𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝟖 (𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟐 | 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

ORLA LYNCH
TW/MENTIONS OF SA: SELF HARM

Guilt was gnawing at my insides, and a mixture of fear induced anger had engulfed my body entirely.

Mam Lost the baby.

Da was back home.

I didn't feel an ounce of sadness after hearing the news that my Mam had lost her baby. And it was eating me up on the inside, because I should've felt something. Should've felt sad for her, should've felt grief for her—but the only thing I could feel was myself sighing in relief when I had found out.

Mam not having a baby meant Joey not being stuck in a situation where he had to play-parent with a newborn, meant Shannon didn't have to struggle to try and lift some weight off of Joe's shoulders with this newborn.

I remember when Sean was born, Da had got sick of the Sean's cries and stuck him in me and Shannon's room. I remember him wailing and screaming for the comfort of a mother.

And I couldn't give him that comfort.

I couldn't get him to stop crying, I didn't know how—I didn't know what to do to get him to stop. I was crying at one point, sitting beside his crib, listening to him scream and cry for something I couldn't give him.

I vowed to never be a mother that day.

Because I lacked the maternal instinct every girl was supposed to have. I didn't know how to hold a baby, to soothe a baby. I didn't know how to do anything, so I just cried with him, begging him through pathetic sobs to shut-up and go to sleep.

That was until Shannon swooped in, scooping him into her arms and cradling him to her chest. She bounced him, whispered sweet nothings I don't remember ever hearing, and gave him a bottle. She always managed to get him to sleep eventually, even when it took a toll out of her.

I just wanted to do one thing. To check one thing off of my brother and sisters endless list. I wanted to do something right, I wanted to have that maternal instinct Shannon had. I wanted to be able to soothe my baby brother to sleep, and save the day.

Deep down, I envied my sister for everything she had.

I envied the way her body looked compared to mine. How slim and beautiful she was. Boys paid attention to her face, her smile, her eyes, her voice—Whereas boys only paid attention to the body I was born with.

The small curves.

The breasts I somewhat had.

One time, a boy approached me and asked me to go to lunch with him. He had light brown hair, curly, and big brown eyes. Only his eyes weren't even looking at me in the eye, and his friends were snickering from behind him. He was looking at my chest.

I hadn't realized my buttons where halfway undone, just enough to show some of my bra, because I was so out of my head I couldn't see properly.

High or not, I punched the lad in the face. Spat out the most hurtful shit I had conjured up in my head, it was about some rumor I had heard two days earlier in the girls bathroom. I remember yelling at the girls for spreading ridiculous rumors.

I regret yelling at those girls today.

I pushed open the kitchen door, eye's trained on the snack cabinet to avoid the drunken gaze lingering on me from the end of the dining table. The stench of whiskey and sweat making a shiver recoil down my spine.

I picked at my nails until they stung. I reached for the cabinet, careful and quiet, my moves slow and deliberate. I reached for the small pack of powdered donuts—