The Girl In The Dirty Shirt

Creep

"Who are you calling?" I ask furrowing my brow as Liam presses his phone to his ear and I hear the distinctive dial tone sound.

"Your brother. How d'you reckon I got your address idiot," He rolls his eyes at me and I feel myself physically pale. Shit. My brother. I feel I owe an explanation even though I really don't. We're related purely via sperm doner aka our father. He has a different mum from me, so how would he understand what it's like to lose your mother, the person who gave you life, the person who time and time a-fucking-gain has forgiven you every time you have fucked up, no matter how bad it was. I swallow hard. I love my brother very much. Mum brought us up not to believe in halfs or steps, we're all siblings, we all grew up together, end of story. Gareth has been there for me my entire life, he's the definition of what a big brother should be. As of late I've been a pretty shitty sister.

"Alright Gareth... Yeah she lemme in... Nah wasn't easy like took a lot of hammering and shouting... She's okish now. Better is how I'd put it. Yeah lemme put her on," I give Liam a glare. I don't want to talk to him.

"Talk to him otherwise I pour away that last bottle of whiskey," He whispers sternly and I growl, snatching the phone from him. I sigh, resigning myself to the bollocking of a lifetime.

* * * * *

It really wasn't that bad. In fact after a mild bollocking, making sure I'm ok, we share a silent fangasm moment over THE Liam Gallagher. Gareth's still in a state of shock, much like myself. He promised to come over soon and I promised to open the door.

"So kitten, how about a party? Our birthdays in a couple of days after all," Liam grins at me as I sit on the couch with him, rolling a joint. To be honest, it hadn't even crossed my mind. In fact it was the furthest thing from my mind, my birthday.

"I'm not so keen on celebrating mine, but yours is like a public holiday practically, your worshippers certainly think so," I grin and he laughs, going into the kitchen and switching the kettle on.

"You take sugar right?" He calls through and I roll my eyes. Friggin ages the cunts known me, has made me at least 40 cups of tea in that time and he still asks if I take sugar.

"No Liam, I haven't ever taken sugar, not once, not even a grain of the shit," I say,

"Oh yeah. Weirdo," He says and I spark up the joint, rolling my eyes.

"Pots and kettles prick!" I call and I hear him snort, coming through with two cups of tea.

"Seriously how do you drink this shit," He says pulling a face as he mixes up our teas and sipping mine by accident. I take mine, glaring at him.

"Ew, your feeks are now on that," I say and he bursts into laughter, choking on his tea.

"What in the name of Christ are feeks exactly?" He asks laughing and I find myself smiling, trying not to laugh too.

"It just means like dirt, germs, not very nice. It was my mammy's word, its a Northern word," I say with a smile and his brow furrows.

"North as in North of Scotland right?" He asks and I roll my eyes, somehow resisting the urge to facepalm myself.

"Yes Liam as in the North of Scotland. I have no English blood whatsoever to my knowledge. I'm Celtic, I am of Irish and Welsh descent. Anyways, its a Dundee word I think," I say and he half nods.

"Hey whats up with having English blood like?" He asks and I just smile at him.

"You, you are the definition of whats wrong with it," I say and he growls playfully, taking a snap at my neck as I giggle. We drink our tea quietly, listening to the rain hammering the window.