TARA
"What the fuck happened here?"
The words tore out of my mouth as Shannon and I walked through the door, my eyes immediately drawn to the chaos that filled the kitchen. It looked like a war zone—an overturned chair lay splintered across the floor, broken glass and shattered plates cluttered the sink, their jagged edges glinting ominously in the dim light. Bloodstains smeared across the tiles, small but distinct, like the aftermath of a brutal fight. And there, right in the middle of it all, was my mother, holding a cloth to the bastard's head as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
"Where's Aoife?" I demanded. Joey had told me his girlfriend had come over to help take care of the little ones—Tadhg, Ollie, and Sean—but something was wrong. "And where's Joey?"
Wrong
Wrong.
Something was wrong.
My instincts screamed at me, alarms blaring in my head as I tried to piece together what had happened here. Sure, it wasn't unusual to find the kitchen looking like this—after all, this was Dad and Joey's unofficial boxing ring.
But this?
This was different.
I moved further into the kitchen, my eyes darting around frantically.
And then I saw it.
Something small, almost imperceptible, caught my attention—a faint lipstick mark on the kitchen table, barely visible against the wood.
I knew that shade.
Aoife.
It was Aoife's lipstick.
There.
On the kitchen table.
On my fucking kitchen table.
I turned sharply to scrutinize my father, my gaze raking over him over his disheveled appearance. Something about the way he was sitting—off-balance, unsteady—put me on edge.
His pants.
His fucking pants—with the zipper half-open, like he'd hurriedly tried to cover himself up.
No.
No.
Please, no.
"Shannon, go up to your room," I ordered, my voice tight, trying to keep a lid on the seething rage and nausea threatening to overtake me. My eyes stayed fixed on the people who had the misfortune of calling themselves my parents.
She hesitated, looking up at me with wide eyes full of confusion. "Now, Shannon," I repeated, my tone leaving no room for argument. I needed to get her out of here—away from this nightmare—before she saw what I was seeing.
I heard Shannon's light, quick footsteps racing up the stairs, followed by the sound of her door slamming shut. The moment I was sure she was safely away, something inside me snapped. The restraint I had been forcing myself to maintain crumbled. Every ounce of anger, every bit of disgust, erupted like a volcano.
Without a second thought, I took two powerful strides across the kitchen. My body moved before my mind could catch up, instincts and rage fueling me. I sidestepped my mother, and without hesitation, I pulled my arm back and slammed my fist directly into my father's jaw. The crack of bone against bone reverberated in my ears.
"You fucking, sick bastard!" The words tore from my throat as I lashed out again, this time smashing my fist into his nose. Blood poured from his face, gushing from his nostrils like a crimson waterfall.
YOU ARE READING
Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh
RomanceI had never needed anyone. I didn't know what it was like to need a person until I met him. I needed him. He looked at me as if there was something inside me worth looking at. I hated him for it. Why? Because I could see myself loving him. If o...
