Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

NEW YEAR, NEW ME

DECEMBER 25TH 2004

SHANNON

"God created Teddy Lynch, and then He created me."

This was the only answer I got from Tara when I asked her if she loved herself. We were just children then, ages 4 and 6. Her words confused me at the time, but as I grew older, the significance of her statement became painfully clear.

Tara saw herself as a female version of our Da.

I couldn't see the resemblance, but something within her shifted dramatically when she and Joe turned 10. It was as if a hidden switch had been flipped. I recall the moment vividly because I heard every word perfectly.

"Remember, my little nightmare. This is what will happen to you every time one of your worthless cunts you have for siblings or the whiny whore you have for a Mam does something that provokes me, angers me, or annoys me—or all three. So, pray to God or the Devil that this doesn't happen because you will be the one who will pay for it."

I can still hear the sound of my sister's whimpering mingled with his slow, menacing chuckle. Da's next words still make my stomach churn. "You were excellent today. I love you so much. You have no idea how proud I am of you, Tara. I knew you were my favorite daughter for a reason."

I remember hearing his footsteps disappear down the hallway, each one echoing until they faded completely, followed by the sharp slam of the door. The house felt unnaturally silent after that. Summoning the courage, I opened the door to our room and was met by the sight of my sister curled up in a tight ball, her face devoid of life, her eyes staring blankly into the distance.

Across the hallway, I noticed Tadhg in his room, the door slightly ajar. He stood there, gripping his hurley tightly, his knuckles white from the strain. His face was contorted into a fierce, grim expression, a deep frown etched into his young features, filled with a simmering rage that made him look like he wanted to kill someone.

Tentatively, I approached Tara, hoping to comfort her. But when I reached out to touch her, she flinched away, curling further into herself. After a while, she gathered herself and, despite limping, made her way across the hallway to our little brother. The moment she knelt in front of him, Tadhg flung himself into her arms, clinging to her desperately.

His sobs were muffled against her shirt, his small body shaking with each cry. She stroked his hair gently, whispering soothing words to calm him. I couldn't hear what she said, but the tender way she spoke and the rhythm of her voice seemed to comfort him. Gradually, his crying subsided, and he drifted off to sleep in her arms.

Once he was asleep, she carefully laid him down and stood up, wincing as she did. She limped towards the bathroom, and for the first time, Tara noticed me standing there, watching. Her eyes widened in surprise and a flicker of shame crossed her face. Her clothes were a mess, unevenly torn and ragged, as if someone had taken a knife or scissors to them for sport. The smell of Da's whiskey and an overpowering, unpleasant man's cologne clung to her, along with some white stains.

"Are you okay?" I remember asking her quietly, my voice barely a whisper.

I didn't want to wake Da. If he heard us, he would get mad and do something terrible to her, just as he had threatened.

She knelt down in front of me, wincing slightly as she moved. Her pale neck was mottled with purple, blue, and green bruises, like the ones that appeared on my knees when I fell hard on the ground.

"I'm okay, Shan," she whispered, trying to give me a reassuring half-smile. Her green eyes were soft. "When am I not?"

"Is Tadhg okay?"