Page 10

TEN

clodagh

“Clodagh, do you want a ride home?” my best friend Lisa asks as we walk toward the car park where her foster mam is waiting for her.

I shake my head. “No, I’m good, thanks. I’m going to stop by the park for a while. I’ll call you this evening, yeah?”

She grins at me. “It’s Friday,” she says pointedly and I laugh. “Johnny’s having a house party. Let me know if you’re up for it?”

For the past six months, Lisa and I have been going to parties and getting drunk.

It’s our way of letting off steam. It’s hard to be at a school where everyone else’s lives are relatively normal and your life is shattered beyond repair.

Something that Lisa knows all too well. She lost her mam to suicide and her dad chose his affair partner over her.

Lisa’s been through hell and back and she’s still standing, just as I am.

I hesitate for a moment, considering Lisa's invitation. The parties have become a regular thing for us lately—a way to escape, to feel normal for a few hours. Sometimes we go too far. We use alcohol as a crutch to escape the pain we’re feeling inside, the pain we’ve buried so deep it can’t escape.

"I'll think about it," I say finally. "Text me the details later?"

Lisa nods, giving me a quick hug before heading to her foster mam's car. I watch her go, knowing she’s safe with her foster mam. We really lucked out with who our foster parents are.

I turn and start walking toward the park, my thoughts drifting.

It's been three years since that horrible night, since I lost my family and my old life.

Three years of therapy, of nightmares, of slowly learning to trust again.

And Tammy has been there through all of it, patient and kind, never pushing but always supporting.

The park is quiet at this time of day. I make my way to my favorite bench, the one overlooking the duck lake. It's where Tammy and I sat that first day, where I started to believe that maybe life could be okay again.

I hear footsteps crunch against the ground behind me and tense. I hate whenever someone comes close to me.

I turn my head slightly, my heart racing as I recognize the figure approaching. It's Emmanuel, Jacob's son. My blood runs cold at the sight of him.

I know who he is. I did a lot of research into Jacob and his family over the years. I haven’t seen Emmanuel before, and seeing him now has my body breaking out in a sweat. I begin to tremble, and my hands shake.

He looks so much like his father—the same broad shoulders, the same eyes.

He raises his hands as though he’s trying to tell me he’s here in peace. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, his voice nothing like his father’s. It’s not as rough or as deep as the voice that plagues my dreams.

“I’m really sorry for scaring you. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to check up with you.”

I feel my brows knit together. “Why?”

“My dad was an asshole, Clodagh. I should have stopped him long before he hurt you and your family.”

I feel my breath catch in my throat at Emmanuel's words. My mind is reeling, trying to process what he's saying. He knew? He could have stopped it?

"You... you knew?" I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

Emmanuel's face crumples with guilt. "He hurt my ma, and he was a drunken asshole. I kicked him out of the house. I wanted to kill him long before that. I was going to, but it was too late."

I feel anger bubbling up inside me, mixing with the fear. "You could have stopped him?" I ask, my voice shaking. "You could have saved them?"

He nods, looking down at his feet. "I know. I'll regret that for the rest of my life. I’m sorry."

I want to scream at him, to hit him, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain I've endured. But I'm frozen, unable to move or speak.

"I'm not asking for forgiveness," Emmanuel continues. "I don't deserve it. I just... I needed you to know how sorry I am. For everything."

I look at him, really look at him. Despite the resemblance to his father, I can see the differences now. The sadness in his eyes, the slump of his shoulders. He looks broken, haunted.

"Why now?" I ask. "Why come to me after all this time?"

Emmanuel sighs. "I've been racked with guilt for three years, Clodagh. I’m sorry. I was hoping that by seeing you, we could both heal from what happened.”

I laugh bitterly. "You want to heal? You think an apology can heal what your father did?"

"No," he says quickly. "No, I know it can't. Nothing can. But I thought... I hoped... maybe it could be a start for you."

I feel tears stinging my eyes and I blink them back furiously. I won't cry in front of him.

"I don't know what you want from me," I say, my voice hard. "I can't forgive you. I can't forget what happened."

Emmanuel nods. "I understand. I don't expect you to. I just... I needed you to know that I'm sorry. That if I could go back and change things, I would. In a heartbeat."

We stand there in silence for a long moment, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us.

Finally, I take a deep breath. "I can't forgive you," I repeat. "But... I hear you. Your apology. I hear it."

He nods, his jaw set tight as he watches me for a beat. He turns to leave, then pauses. "Clodagh? I know it doesn't change anything, but... I'm glad you survived. I'm glad you're okay."

Once he’s gone out of sight, tears start to fall from my eyes. God, what the hell was that? I was healing. I was slowly but surely healing, and now this? I don’t know what the hell to do now.

One thing’s for sure, that party is exactly where I need to be tonight.

My hands are shaking as I pull out my phone and text Lisa.

Me: I'm in for the party. What time?

Lisa: Yes! Starts at 9. I'll pick you up at 8:30?

I text back a thumbs up emoji then slip my phone back in my pocket. My mind is reeling from the encounter with Emmanuel. His words echo in my head: "I could have stopped him." The guilt, the apology, the revelation that he knew what kind of man his father was—it's all too much.

I start walking home, my feet moving automatically while my thoughts swirl. By the time I reach Tammy's house—our house—I've made up my mind. I need to forget, just for one night. I need to drown out these thoughts, this pain that's threatening to overwhelm me again.

Tammy's in the kitchen when I enter, stirring something on the stove that smells delicious. She turns and smiles at me, but her expression quickly shifts to concern.

"Clodagh? What's wrong, sweetheart?"

I force a smile. "Nothing. Just tired. I'm going out with Lisa tonight, okay?"

Tammy's brow furrows slightly. She knows about the parties, about the drinking. She doesn't approve, but she understands it's my way of coping. Still, she worries.

"Alright," she says slowly. "Just... be careful, okay? And call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

I nod, guilt gnawing at me. Tammy's been nothing but good to me, and here I am, planning to get drunk to forget my problems. But I push the feeling aside. I need this tonight.

"I will," I promise, then I head upstairs to get ready.

* * *

Hours later, I'm at Johnny's house, where the music is pounding so loud I can feel it in my chest. The alcohol burns as it goes down, but I welcome the sensation. With each drink, Emmanuel's face becomes a little blurrier, his words a little more distant.

Lisa's dancing nearby, already tipsy and laughing. She catches my eye and grins, gesturing for me to join her. I down the rest of my drink and move to the makeshift dance floor, letting the music and the alcohol wash over me.

For a while, it works. I lose myself in the rhythm, in the buzz of alcohol, in the press of bodies around me. But as the night wears on, the numbness starts to fade. Emmanuel's words start creeping back in, along with memories I've tried so hard to suppress.

“I need another drink,” I tell Lisa and stumble toward the kitchen.

“Her family was killed,” I hear a girl saying to her friends. “They died because of her, because the man who killed them wanted her. I wonder what she did?”

“She probably slept with him,” one of the friends replies with a smirk.

“Oh, she screams whore. Have you seen the dress she’s wearing?”

I glance down at the black dress I’m wearing. It’s modest compared to what those bitches have on. I grit my teeth as they continue speaking.

“Imagine being a whore and having your entire family dying because you couldn’t keep your legs closed!”

The words hit me like a physical blow, shattering what little composure I had left. Rage and pain surge through me, overwhelming the alcohol-induced haze. Before I can stop myself, I'm storming over to the group of girls.

"What the hell did you just say?" I snarl; my hands balled into fists at my sides.

The girls look startled, then nervous as they realize I've overheard them. The one who called me a whore tries to backpedal.

"We didn't mean?—"

"Shut up!" I scream, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. "You don't know anything about me or what happened to my family. How dare you!"

Tears are streaming down my face now, but I'm too angry to care. "I was eleven years old," I choke out. "Eleven! He kidnapped me, he beat me, and he killed my family. And you think it was my fault?"

The girls are pale now, looking horrified. But I can't stop. Years of pent-up anger and pain are pouring out of me.

"I didn't do anything wrong! I was a child! And now I have to live with this every day of my life while you stand here and gossip about things you don't understand!"

I'm sobbing now, my whole body shaking. I feel a hand on my arm and turn to see Lisa, her face filled with concern.

"Clodagh, let's go," she says softly. "You don't need this."

But I shake her off. The alcohol, the encounter with Emmanuel, and now this—it's all too much. I feel like I'm drowning.

"No," I say, my voice breaking. "I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend to be okay when I'm not. I can't..."