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“I can’t figure out if that backbone of yours will be your saving grace or your downfall.”
I couldn’t seem to help it. I had a problem with keeping my shit together. The rage that built up inside of me whenever I was confronted with an altercation, or an asshole determined to argue with me, was uncontrollable.
Hearing Paul Rice tell half of the lads in our P.E. class about how Tony’s daughter was so tight he could barely get a finger inside her had caused me to flip the fuck out on him in the changing rooms. I did it for Tony because he wasn’t there to do it himself. At least, that’s what I continued to tell myself.
“My Joseph. My brave, brave boy. Terrible burdens. A cursed cross to carry. But always rising from the ashes. Always getting back up. Always the…protector.”
“Promise me that you’ll…never…give in to them.”
“The demons your father put in your head.”
“He’s like a bleeding Labrador. Completely harmless, with zero awareness of social cues and etiquette.”
He declared that we could all burn to death for all he cared because he’d found himself a real woman.
