Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

NO TOUCHY-FEELY PLEASE

TARA

"So."

"So."

"You can do it, Gerard Gibson," I said, holding out the marker.

He took the marker but hesitated, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. "I dunno if I can," he croaked, barely louder than a whisper. "Feels like I'm gonna throw up. Been like this all week."

I reached over, clamping my hand over his in a solid, reassuring squeeze. "I'm here, Gerard. I promised I'd hold your hand through this, and I meant it. Doesn't have to be today."

"I want to do it," he whispered. "Does it get any easier?"

I nodded, understanding his fear because I'd been there myself. "Everyone's journey is different. Look at my lot—my siblings, all of them. They're in therapy, Joey's in rehab; I went through it myself," I explained quietly. "It's bloody terrifying, no doubt, especially when the two versions of you—the one before, the one after—finally face each other, and you're hit with how fucked up it all was."

He glanced down, then back up, his face thoughtful. "Have you written down all their names?"

"Joey's name isn't here yet. I'll wait till he's out of rehab to tell him. Although, knowing Aoife, she's probably already blabbed about it."

"Is that—" he pointed at a bold, slightly messy scrawl on the floor. "Is that Johnny?"

I nodded. "Yeah, he wrote it before he left. Do you wanna put yours next to his?"

His jaw tightened with a mix of fear and resolve, and then he nodded firmly.

"Right," I murmured, settling down on the floor with him. I let him take his time, just listening to his shaky breaths as he steadied himself. Slowly, he pressed the marker to the floor, his hand trembling as he began to write, each letter feeling heavy with meaning.

As he worked, I let my gaze wander around the room, my parents' old house transformed into something else entirely. The walls and floor were covered in names, dates, scribbled messages, and Bible verses. I was turning this place into a sanctuary—a shelter built on the names of those who'd survived what my family had been through: abuse, violence, addiction, bullying. These names were the unspoken testimonies of people who hadn't yet spoken up, or had spoken up and paid for it dearly. Nanny and Aunt Alice had come by to write my mam's name. Aoife had added hers, Katie had added hers, and I'd written my own and my brothers'. Shannon had left her mark. Even my boyfriend had put his name down. Now, it was Gerard's turn. Not Gibsie, but Gerard.

My brave boy, I thought as I watched him finally finish, the ink drying on "Gerard Gibson - 7," etched just beside "Johnny Kavanagh - 17."

"It's done," he murmured, a faint, surprised smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I did it."

"How do you feel?" I asked, resting a hand on his knee, offering him my full attention.

His brow creased as he thought, then he shook his head. "Weird," he admitted. "Feels like I did nothing and yet...everything. I've only written my name, but it's like—"

"—liberating?" I offered, a small, understanding smile on my lips, and he nodded slowly. "Look around, Gerard. All these people, all these names...they're here for you too. What you did just now? That's a massive fucking step."

He chuckled, his grin widening. "You're amazing, you know that? This thing you're doing with your parents' place... it's mad."

I smirked. "Only the best are a bit mad, right?"