because I refused to use the B-word that rhymed with pump.

Yeah, I was nowhere near ready for the B-word.

I wasn’t going to be able to hide my situation for too much longer. The changes to my body had already been drastic, and I predicted that I had another month left tops before the whole world knew.

We were getting our Easter holidays from school on Friday. We would have two weeks off and a huge part of me was worried that I would somehow blow up in that space of time and end up returning to school looking like a beached whale.

It was a terrifying concept.

Turning from side to side, I studied my appearance, gently poking and prodding at the foreign entity that had hitched a ride inside of my womb.

Ugh.

Womb was definitely another word I hated, right along with placenta, milk ducts, labor, membrane sweeps, and, worst of all, crowning.

Struggling with the concept of a baby growing inside of my body, let alone burrowing its big, bald head and Joey-Lynch-sized shoulders out of my vagina, I shuddered violently, doing a little heebie-jeebies dance on the spot, while I battled down a surge of nausea.

Empty your mind.

Deep breaths.

Blank it out.

You’re still beautiful.

Nothing has stretched your vagina.

Your body is still free from stretch marks.

It’s all good.

Wrestling my anxiety into a manageable portion, I set to work on applying a full face of make up and running the curling tongs through my hair, deciding on loose beach-wave curls for school today.

I was rummaging around in my crappy back-up make-up bag, the one that housed all of the reject items from unwanted beauty sets from birthdays and Christmas, looking for a bronzing palette, and mentally cursing myself for not buying two of every product that I used, when a pair of familiar tattooed forearms came around my waist, dragging me back against an even more familiar chest.

“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you with me?”

“Holy shit, Joe,” I choked out, coming close to calling bullshit on the whole not being able to jump out of one’s skin, because I had come pretty damn close. “You couldn’t use the front door?”

“Why break the habit of a lifetime?” His lips brushed against my ear as he spoke, eyes locked on mine in the mirror in front of us. “And I would say nice legs, but that would be doing the rest of you a serious disservice.”

Smooth as sin, he let his hands wander from my waist to my hips, fingers dipping under the lace fabric of my knickers for the briefest of moments before letting the elastic waistband snap back into place, and returning his hands to my hips. “Nice everything, Molloy.”

The move caused every muscle south of my navel to coil tight in lustful anticipation. “Thanks.”

“So? On a scale of one to ten?”

My eyelids fluttered shut of their own accord; an inevitable reaction to this boy’s touch, and I let out a shaky breath. “Eleven.”

“Yeah.” His lips brushed my neck and he inhaled deeply before releasing a heavy sigh. “I figured.”

Like a lamb to the slaughter, I leaned heavily against him, as my body reveled in the feel of his hands on my skin. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m an asshole,” he offered, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “I’m undeserving.” He switched sides and kissed my other cheek. “I’m sorry.” Another kiss to the curve of my jaw. “I love you.”

“You don’t remember any of it, do you?” I asked, turning around just in time to receive the soft kiss he pressed to the corner of my mouth. “What we talked about yesterday?”

“I remember that I fucked up.”

I rolled my eyes. “You always fuck up.”

“Hey.” Taking my face between his hands, he leaned in close, clear green eyes locked on mine. “I mean it.” Nuzzling my nose with his, he pressed a kiss to the tip and sighed. “I’m sorry for yesterday.”

“Which part?”

“The part where your asshole boyfriend made you cry.”

“Yeah?” Hating how much I loved his attention and feeling lightheaded from how desperately my body craved his touch, I leaned into his hands, feeling helplessly hooked. “Well, if you see the prick around, make sure you tell him that I don’t forgive him.”

“You shouldn’t.” He stroked my nose with his again. “I hear he’s a fuck up.”

“Such a fuck up,” I agreed, reciprocating his kiss when his lips lightly brushed against mine. “If it wasn’t for that big damn dick of his, I’d drop his ass.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded. “It’s all about the dick for me.”

“Then it’s lucky for him that he knows how to use his dick, huh?” he teased, lips hovering close to mine, as he dragged my body flush against his. “And his fingers.” My breath hitched when his hand slipped beneath the waistband of my knickers. “And his tongue.”

And just like that, I melted like a goddamn fool against him, lips moving against his in a kiss that sent my already frazzled hormones into overdrive.

Fully aware that he was as dangerous to my mind as the drugs were to his, I broke the kiss before I fell any deeper into my feelings.

Into him.

Pulling back before I lost myself entirely in him, I placed my hands on his chest to steady myself and said, “You’re not getting away with it that easily.”

“Never thought I was.”

“Why are you even here? I thought we were meeting at school, like usual?”

“Because I needed to apologize,” he explained, once again using his thumb to wipe my second-hand lip-gloss from his mouth, before strolling over to my window and climbing back out through it.

A few seconds ticked by before his school bag came flying through my window, followed by his hurley, helmet, and the over-night bag I’d left at his house.

“Did you bring my necklace?” I asked, watching as he deftly climbed back through my window. “I feel like I’ve been walking around naked without it.”

“Got it,” he replied, retrieving the silver chain from his pocket, as he closed the space between us. “Turn around.”

Obliging, I lifted my hair away from my neck, while he fastened the clasp. “Thanks, stud.”

“Anytime, queen.”

“You’re still in trouble.”

“Aren’t I always?” he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of my neck before walking over to my bed and sinking down. “Okay. I’m all ears.”

“Huh?”

“You wanted to talk.” He leaned back on his elbows, looking way too familiar with my bed – and way too fucking sexy. “Let’s talk.”

“True,” I replied, anxiety fluttering to life inside of me, as I quickly closed the buttons of my shirt. “But you were supposed to come over last night to talk.” I paused to frown. “Which is clearly something else you forgot about.”

“Well, I’m here now, so we might as well get it over it.”

“Get it…over with?” I heard myself pant out breathlessly, unable to hide the near-hysteria threatening to overtake me.

“Talk, Molloy,” he said. “Let’s go.”

I wasn’t ready.

Unlike yesterday, when he was out of his mind on God knows what, my boyfriend was sitting on my bed, clear-headed, and looking at me expectantly.

Oh shit.

“It can wait,” I tried to buy myself more time by saying. “Until lunch, or after school, maybe?” I rambled nervously, hands flapping aimlessly. “After work is fine, too. Or Tomorrow. Hell, tomorrow’s good for me, too. It doesn’t have to be right this second.“

“Listen, I already know how this conversation is going to go,” Joey interrupted me by saying. “You’ve got shit to say to me, shit I deserve to hear, so just lay it on me.”

“Lay it on you?” Confusion swept through me. “Joe, I don’t think we’re on the same page here.“

“Yesterday,” he blurted out, expelling a heavy sigh and rubbing his jaw. “The way I was? What you saw? I know that I let you down, okay? I fucked up and I get that, but you don’t need to worry. It’s not like it was before, Molloy. I am not the same person that I was before Christmas, and I have no intention to going back to that place. I’ve got a handle on it this time, okay?”

Drugs.

He was talking about drugs.

And while his behavior yesterday certainly needed to be addressed, it wasn’t on the top of today’s fucked up agenda.

Because, as ridiculous as it sounded, we had an even bigger problem.

“When you say that you’ve got a handle on it,” I said warily. “What you actually mean to say is that you had a momentary slip in sanity for a few weeks, but you’ve come to your senses, and will never do it again, right?”

Say it.

Please just say it.

Tell me that you’re trying again.

All I need you to do is keep trying.

“I’m good, Molloy,” he insisted, tone light. “It’s all good. You don’t have anything to worry about. I’m in control here.”

I’m in control here.

Devastation flooded me.

My heart cracked in my chest. “That’s not what I asked you, Joey.”

“Everything’s fine.”

Pain.

It threatened to swallow me whole.

“Say it,” I demanded hoarsely. “Tell me that you’re trying again.”

He didn’t respond.

“Tell me that you’re stopping, Joe. Better yet; tell me that you’ve already stopped.”

“I just told you that I’m good,” he replied, tone sharp, as he stood up, walked to the other side of my room, and made a half-assed attempt at inspecting one of the doors he’d hung on my wardrobe. “Stop worrying, okay? It’s all good.”

“Good?” I hissed, reaching for my school skirt and pulling it on. “I’ve been here before with you, remember? I’ve walked this path with you a thousand times, and if you’re using again, then you’re not good, and if yesterday’s anything to go by, then you sure as hell aren’t in control.”

“You’re wrong,” he bit out, still inspecting the door. “You’re overreacting here.”

“And you’re delusional,” I hissed, pulling my school jumper over my head. “And a goddamn liar.”

“Molloy.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Don’t Molloy me, asshole. You can’t sweet talk yourself out of this one. I am not okay with this, I have never been okay with this, and I never will be.”

Shrugging, he closed my wardrobe door and turned to face me. “Then I don’t know what to tell you.”

“How about you start by explaining to me what possessed you to go back down this road?” I threw out there, bitterly hurt by his actions. “And don’t even think about blaming it on what your father tried to do to me, because I found your stash the day before that even happened, Joey.”

He tensed. “What are you talking about?”

“I found a bag of prescription tablets in the pocket of your sweatpants.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why were you searching my clothes, Aoife?”

I narrowed mine right back at him. “I wasn’t searching your clothes. I was looking for something to wear. But more importantly, why were they there in the first place, Joseph?”

“Those pills weren’t mine.”

“No? Then why were they in your pocket?”

“I’m telling you, Molloy, I didn’t buy those.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine.” He shook his head and exhaled a frustrated growl. “Believe what you want.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve lied to me.”

“Well, I’m not fucking lying about this,” he spat, and then threw his hands up in frustration. “I messed up, okay? I get it. I fucked up. I thought you were done, and I threw in the towel. I gave the fuck up, because, in case you haven’t noticed, Molloy, aside from you, I don’t have a whole fucking lot else going for me. In my mind, you were done and I couldn’t see a reason to keep this bullshit façade up.”

“What bullshit façade?” I demanded.

“The one where I pretend to be someone I’m not,” he snapped. “Everything I did, all of the changes that I made, I made for you. And then you were gone, so I just…” He threw his hands up in defeat. “Stopped fighting my nature.”

“Your nature?” I gave him a hard look. “That’s not your nature.”

He shrugged, but didn’t respond.

“So, because we’re going through a rough patch, you took it as a green light to throw the last three months away?”

“My father tried to fuck you, Molloy,” he growled, tone hoarse. “And in your eyes, I look just like him, remember? I’d say that’s more than just a rough patch.”

And there it was.

The reasoning behind every bad decision my boyfriend had ever made came back to his father.

“I was hurt.” I tried to reason with the part of him that was hellbent on self-annihilation. “I was afraid. I was in shock. I was fucking reeling, Joey. I didn’t mean a word of what I said to you that night, and you know it, so stop trying to make me feel bad for it.”

He flinched like I had struck him. “If you know me at all, and you’re probably the only one that does, then you’d know that I would never do that to you,” he bit out, looking hurt. “I deserved your pain that night. I fucking deserved everything you said to me and more.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” I sighed, pressing a hand to my brow, as my emotions continued to flatten me. “I know, Joe.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad about anything,” he continued to say. “But you asked me for an explanation and I’m trying to give it to you.”

“Well, I’m clearly not done with you,” I said, urging him to hear me. “Your father did a terrible thing, that’s true, but it isn’t on you. Nothing has changed for us, okay?”

“I didn’t know that.” His words were barely audible as he swallowed deeply. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do,” I urged. “So, you need to knock this on the head again. Do you hear me? I need you to dust yourself off and keep trying.”

“I already told you that I have it under control this time.”

“See, that’s not good enough for me, Joe,” I heard myself reply. “I don’t want your assurances. I want your sobriety.”

“And you’ll have it.”

“I want it right now.”

“I don’t know if I can give you that.”

Panic seared me. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to lie to you,” he bit out. “I promise it won’t be like before.”

“No.” I shook my head, feeling my heart crack. “No, Joe.”

“Molloy.” Shoulders sagging in defeat, Joey released a resigned sigh. “I am what I am.”

There it was again.

That horrible fucking sentence.

I am what I am.

I hated those five words when they came from his mouth.

“Yes, and who you are is a hell a lot better than the person standing in front of me, reeling off excuses for doing something that he knows almost destroyed him before,” I snapped, hands planted on my hips, as I glared up at him. “You are a better man than this, Joey Lynch.”

“Maybe I thought I was.”

“You still are,” I strangled, wrestling with my panic and pain. “You are better than the lifestyle you’re determined to fall back into, and you sure as hell are a better man than Shane Holland, and you know it.”

“This has nothing to do with Holland.”

“This has everything to do with him.”

“It’s not your fucking problem!“ Voice breaking off, I watched as Joey inhaled a deep breath, clearly trying to rein in his temper, and ran his hand through his hair, before trying again, this time in a relatively calmer voice. “Listen, I don’t want to fight with you.” Closing the space between us, Joey placed his hands on my shoulders, and stared down at me. “I don’t want to hurt you, Molloy.”

“Well, you did,” I countered thickly. “You are hurting me, Joe.”

Pain encompassed his features. “I’m sorry.”

“But?” I managed to squeeze out.

“I’m just…” Shaking his head, he rubbed his jaw and blew out a harsh breath. “I’m having a hard fucking time inside my head right now, and I need you to just let me deal with it my own way.”

“By taking drugs?” I deadpanned. “By destroying yourself?”

“No.” He shook his head. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Yes, Joey, it is.” Tears filled my eyes. “And you’re asking me to turn a blind eye to it again.” My voice broke and I dragged in a quivering breath. “I did that before and it almost killed you and broke me. Now, you’re asking me to do that again, and I can’t. I can’t watch you lose yourself again. I can’t lose you again, Joe.”

“No, Molloy, that’s not what I’m saying at all. You’re not losing me, okay? I fucking love you. I’m yours to keep for as long as you’ll have me.” He stroked my shoulders with his thumbs, breaking my heart with the gentleness of his touch, which was a stark contrast to the slicing sting of his words. “I just… I need you to not hate me for getting through my shit in the only way I know how.”

“You know other ways,” I reminded him, tone laced with bitterness. “Better ways.” Ways that don’t risk your life and break my heart.

“Fine.” Joey expelled a pained breath, unwilling to look me in the eyes. “In the only way that works for me.”

“So, you’re not even going to try?” I choked out, feeling shredded by the sudden change in him. In his unwillingness to at least try. “You’re not even going to lie to me and pretend to try?”

“I am trying,” he argued, voice strained. “I will try. I will sort this, okay? I will, Molloy. I just… I need some time.”

“Some time to get high with your druggie buddies first?”

“No.” His tone was hard when he said, “I’m not going back there, I swear.”

“Back there?” Sniffling, I reached up and batted a tear from my cheek. “If you’re using again, then you’re already there, Joe.”

“Molloy.”

“Do you love me?”

“You know I love you.”

“Then stop,” I pleaded, reaching up to cup his neck. “Stop, Joe. Please.”

“I will.”

“No.” I shook my head and stepped away from him. “Don’t say you will. Say you are.”

“Molloy…”

“You’re putting me in an impossible position,” I choked out. “You’re forcing my hand.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do.“

“Well, whether that’s what you’re trying to do or not, that’s what’s happening,” I argued, hating how pitiful I sounded. “Yesterday, you accused me of manipulating you by using your feelings for me against you, and now, you’re doing the exact same thing to me.”

His brows furrowed. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” I strangled out. “Because what am I going to do, Joe? Leave?” I threw my hands up in utter resignation. “I don’t have a bargaining chip here. I’m just the fool who’s supposed to sit back and watch you wreck yourself again, and that’s exactly what’s going to end up happening, because we both know that I love you too fucking much to ever contemplate walking away.”

“I promise, this time it’ll be different,” Joey tried to coax, ignoring every truthful word I had spoken in his bid to convince me of the same lies he had used to wallpaper over his common sense. “I only need a few more weeks. That’s it, Aoif. Just a couple of weeks to get me through, and I’ll be done.”

“Whatever, Joe. I’m done talking about this.” Weary to the bone, I stepped around him and grabbed my school bag off the floor, unable and unwilling to go another round with him, not when my heart had just taken such a beating. “Let’s just go to school.”