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Graphically explicit posters of naked girls adorned the walls, and he had a bunch of instant photos littered on his nightstand. I didn’t bother investigating those because whatever piqued Mark’s interest would be of zero interest to me.
“I’m in charge of where he goes.” Mark’s nostrils flared with temper. “He’s my brother.” “No, you fucking cretin,” I seethed, whacking his hand away when he tried to grab my friend. “He’s my brother. Now get out of our way.”
“I’m going to keep you safe,” I promised, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Always.” “No matter what?” “Yeah, Liz,” I confirmed, not truly comprehending the vow I had taken upon my young shoulders. “No matter what.”
I craved to know how it would feel to sever my carotid artery and watch the blood drain from my body. Would there be enough to drown the monster?
Please don’t let me make it back this time.
“Head’s up, Fatty,” Pierce O’Neill called out about two seconds before the ball went whizzing past all of us and smacked Gibsie directly in his face.
“And if you think you’re in pain now, just wait, asshole, because if you even think about calling him names again”—she paused to jab a thumb in my direction, before continuing—“I’ll do a hell of a lot more than kick you in the balls.” Crouching down so he would hear her, she spat, “I will cut them out of your gooch and feed them to your bitch-ass friend.”
I tried so hard to keep my cool, but when they targeted Gibsie, I lost it. He was so sweet and gentle, and he didn’t deserve to be picked on all because he didn’t want to play their stupid game.
“No day is a good day for you anymore, Dad,” I replied, tone laced with disappointment as I turned to leave. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask for your help again.” Hell will freeze over first.
“I don’t know what to say, Mam,” I replied with a shrug. “Raise a man, expect a man.” A smile ghosted my lips before adding, “But if you need a baby boy, I reckon you have another three years with Gibs before he cops on.”
Every now and then, a single tear would trickle down her cheek. I made it my personal mission to wipe each one.
When I moved to pull back, I felt her tug on my shirt, pulling me closer, bringing me back to her. Calling me home.
“I wouldn’t leave,” I strangled, chest heaving, as I tried to make sense of all I’d learned in such a short space of time. “I won’t leave,” I quickly clarified, heart thundering violently. “I’m not leaving.”
Taking matters into my own hands, I hit the public library after school the following day. Scouring the nonfiction section, I combed through every medical textbook I could get my hands on. Because my membership stated I was under sixteen, I wasn’t permitted to take any of the medical textbooks home. Therefore, I returned to the library after swim practice and rugby training the following weekend, where I photocopied every passage correlating to early-onset bipolar.
Determined to prove to my best friend that I had no intention of disappearing from her life, I got off the school bus at her stop every day to visit with her.
While it was nice that Catherine and Mike were warming up to the idea that Liz could have friends who knew about her illness and didn’t bolt, my visits weren’t for their benefit. I was solely focused on their daughter.
“Well, shit, it is Lizzie Young,” I teased, slipping through the pedestrian gate. Letting my schoolbag fall from my shoulder, I fisted the front of her flannel shirt and pulled her in for a hug. “There’s my girl.” “Yep.” Her arms came around my waist and she pressed her body to mine tightly. “Here I am.” And then she did something so incredibly Lizzie-like that I knew I had my friend back. She sniffed me.
Because if I had a hope of being normal, then I had to fight for it. And I would. For him.
“Hugh Andrew Biggs, climb down off those rocks right this instant!” Sinead screamed, but it was too late for warnings. Especially when her firstborn was in the process of attempting an impressive backwards flip from a terrifying height. “Oh my Jesus, Lizzie, he’s doing it, isn’t he?” “Yep,” I laughed, clapping and cheering from the beach when Hugh executed the most perfectly timed backflip off the cliff’s edge. “He sure is!”
My best friend loved the water more than anyone I’d ever known. Hugh had a lot of hobbies and played a wide range of sports, all of which he excelled at, but I knew his true passions were books and swimming. He was never more alive than when he was in the water,
“I don’t want to ever leave.” “Neither do I.” His voice was gruff and thick, and his breath fanned my face when he spoke. “Liz.” The way he said my name caused a shiver to roll down my spine. Like he knew me. Like I was his. Like I belonged entirely to him.
Hooking an arm around my waist, he pulled me close until our chests were pressed together. With my arms wrapped around his neck, I clasped my hands together tightly in anticipation. Hugh’s movements were slow and purposeful, like he had thought about what this day would look like a thousand times before. So had I, but my imagination had nothing on the real thing. I couldn’t take another second of anticipation and clearly neither could Hugh because he lowered his face to mine at the same time I tilted my chin up.
The moment our lips touched, a crackling surge of electricity ricocheted through every part of me. Instinctively, my eyelids fluttered shut, and I clung to his body, feeling a blast of adrenaline so powerful that no amount of cliff diving could compete with it.
This time when he pressed his lips to mine, he didn’t pull away. Instead, they lingered on mine, and then, achingly slowly, he moved his lips against mine. I wasn’t sure which one of us was shaking more—I could only assume we were on equal measures of nervousness because, when he cupped my face with his hand, deepening our kiss, I felt like I had been electrocuted directly from the power grid.
“I heard he’s some hotshot from Dublin.”
Boys were so strange. When they had an issue with each other, they resolved it by kicking the living daylights out of one another and then went right back to being friends.
I didn’t know about spin the bottle, but I knew with absolute certainty that I was up for ripping her hand off if she kept touching my best friend. Fury rose up inside of me at a rapid rate, and I balled my hands into fists at my sides to stop myself from grabbing her stupid red hair.
A faint smile ghosted his lips, and he blew out a shaky breath before offering me an adorable shrug. Mirroring his smile, I shrugged back and clasped my hands together tightly. I wanted to do that again. Every day. For the rest of forever. And I think he did, too.
I just wanted her to be mine. More than I ever wanted anything in my life. Including my PlayStation. Honestly, if I could put her on my Christmas list this year, I’d retire from asking for gifts for the rest of my life. If I could just have Liz.
Plenty of other lads liked her, too, and it made me feel fucking sick thinking about what would happen if one of them worked up the courage to ask her out before I did. Would she say yes? If she did, how would I handle it? Would I die? I thought I might die. I truly felt like my heart would stop beating if that happened.
But there was a monumental gap between knowing what to expect from your body and understanding that something when it arrived. I couldn’t go to my mother for reassurance about the things happening to my body, and I shouldn’t have had to go to my friends, either. I should have been able to go to my father.
“Worse than bad,” Gibsie confirmed solemnly. “On the night of the full moon, on the sixth day of the sixth month, Grainne took six children from their homes and drowned them in the Ballylaggin river.”
“That is so cool. I’ve always wanted to be a witch.” “Because of Stevie?” Hugh mused, offering me a wolfish smile. “Fleetwood Mac, right?” “Right,” I agreed, still laughing. “I love her witchy vibes.” “‘Silver Springs’?” Grinning, I nodded. “You remembered.” Hugh winked. “I remember everything about you, Liz.”
“Do you think it would be all right”—his voice was low and full of uncertainty—“if I held your hand?” “You always hold my hand, silly.” “Yeah, but do you think it would be okay if I was the only boy who got to hold your hand?”
Shivering violently, I watched him kiss my shame away. Because those scars on my wrists depicted the ugliest parts of my mind. But Hugh kissed each one like they were beautiful. Like I was beautiful. Like I was still me.
“So I was wondering if you might consider loving me like a girlfriend loves her boyfriend?” “I already do,” I strangled out, unable to stop the smile from spreading across my face. “I always have.”
“Ah, lad, look at Lara Croft’s boobs,” Gibsie chuckled around a mouthful of popcorn, as he pointed at the screen of my portable television. “Make her jump again, Claire-Bear.” “Gerard! Don’t say boobs.” “Can you zoom in?” he asked, hooking an arm around her to tap on the controller. “Make it go closer.” “What—hey, no! Stop looking at Lara’s boobs.” “Why?” “Because it’s not nice.” “Hugh looks at her boobs.” “I don’t care what Hugh looks at—”
“Thanks for inviting me to your sleepover.” “You can always sleep with me, Liz,” I replied, feeling flustered. “I mean, you’re always welcome to my sleepovers.”
When Liz finally tore her lips from mine, she left me with a horrendous problem in my jocks and her chewing gum in my mouth.
“They’re at Cap’s house.” “Exactly,” I agreed. “Cap?” Claire narrowed her eyes. “Why do you call him that?” She looked around innocently. “Does he wear a lot of hats or something?” “Yeah, Sis,” I laughed. “That’s why.” “No, he doesn’t wear a lot of caps, Baby Biggs,” Feely explained, clearly taking pity on my baby sister. “We call him cap because he’s our captain.” “Of what? Your imaginary ship?” Lizzie chimed in with a snicker. “I can see it now: Captain Fantastic and his flock of fanboys.” “The rugby team, actually,” Feely shot back. “But good one, viper.”
Back in September, when Johnny Kavanagh sauntered in on the first day of sixth class, he’d taken an immediate shine to Gibsie, and they’d been inseparable at school ever since. None of the lads in our class could understand why someone like Johnny would want to hang out with Gibsie. I could.
Gibsie was the greatest friend a person could have. He was loyal, trustworthy, had the best personality in the whole school, and really fucking cared about the people he loved. Feely and I both knew that friends like Gerard Gibson didn’t come around too often, and I was glad Johnny realized it, too.
“And I will do whatever I can to help you through it.” “Me?” I croaked out, unable to stop myself from leaning my cheek into her touch. “Why?” “Because I love you, sweetheart,” Sinead replied, giving me a warm smile. “As a matter of fact, this entire family adores you, Lizzie Young, and you won’t be alone in this.”
So why now, after half a year of giving Mark the cold shoulder, was Mike standing on his front porch hugging him?
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” he sneered. “You and your sister can’t wait to see the back of me.” “Because we have good judgment,” I shot back dryly. “Unlike others.” “Meaning?” “Do you need me to spell it out for you?” “What the fuck is your problem with me, Biggs?” he demanded then, losing his cool. “I’ve never bothered ya, but you’re hell-bent on making trouble for me every chance you get.” “I don’t like you,” I replied simply. “I can’t stand you, truth be told. The way you look, the way you speak, the way you think, the way you drive, the way you conduct yourself. Everything about
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After a while, I thought Mam looked forward to his visits almost as much as I did. Especially on the days she couldn’t get out of bed. Hugh would coax me into her room, where we would both sit at the end of her bed and fill Mam in on everything going on in our lives. When they discovered Mam had developed diabetes, Hugh was the one who sat with her as the home health nurse showed her how to inject herself with insulin.
“Jesus, don’t remind me.” Feely shuddered. “Your sister ruined that film for me. I couldn’t even enjoy Rose’s tits in peace.” “Lad.” I threw my head back and laughed. “She wasn’t that special.” “You’re mental,” he argued, narrowing his eyes. “That woman was pure perfection in the film. Every part of her. Especially her hair.” I snorted. “Especially her tits, you mean.” Feely grinned. “Those, too.” “You know who has great tits?” I mused. “Sharon Stone.” “True,” he replied in a thoughtful tone, clearly weighing up both options. “But you can’t beat a redhead with a perky rack.”
Claire had all the lads wrapped around her baby finger. Of course, they’d all rather swallow glass than admit it, but they were kittens when it came to my sister.
Gaping in horror at the scene unfolding before my eyes, I watched as Gibs, Claire, and Liz performed that bloody dance routine in perfect sync with each other. Both girls were caked in makeup, sprouting pigtails and wearing matching pink vests. Worse, they had groomed Gibsie to within an inch of his life. His blond curls? Yeah, they were bunched together in two stumpy pigtails on either side of his head, while the pink vest he was sewn into stretched at the seams in protest.
“Hey,” Claire huffed. “Who said you could touch my stereo!” “Yeah,” Gibs chimed in defensively. “Who said you could touch her stereo?” “God told me,” Feely replied drolly. “No, he didn’t.” “And he also told me to remind you that you are too fucking old to be playing dress up with girls!” “No, I’m not.” “Gibs, you’re twelve!”
