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After the fifth or sixth time, I grew immune to the words. I’d long since grown tired of begging for love from a man who, in his own words, never wanted me.
“Shannon,” she whispered. Her eyelids drooped a little but quickly sprung back open when I nudged her cheeks. “Like the river,” she added with a small sigh. I chuckled at her response. “Well, Shannon like the river,”
“You are so concerned with fighting the bullies at school, Mam,” I sobbed, tears streaming down my cheeks, “when the biggest bully of them all lives under this roof.”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged helplessly. “He took her away from me.” “Who took her?” “Joey the hurler.” “Well, he is her brother, lad,” Gibsie offered. “He was obviously going to come back for her.” “I don’t give a shite,” I snapped, thinking about her bruised face. “I didn’t want her to leave, Gibs, and he just took her away from me. And I let him!”
A good boy? Was I a bleeding dog? And there was nothing good about what I wanted to do to Shannon Lynch.
“Can I get you something?” she quickly asked. “What would you like to eat?” You. I would like to eat you, Shannon.
I think I’m in love with you. I think I’m falling. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t ever hurt me.
“I’ll stay with you,” I whispered, feeling more in this moment than I could handle. “Who’s making you sad?” he asked then, voice slurred and sleepy. “Tell me, baby.”