Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

INDICENT PROPOSALS

OCTOBER 22TH 2004

TARA

Run

That's what I'd done all my life. It was ingrained in me, hardwired into my very being. I didn't know how to do anything else. I'd been programmed to do that. I'd been raised to do that—run.

Run from the shadows that lurked around every corner.

Run from the demons that chased me.

Run from my life.

Run from myself.

Run from my head.

I didn't know how to stop. It was like a vicious circle that lived inside me. No matter how much I ran, I always ended up trapped in the same place—my head.

The more I ran, the more the demons, waiting in the shadows, fed on my weakness, growing stronger with every step I took.

The more I ran, the more I locked myself in my head, building walls that would protect everyone from me.

The more I ran, the more I heard my father.

That was all I heard when I closed my eyes. His laugh, mocking and cruel, reverberated through my mind. Telling me that I was weak, that I was incapable of protecting my siblings from him, that all the blood I had bled along my life and the hundreds of marks on my back were of no use because we would all end up dead in that house—Joey, Shannon, Tadhg, Ollie, Sean, and Mam—none of us would survive.

Many nights, when I closed my eyes and the demons I had locked away deep inside my head came out to play, they turned the darkness inside me into a vivid, terrifying reality.

I saw a fire.

Big fucking flames engulfed our house, roaring and crackling as they consumed everything in their path. I heard the desperate screams of my siblings, their voices above the chaos, begging me to save them. Sometimes I didn't make it in time, and I saw the house explode from the inside out, a cataclysm of fire and debris. Other times, I managed to get inside the house, but my father was there, holding a lighter, his face twisted with a malevolent grin. He blocked my way, preventing me from helping them, claiming they were not his children—that his only real daughter was me.

On other nights, my mother appeared in the flames, her face contorted with sorrow and anger. She told me she was freeing my siblings from me—that she was saving them from the torment of living with me and my father.

During those nights, sleep was impossible. I would get up from the couch, where I slept most of the time, and check on my siblings. I needed to make sure their rooms could be opened, that they were not locked inside. Joey often locked his door out of fear that Da would come into his room, where our younger siblings often slept for protection.The sight of their sleeping forms brought a brief, fragile comfort, but it was never enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

Many times, I was the one who confronted him when he walked through the door. After all, the couch was downstairs, and I slept there. He'd stumble in, reeking of alcohol, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. We'd drink together, and he'd unload the fucked-up shit he had done while he was out. He'd ask me about my grades, my performance on the track team, his voice slurred and mocking. Then, inevitably, he'd get around to asking about any fella he'd heard I was cozying up to.

I knew how to play the game. I'd lie to him, spinning tales of being a daughter worthy of her father, painting myself as someone he could be proud of. I'd embellish stories about the countless fellas I'd supposedly gotten friendly with, feeding his twisted need for control and dominance.