OUT

Chapter 44

Friday, April 3rd 2015

Plain white ceilings were surprisingly detailed when you took the time to examine them. And that's all Jack had. Time. He felt like he had been horizontal for at least a week now, lying on his bed staring at the ceiling; examining the weird air bubbles and cracks, the specks of black that looked like fruit flies at a glance but were just dirt in the paint. The various sections where you could make out the direction of the brush strokes that had to have been over two decades old.

He was going crazy.

The four walls of his bedroom felt like a prison cell. He only left to go toilet. Even brushing his teeth seemed like a chore. He hadn't showered since he had been home. He had just been staring at the ceiling, eating the food brought to him by his father - his mother wasn't talking to him - and sleeping. He had no phone. No internet. No contact with the outside world. He had been confined to his bedroom since they had gotten home from the hospital.

'Jack, there's someone here to see ya,' said his father, interrupting his train of thought as he appeared in the doorway of Jack's room.

His father had a look of pity on his face. He had a bruise under his eye from where his mother had slapped him in the car. His father had no backbone, Jack realised. He allowed his wife to push him around, and to push Jack around. He rarely stood up to her, and whenever he did, it was in the form of a mutter under his breath when he was drunk. The older he got, the more Jack questioned how his parents had lasted this long together. They rarely spoke, and when they did it seemed to be when they bickered. Were all families like his?

'Mark?'

His father shook his head.

Then who?

'Look, just play along. I've been tryna le'her get you to go training. See the lads and Mark. Just do this fur'er and she might be convinced,' he said in a rushed whisper, glancing over his shoulder.

Jack could hear his mother's voice echoing up the stairs. She was speaking in the voice she used when they went out to fancy restaurants, or when she was talking to people she wanted to impress. Jack braced himself for war. 'Just this way, Father.' She appeared in his doorway, and Jack's father retreated downstairs. 'Here he is.'

Jack glanced over at her; this was the first time he had seen her since she had thrown him into this room when they had gotten back from the hospital almost a week ago. A priest Jack didn't recognise stood beside her; he wasn't from their parish anyway. He rarely went to Mass, but he knew the locals - everyone did.

His skin was so Irish it was almost pink - with rosacea cheeks that seemed to spread all over his face - and eyes that were suspiciously far apart. He was bald on top, but had thick tufts of grey hair clinging to the back and sides of his head. He almost looked like a clown.

'Hello Jack.' Jack stared at him, confused. Uneasy. He didn't trust his mother.

'Say hello, Jack.'

Jack glared at her, and kept his lips pressed together. He was done with her, and knew this would drive her mad. The priest smiled, revealing an incomplete mouth of yellow teeth. 'Don't worry, I'll take it from here, Cathleen.'

'Thank you, Father. I'll be downstairs if you need anything.'

The priest gently sealed the bedroom door behind him, and made his way to the edge of Jack's bed where he sat down. Jack pulled his feet away and tucked them closer to his chest under the covers. The old man had a Bible in one hand and rosary beads in the other.

'I'm Father O'Rouke. Your mother tells me you've been having urges.' Jack glared at him; the priest maintained eye-contact and eventually Jack looked away. 'She says you've been dressing up as a woman and frequenting bars for gay men.'

Jack stared back at him, and didn't speak. He just glared at the priest. He couldn't believe this was happening.

'These gays are bad for people your age, Jack,' he continued, 'they take advantage of young minds like yours.' He thought about the altar boy in the village over who had been molested for years by his local priest. 'They can't be trusted. They're predators. Gay people are not safe for impressionable children like you.'

'I think if I was going to be taken advantage of by a predator, I'd be more uneasy about the grown man sitting on my bed,' Jack snapped back, 'and I'm eighteen. I'm not a child.'

'Now, now, Jack. No need to get aggressive with me.' Jack sighed. 'Good,' he said, opening the Bible in his lap, 'why don't we start over?'