AOIFE
THE FATHER of my unborn child was a heroin addict.
That was a painful admission. It hurt so hard I could hardly breathe.
For years, I had hung on every word that came from his mouth, too in love to see the warning signs and red flags dancing in front of my eyes. Unknowingly wearing my trust around my neck like a noose until it strangled me.
Even now, as I watched him crawl through my bedroom window and stumble towards my bed in the darkness, I couldn’t find it in my heart to send him away.
Because I was in love with him.
The boy he used to be.
The man he had become.
All of his versions.
I loved them all.
The mattress dipped and then he was there, shivering and trembling beside me. “Molloy.”
Clenching my eyes shut, I willed myself to hold on, to remember the boy still inside the ghost in my bed. “Joe.”
“I’m so c-cold.”
“Come here,” I whispered, moving on instinct, as I rolled onto my side to face him and draped an arm over his chest.
“So f-fucking c-cold,” he slurred, teeth chattering violently, as he clutched my forearm with both hands. “So f-fucking s-sorry.”
I knew he was.
He said it daily.
Showed it, too.
Problem was, afterwards he continued to repeat the cycle.
He continued to drown his pain in the worst possible way.
He would always go back to Shane.
“Do you s-still love m-me?” he asked, still trembling violently, and I could tell that he was coming down from an unmerciful high. I could also tell that when he crashed and burned, it would be horrendous. “Because I w-wouldn’t blame you if you d-didn’t.”
“I still love you, Joe,” I assured him, feeling my heart hemorrhage from the pain of it all. “I can’t stop.”
“I can’t sleep,” he confessed, rolling onto his side to face me. “And I’m so f-fucking tired, queen.”
“Why not?”
“Because when I close my eyes, he’s w-waiting for me.”
“Who, Joe?” I squeezed out, reaching up to wipe a tear from his cheek. “Who’s waiting for you?”
“My father.”
“No, baby, he’s not waiting for you,” I whispered, closing the space between us and fusing my lips to his. I couldn’t help it. I had to be close to him. “He can’t hurt you anymore, Joe.”
“He’s coming for me,” he whispered against my lips, and I felt his tears mix with mine. “He’s coming for a-all of us.”
“We’re going to die in that house, Molloy.”
“No, you’re not. Don’t say that, Joe.”
“He won’t let her go. He’ll n-never let her go.”
“Your mam?”
He nodded sadly. “He’ll kill her before he lets her leave h-him.” Sniffing, he added, “I know him, Aoif. I know the b-bastard better than anyone. He’s waiting for his chance.”
“Joe, you’re scaring me,” I admitted, feeling panicked by his words. “Nothing’s going to happen, okay? It’s just the drugs, baby. They’re messing with your mind.”
“It’s true. I can feel it,” he choked out. “But I don’t want to go out that way,” he argued weakly, shifting closer to nuzzle me. “If I’m going to die, I want it to be on my terms, not his.”
“You’re not dying, Joe,” I warned, tightening my hold on him. “Because you promised that you wouldn’t leave me alone in this.”
“No one sees me,” he whispered. “No one hears me. No one listens, but I’m r-right. It’s coming. I can feel it in my b-bones.”
“Joey, please, you’re scaring me!”
“If anything happens to me, I want you to m-move on,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the curve of my neck. “I want you to be s-strong for our s-son.”
“Joe, nothing’s going to happen to you.” I took a breath, hating every second of this morbid conversation. “And we don’t know if we’re having a boy.”
“We are.” He reached a hand between us and cradled the swell of my stomach in his trembling hand. “You’re growing my son.”
“You know, if you’re right about this baby’s gender, then I’m taking you to a circus,” I tried to joke, desperate to lighten the atmosphere, as I pushed him onto his back and straddled his lap. “Because you are freakishly intuitive, and we could make a killing off your predictions.”
“I want the baby, Molloy,” he slurred, hands moving to my hips as he looked up at me through hooded eyes. “I know I’m all fucked up in the head, but I swear it’s true. I want this baby with you.”
And there he was.
My Joey.
He was still in there.
His heart was still beating inside that shell.
“We’re going to make it, Joe,” I whispered, leaning down to press my lips to his. “You’re going to get better and we’re going to have a long and happy life together. I refuse to accept anything less.”
“I hope you’re right,” he replied sadly. “Because I’ve got this awful feeling that it’s too late for me.”
