FULL NOVELXO Taming 7: Chapter 3
The erratic heartbeat that accompanied last night’s nightmare had followed me into consciousness this morning, causing the drumming beat of my pulse to keep me company on the walk home.
Duh, duh, duh.
Duh, duh, duh.
Duh, duh, duh, duh … du-duh …
It grew wilder, more frantic, and more deafening with every step I took away from the Biggs’ house. From her.
Go back.
Go back now.
Run.
Don’t …
“Shut the fuck up!” Reaching a hand up, I slammed the palm of my hand against my forehead, needing my stupid brain to just stop. “Calm down,” I continued to coax, using my other hand to rub my chest. “You’re grand. Everything’s grand.”
It was no use.
I had never been able to self-soothe, not with my words or my touch. Not when my brain didn’t like my voice and my body didn’t like my touch.
Refusing to give in to temptation by turning on my heels and bolting back to the girl who had the innate ability to do for me what I could never do for myself, I crossed the road towards my house.
Get a handle on yourself, you big eejit.
The sound of my mother’s voice was the first thing that greeted me when I stepped inside the front door, followed swiftly by the sound of my stepfather’s grating one when he called out, “Gibs, is that you, son?”
I’m not your son, asshole, I mouthed, sticking both fingers up at the kitchen door animatedly before getting a handle on my emotions and composing myself.
“The one and only,” I said, forcing myself to sound carefree, while I purposefully ignored the way they were holding hands at the table.
Holding hands?
At their age.
Puke.
“You’re supposed to be grounded,” my stepfather informed me. “Or have you forgotten about the very expensive landscaping job you cost me last month at Mrs. Kingston’s?”
“Nope.” I grinned at the memory. “I remember.”
“Jesus, Gibs.” Keith narrowed his eyes. “You could at least pretend that you feel bad about it.”
“I could,” I agreed, still grinning. “But I’m no liar.”
“You need to do something with him,” he told my mother, tone laced with disgust. “Mark never gave us this trouble.”
“I have,” Mam urged. “I grounded him. He hasn’t seen his friends in three weeks.”
“Except that he has,” Keith argued. “Considering he’s rambling home at seven o’clock in the morning after spending the night at the neighbors’ like a whoring tomcat.”
“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Keith?” I shot back, unable to stop myself. “Whoring around other people’s houses?”
“Stop it, the pair of you,” Mam snapped, turning her attention to me. “Your father’s right—”
“He’s not my father.”
“This behavior has to stop,” she pressed on. “What you did to Keith’s machinery was completely out of order. You’re supposed to be grounded and you’ve been sneaking out at night.”
“I don’t sneak anywhere,” I countered. “I sleepwalk.”
“And I’ve indulged your late-night walkabouts, because, well, we both understand about the nightmares,” she continued, not missing a beat. “But school is starting back next week. It’s a serious time in your life, sixth year is important, and we both feel that it’s high time you knuckled … ” Her voice trailed off when her eyes trailed over me. “What in the name of Jesus are you wearing, Gerard Gibson?”
Confused, I glanced down at myself and then smirked when I noted the silky pink dressing gown with the pom-pom tassels. “Do you like it?” Grinning, I twirled the tassel around aimlessly. “It’s my new look, Mam.”
“Why, Gerard?”
“Why not?”
“Oh, Jesus, Keith.” Mam dropped her head in her hands and groaned. “Take this one for me, will you?”
“Don’t feed into it,” Keith the killjoy interjected, giving my mother’s hand a squeeze. “He’ll keep it going forever.”
“Oh do, Keith,” I shot back, unable to keep my tone light when I was addressing him. “Feed into it. I beg you.”
Shaking his head, my stepfather stood up and moved for the kettle. “Your mother’s right, Gibs. You need to start taking life more seriously.”
And you need to take a long walk off a short cliff, asshole. “Is that so?”
“And take that jewelry out of your nipples,” Mam wailed. “It’s dangerous to play rugby with body piercings.”
“Then you better not check my cock,” I muttered under my breath, making a beeline for the fridge.
“What was that, bubba?”
“I said I never wear jewelry when I’m on Coach’s clock,” I clarified – and by clarifying I meant I bullshitted my way out of losing my car privileges. “I follow the rules, Mam. No need to worry about me.”
“Have you come off your medication?” Concern filled her eyes. “Because I’ve noticed you’ve been sleepwalking a lot more this summer.”
“Nope,” I replied with a shit-eating grin. “Still taking my pill a day to keep the voices away.”
“Oh, Gerard, you know that’s not what you have to take it for.”
“Which Gerard are you talking to?”
“Stop it!” Keith snapped, looking flustered. “You know that kind of talk worries your mother.”
“My bad,” I replied, and then proceeded to spray the contents of a whipped cream can into my mouth. “I’ll … be … the … good … Gerard.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at the bakery?” Keith pressed. “You work Saturdays, too, don’t you? Or have you decided to add skiving off work to the CV? Because I have to tell you, boy, that makes one hell of a read to potential college admission offices. Unreliable work ethic, unintelligible academic portfolio, not to mention your complete disregard for rules.”
“Jesus, I’m a real catch, aren’t I?” I taunted, tone laced with sarcasm. “They’ll be lining up for me.”
“It’s his day off,” Mam explained for me, which pissed me off on a whole new level because I didn’t need to explain shit to this man. “His grounding is up today, remember?”
“He’s not finished paying off the machinery he damaged.”
“I’ve already paid for that, Keith.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to him being un-grounded, Sadhbh.”
“I don’t remember your name being on my birth certificate.”
“Gerard!”
“Since when does he have Saturdays off?”
“Since it’s my last weekend before school starts back up and I have plans with my friends,” I snapped. Asshole.
“What’s with the tone?”
“There’s no tone.”
“You definitely have a tone.”
“How would you both feel if I booked you a family session with Anne?” Mam interjected before a full-blown argument could ensue. Wise woman. She knew us well.
“I don’t need another session with Anne,” I replied in between mouthfuls of cream. Not with him, or on my own. “I saw her the other week.”
Good old Anne. I’d been seeing her on the third Friday of every month since I was seven years old.
Mam thought she was a miracle worker and the reason I had come out of the other side of my father and sister’s death without having a mental breakdown.
She wasn’t.
I was just that fucking awesome at reinventing myself. Aside from the label of hyperactive dyslexic hanging over my head, I was doing pretty damn well for myself.
Snatching up the bottle of pills on top of the fridge, I unscrewed the cap and popped a Ritalin into my mouth. “Happy now?”
“You just seem so restless lately, pet.”
“Don’t know what to tell you, Mam. I’m always restless.” Shrugging, I added, “I’ll see Anne next month, like arranged, and not a minute before it.”
“We don’t want to see you spiral.”
We.
I rolled my eyes at that. “When have I ever spiraled?”
“You do a lot of things you don’t tell us about.”
Us. “I don’t spiral.”
“Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if you did.”
“Come again?”
“Anger, Gerard,” she pushed. “It’s okay to feel angry, pet.”
“Why would I be angry?”
“Maybe because sixth year’s almost upon you and your father’s not here to see you off.”
Every ounce of joy in my heart evaporated. “Don’t do this.”
“It’s okay to be angry with the world.”
“I’m not angry with the world,” I was quick to shoot down. I’m angry with him.
“Speaking of sixth year. You failed three of your subjects last year, son,” Keith chimed in. Good-for-nothing bastard. “We need to put a plan together for this coming school year if we want you to get in to university.”
Maybe I’ll follow in my good old stepdaddy’s shoes and hook up with a wealthy man’s wife? Because that sure as shit seems to have turned out well for you. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Do you need grinds?” Mam asked. “Because if you do, Keith can phone Mr. Twomey and have that arranged for you. He’s good friends with him—”
“I don’t need Keith to do anything for me,” I bit out, feeling the mask slip as a surge of rage rocketed up my body. “I’ve got it all under control,” I forced myself to add. “I’m grand, Mam.”
“Well, hopefully Mark will be able to make it home from India for Christmas this year,” she hurried to add, causing stepdaddy dearest to puff his chest out with pride. Ah yes, the perfect one. The un-fucked-up son. “I’m sure he could help you with your schoolwork over the Christmas break. We could set up some sort of schedule for him to tutor you … ”
“I said I’m fine!” I snapped, slamming the fridge door closed and stalking for the door. “Everything’s grand. I’m grand. I don’t need any favors from your husband, and I sure as shit don’t need any fucking grinds from his son!”
“Gerard!” Mam gasped. “Excuse me. Don’t just storm off.”
Too late.
I was already bolting for the stairs.
“Come on, son,” Keith called after me. “After all these years, we can have a civil conversation, can’t we?”
“No,” I roared over my shoulder. “And I’m not your son.”
“Gibsie?”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“This house is home to all of us.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Can’t we just try to get along.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“For my sake, bubba, please!”
“I’m done, Mam!” I called over my shoulder, as I narrowly avoided Brian in the landing in my haste to reach my room. “Conversation over.”
Feeling my mood grow darker with every step I took, I blew out a breath and shook my hands.
“Calm the fuck down,” I instructed myself when my heartbeat rocketed to new heights. “Just breathe, asshole.”
Using every ounce of willpower that I had inside of me, I forced myself not to take my bedroom door off its hinges when I reached it.
This house didn’t belong to Keith.
It didn’t even belong to Mam.
Nor did the bakery.
The name Gibson was on the deeds of every financial asset in my mother’s possession, not Allen.
This was my father’s house.
That bed he slept in every night belonged to my father, just like the woman who slept beside him every night for that past ten years.
So much for true love.
Mam and Dad had been together since they were twelve and this was their end result: Mam shagging the prick laying down the new patio in our garden, while Dad worked his bollocks off to pay for said patio, and give her everything else she wanted.
Fucking typical.
Now, I loved my mother with all my heart, I truly did, but the fact that she shacked up with that man in a house my father had paid for made me sick to my goddamn stomach.
Remembering the fact that Dad used to have to pick us up on the weekends and wait for us at the front door that he paid for, while Keith was warming his bed, made the bitterness inside of me fester and stew.
I tolerated their relationship because what other choice had I?
I was polite and civil when I could be, but that’s where I drew the line.
I didn’t want a relationship with the man.
In fact, I wanted as little as humanly possible to do with him and everyone related to him.
The bitter taste in my mouth was only intensified by the fact that she allowed her husband’s son to use my dead sister’s bedroom for his own.
In my eyes, the man who married my mother represented the beginning of the end for my family.
For my father.
For my sister.
For me.
Goddammit, I didn’t like to dwell in the past. It was behind us for a reason. I was okay now. I had a good life, with good friends. Everything was good, dammit, and I refused to think otherwise. I refused to let my mind fuck that up for me.
I could handle Keith and the grief and the anger. I could handle the bad days. Really, I could. But the sleeping – or lack of it – was a real problem for me.
It was hard to function on little to no sleep, and the nightmares. Jesus Christ the nightmares were beyond disturbing. It made me so fucking angry that my subconscious refused to move on from something I’d put to bed years ago. I didn’t need the reminders of all the horrors of my childhood.
Of the image of my sister disappearing beneath the surface, or the feel of my father’s hand, or the look of fear in his eyes, or the feel of his …
“Fuck!” I snapped, springing up from my perch to pace the room. Not cool. Not fucking cool, dick!”
Wisps of echoed voices and memories bombarded my mind, sending me into sensory overload.
On mornings like this one, everything was a trigger, spurring me into an agitated state of needing to move. Unease thrummed inside of my veins like a drum, pushing me to move and laugh and run and do anything I could to get the feeling out of me. To push him away.
Because it was too hard to remember.
I was – as my mother once referred to me – “wearing”. Meaning I was exhausting to handle, and it drove people away.
Not Claire-Bear.
She never left. She always seemed to have a level of energy that balanced mine. Our personalities complemented the other, and when I was little, I used to believe that holy God had put her on earth just for me. Because she was the only person I didn’t seem to scare off. Hell, even Hugh and Feely got tired of me. But never her.
I guess that’s why she had always been so perfect to me. I was boisterous and she was full of beans. We went together like bacon and cabbage. It just worked. She never seemed to grow tired of me, which was something I couldn’t say about everyone else in my life.
Our bedroom windows faced each other’s, and it gave me a strange sort of comfort, knowing that she was close by. After all, she was the best part of a broken childhood, because the pictures hanging on the walls at home sure as shit represented anything but. Those pictures were a cold reminder of a childhood that ended too soon. I couldn’t smile when I looked at any of the family portraits adorning the walls of my house. I couldn’t muster up good memories because since that day, all I had in my head was bad.
My life changed in the blink of an eye, changing me irrevocably, and the only way I could move past it was to forget it.
So, I didn’t remember any of it. I blocked it out. The good, bad, and depressing, I froze it out of my mind, choosing to allow myself to remember only one face in a lifetime of haze. Her. She was the safest memory my mind contained, the only face I could trust not to hurt me.
Beyond flustered, I snatched my phone off my nightstand and scrolled through my contacts, not stopping until I settled on a familiar name.
Pressing call, I held the phone to my ear and paced the room. My body was bristling with energy, and the urge to escape was so intense that I momentarily thought about throwing myself out the window.
The fall wouldn’t kill me. Hell, I wouldn’t even break a bone, but it might distract me from the fucked-up thoughts rushing around in my head.
That ceiling.
Their ghosts.
My memories.
I couldn’t fucking take it.
Relief flooded my body at a rapid rate when his familiar Dublin accent came down the line. “About bleeding time.” For whatever reason, Johnny’s voice was like an immediate shot of relief to my senses. “Ever heard of answering your phone, Gibs? I’ve called you five times already, lad. I thought your ma was unleashing you from the doghouse today? What’s the story? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
For a brief moment, I contemplated spilling my guts out to the lad on the other side of the line. I certainly trusted him enough to tell him.
Johnny tolerated me in a way that most of the lads couldn’t. He seemed to get me, even without telling him one word of my past.
Spending most of the summer without him had been torture and that wasn’t an exaggeration. It fucking sucked balls, because his absence gave me far too much time to think.
I had trouble being alone with myself. It didn’t feel good to be on my own. In company was when I worked best. Being alone fucked with my head worse than anything else. Because being alone meant that I had to think. And I fucking hated thinking. I had a chaotic thought process that had been given a formal diagnosis from doctors but no reprieve.
Aside from Claire, Johnny was my closest friend in the world, and quite possibly the best person I knew. He would know what to do. He was good at fixing things.
Do it.
Tell him.
Let him help you.
Don’t you dare.
Remember what happened the last time you tried to tell.
“Sorry about missing your calls, Kav. I was over in Claire’s place last night – left my phone in my room,” I heard myself explain instead. “And I’m officially un-grounded. I just overslept.”
Johnny didn’t know about the ins and outs of my family drama, and that was exactly how I liked it. He had enough problems of his own to deal with, not to mention two epic parents that provided him with a home that made it hard for him to relate.
Johnny had the kind of structured will about him that appealed to me. He was safe. He was steady and stable and dependable, and I would die on my hill of loyalty to him. Because, aside from Claire, I’d never had a friend I could find peace with like him.
He was the protector. Fuck knows how he came to be what he was, but Mammy K. and John Sr. did a fantastic fucking job. Without realizing it, they had created a personal savior in their son.
We had our own little world and I refused to fuck that up with any bullshit memories. I would rather stew in silence than expose myself to that potential pain.
So, I smacked on a smile whenever Johnny came over, and said all the right things to the man that had broken up my family, all the while silently simmering on the inside.
“Yeah, I heard all about it,” he replied with a weary sigh. “I’ve had Hugh on the phone, ranting and raving about how he was going to borrow a Burdizzo off Feely’s da to castrate you.”
“Nice,” I snickered, reveling in Hugh’s discomfort. “Sorry about missing the gym, lad.”
“Story of your life, Gibs,” he replied, but the humor in his tone assured me that he wasn’t about to hold a grudge over it. “Are we still on for the beach later?”
“We better be,” I shot back. “I booked the day off work for it.”
“And overnight camping? Is that still the plan.”
“Yep. I have my tent ready to go and the boot of the car filled with beer and bog roll.”
“Nice,” he chuckled. “Listen, I might be late. The Academy called. I’ve a meeting with the heads before lunch. They want my da with me, to sign extension contracts, so he’ll drop me off at the beach afterwards.”
“Contracts?” My brows shot up. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“It’s just protocol,” my best friend replied breezily. “Nothing to worry about, Gibs. I’ll be back with you at Tommen next Thursday. No worries.”
I felt my body physically sag in relief. The thought of my best friend being snatched away by the pros was a much bigger fear these days since they were quite literally banging on his back door with contracts and offers galore. Johnny would be leaving Ballylaggin, but we got to keep him for one more school year.
“You promise?”
“Yeah, Gibs, I promise, lad.”
“Good,” I said, momentarily appeased that he wasn’t leaving again. “So, how’s life at the manor?”
“Bleeding manic,” he chuckled, and then he paused before asking, “You okay, Gibs?”
Fucked in the head and getting progressively worse by the day. “You know me, Johnny, lad, I’m always grand,” I replied, leaning against the windowsill as I spoke. “Why’d you ask?”
“Don’t know,” he replied, and I didn’t have to be with him to know that he was scratching his jaw. It was a trait of his that I had grown accustomed to. “Just felt like I should.”
“So, how’s Little Shannon?” Balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder, I rummaged in the top drawer of my nightstand for a packet of chewing gum I knew I put there last week. “Are you feeling suffocated yet?”
“Suffocated?”
“Having so many people in your house.”
“Gibs, I’d let my ma adopt the whole bleeding school if it meant that I got to keep that girl.”
“Little Shannon, huh?” I grinned. “What a number she did on your heart, lad.”
“Tell me about it.”
“She really came into her own this summer.”
“I know, lad,” he agreed, tone far more enthusiastic now that we were talking about his favorite topic of conversation. “You know the way Claire’s been giving her lessons at the public pool all summer? Well, Ma took her and the boys to the pool yesterday.” I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “And she did three full lengths.”
“She did?”
“Without stopping,” he added. “I’m so bleeding proud of her, Gibs.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling equally proud. “According to Claire, she’s a natural.”
“Shan’s a natural at everything.”
“Did she tell you that McGarry was sniffing around the pool during their sessions when you were away on tour?” I asked, delighted when I found the packet of chewing gum. Score. “Circling the girls like a fucking great white.”
“No,” Johnny bit out. “And you didn’t tell me either.”
“Because I didn’t want to be responsible for distracting you and ruining your future prospects.”
“Well, I’m home now and my prospects are bright,” he replied, tone hard. “I’ll deal with him at school next week.”
“No need.” Unwrapping half a dozen sticks of gum, I popped them all into my mouth. “I handled it ages ago.”
“You did? At the pool?” Surprise filled his tone. “You went in the water?”
“Get real, Cap.” I rolled my eyes. “I found him in the changing rooms after one of his stalking sessions.” Grinning, I added, “Suffice to say he hasn’t been doing much swimming with a cast on his arm.”
“Tell me you didn’t break his bleeding arm, Gibs.”
“Give me some credit, will you?” I snorted. “He tripped.”
“Over what?”
“The contents of his shampoo bottle.” I sprayed another dollop of cream into my mouth. “And my foot.”
“Nice,” he replied, sounding distant. There was another long pause before his voice returned on the line, this time all professional. “Listen, Gibs, I have to get ready for that meeting. I’ll see you this afternoon, okay?”
A pang of sadness hit me hard in the chest, making it momentarily hard to breathe, before I quickly got a handle on myself. “Give them hell, Cap.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I forced another smile, even though I was alone in my room. “See you later.”
“Bye, Gibs.”
“Bye, Kav.”
When the line went dead, I stood there for a long time with the receiver in my hand, just staring out my bedroom window.
The sky was blue outside.
The birds were out.
The sun was shining.
It was another blissful morning.
And I wanted to scream.