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Bren was about to call bullshit when he remembered one recess back in primary five. He, Mickie and Cian had climbed on top of the deserted prefab that used to be a classroom for the first years. Bren had meant to get down when Mrs. Dunne yelled at them, but Cian had shouted that she could climb her fat arse up there and get them if she wanted them so bad. Not wanting to look like a suck-up in front of the group that had gathered by then, Bren laughed along and flipped her off.

They’d been given two weeks’ detention and letters to take home to their parents. It had been June when Bren handed the note over, and his eleven-year-old self hadn’t known a moment of television until the second week of summer holiday.

Cian on the other hand, had showed up the next day with an extra Penguin in his lunchbox and bragged about how his parents agreed that teachers were way too sensitive these days.

“You know, I actually went over to Cork to go to confession,” Tadhg said, snapping Bren out of his mind. His short laugh was manic, and Bren thought maybe he was right about going mad. “First time since I was fucking ten.”

The words bubbled in Bren’s veins after he’d absorbed them, his heart speeding up like it was trying to rid him of their poison.

“Lemme get this straight,” Bren said. His voice felt like it didn’t belong to him. “You took the sweetest lad on the entire fuckin’ planet, put him in the hospital for mindin’ his own business, and you—what?”

The poison spread out from the core of his body, setting his nerves on fire as his fist clenched. If he hit Tadhg now, there wasn’t any way he’d be able to stop.

“Want me to say it’s OK ’cause some bloke in a robe told you God would be pissed if you didn’t confess?”

Tadgh’s eyes flicked up to meet his and in that instant Bren saw his accusation proven true. The laugh scraped Bren’s throat on its way out, and Tadgh flinched.

“You wanna know the worst fuckin’ part of this?” Bren asked, unable to stop the bile from pouring out now. “If Arlo was here, and saw you lookin’ like that? He’d probably feel bad. He’d try to forgive you.”

Bren stepped so close to Tadhg that the piece of shit swayed like he was resisting the urge to take a step back.

“He’s a better fuckin’ person than me. Cause you know what? I hope this eats you alive until the day you die.”

Tadhg’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Bren shouldered past him hard enough that he stumbled, not looking back at his anguished face as he went.

“You come near me again, and I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

The poison in Bren’s veins surged now as he left Tadhg whimpering in the rain. He knew he shouldn’t have enjoyed the look on his face, but there wasn’t any part of him that regretted what he’d said. His breath hitched as the meaning behind that sank in.

For the first time since he’d met the lad, Bren was glad Arlo wasn’t here.

38

The first time Bren had used a kitchen knife, he’d been five. He didn’t know if it was a milestone for other people, but he had wanted to get his hands on one ever since he’d asked to help with dinner and been presented with a potato peeler and a stool. This made the angry red gash running from the base of his thumb to the center of his hand all the more humiliating now.

“Ah, That’ll need stitches lad.”

Bren accepted the wad of paper towels Liam handed him as Mr. Twomey peered at his trembling hand like it was something he was expected to grade.

“Fuckin’ great,” Bren said.

“I think I heard it hit bone,” Liam announced to anyone that would listen, and one of the lads that were crowding around Bren’s station shuddered.

A droplet of blood splattered against the already red-tinted basin and Bren wrapped another fistful of paper around the streaming cut.

“Let’s see if we can get it to stop bleeding before I take you to the nurse’s office,” Mr. Twomey said, motioning Bren towards a chair like he was about eighty-five years old.

“I’m fine,” Bren said, giving up on the soaked wads of paper in favour of a tea towel from a nearby drawer.

Mr. Twomey protested as he left the room, but Bren waved his good hand and headed down the hall.

Grand. Life was grand. School was grand. The droplets of blood he left along the scuffed tiles were absolutely fucking grand. No; the grandest part was that after he made it through the stitches, he could do homework until eleven so he could have a couple hours talking on MSN with Arlo before he had to go to bed and do the whole thing over again. Hopefully minus the cutting next time.

“Wait up!”

Bren glanced back but didn’t slow his pace for Liam who broke into a jog.

“I’m meant to make sure you get to the office OK.”