Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

WHITE LINES, WHITE LIES

JANUARY 26TH 2002

TARA

"Tara, follow my voice."

"Fuck, Kai, how many lines did she take last night?"

Where the fuck am I?

"Princess, I promise you're okay."

"You're safe."

"Follow my voice, princess."

Shit.

A hand landed on my shoulder, and my eyes snapped open. Instinctively, I grabbed the wrist attached to that hand, twisted, and flipped the owner over onto the bed. I straddled his chest, my knees pinning his shoulders to the mattress.

"Woah," the person beneath me said, a grin spreading across his face. "This is certainly bringing back some memories."

I focused my gaze, the room spinning slightly, and found myself staring into the wolfish grin of Malachy fucking O'Leary.

"Good morning, princess," he drawled, his eyes twinkling with mischief and a hint of admiration.

"Are you fucking crazy, or do you have some fucking kind of mental problem?" I snapped, my voice dripping with annoyance as I stayed perfectly still. "I could have seriously hurt you."

Malachy's hands rested lightly on my thighs, his touch almost reassuring. "If all the murderers had your beautiful face and this sexy body, I would die quite happy. No complaints on my part."

"Oh please," I huffed, exasperated. "You wish you could try this again."

"This position is certainly helping a lot," he laughed, a low, throaty sound. "You've got me in a drought here, princess. Haven't been the same since."

I let out a frustrated sigh and finally got off him, rolling onto my back and staring up at the ceiling. The room was still spinning slightly, and the headache pounding at my temples reminded me of just how out of control last night had been.

"What happened last night? You were completely out of your fucking mind when Ciaran found you."

"Are you judging me?" I shot back, my discomfort and irritation evident in my tone.

"You know I don't," Malachy said, his tone gentle. He propped himself up on one elbow, his gray eyes were filled with worry and something else—concern, maybe? "But what I do know is that I haven't seen you like this in a year. So, tell me what happened."

"My mother... she," I strangled out, the memory clawing its way to the forefront of my mind, "she tried to drown Sean."

"She did what?"

"She's having postpartum depression or something, I think," I frowned, the details hazy and sharp all at once. "I was going to the bathroom after being at Paddy's when I caught her. She kept talking about baptizing Sean and almost killed him."

I closed my eyes, but it did nothing to block out the image of Sean's frightened squeals, the tiny, helpless gasps as he struggled in the water. "I had to rip Sean out of her hands because she refused to give him to me," I said with difficulty, a lump forming in my throat.

The moment I saw my baby brother nearly choking in the bathtub while my mother pressed his head under the water, I was scared shitless. I hadn't thought twice and had snatched Sean from her grip. His terrified screams and sobs echoed in my ears as he clung to me.

"I almost killed her," I continued, my voice shaking. "I only saw red at that moment while she sobbed and told me she was sorry, that she hadn't meant to hurt her baby. She also begged me not to hurt her or him."