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Seamus pleads, “Don’t go down the same path, Kill. We don’t want to lose you to this.”
My childhood memories flood back. Connor’s resentment. The fights. The tears. The way Ma would cry herself to sleep. I shake my head, trying to block it out.
“I’mnotDa.” My voice rises. “I’m not going to end up like him because I don’t have a wife or kids.Who the fuck cares?”
“I do. Seamus does. Your family cares.” Brennan claps my back. “We can’t stand by and watch it happen.”
“Get the fuck out,” I snap. My anger boils over. “Both of you. Leave me alone. Neither of you know what it’s like to live with this…emptiness.”
Seamus reaches for me “Kill, please…”
“Leave!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t need your help.Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
My brothers hesitate for a moment and I have a flashback to the moment I told Ivy to leave. Jesus, the looks on their faces. Helplessness. Sorrow. I’m pushing everyone I care about away.
As the door closes behind them, the silence in the loft is deafening. I finish my drink and pour another one. My guilt, shame, and anger has turned into quite a toxic cocktail. Now it’s bleeding into my relationships with my brothers.
“I’m not Da,” I whisper to myself, trying to believe it.
Except, the more I drink, the more I feel like I’m slipping into some unknown oblivion. The whiskey burns, but it’s a familiar pain. One I’ve grown accustomed to. Seamus and Brennan have a valid point. I should stop but, truthfully, I don’t want to.
A while later, I finish the bottle and stumble to bed. As I collapse onto the mattress, Ivy’s face haunts my thoughts.
I think back to our last moments. The desperate passion. The intense breakup. I replay it over and over, wondering ifI made the right decision. Every time, I come to the same conclusion.
Yes.
I’ve spent a lot of time around her domineering father, I’ve come to understand why she lied about her age and rebelled. Truth be told, she could have had anyone, I happened to be at Kells the night she set off on her mission. Which meant I was the lucky one to share those blissful weeks with her.
Ivy deserves better than me. A man fourteen years her senior who greedily took every part of her innocence. The fucking idiot who tossed her aside like she was trash instead of treating her with empathy and care.
“I’m sorry,mo shíorghrá,” I whisper into the darkness. “I miss you so fucking much.”
My words are empty. An echo of my endless, consuming remorse. No amount of whiskey can ever erase her memory or fill the void she left behind.
My love for her was real.
I wish I could find a way to move forward, but it’s impossible.
The memories are a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.
Ivy haunts my every waking moment.
twenty-three
Ivy
One Year Later
Sometimes I pinch myselfto see if my life is real.
I can’t believe it’s been a year since I moved to Florence. At first it was rough, but eventually I found a sense of peace and purpose I never thought would be possible after Cillian broke things off. It doesn’t hurt that the restrictive rules my dad used to make me follow are a distant memory.
Now, I’m sitting at my bistro table in my flat, sketching out ideas for my next painting. Mom hums softly asshe pours steaming liquid into two cups, sets out fresh pastries and fruit, then sits next to me.
“What are you working on?” She takes a bit of a marmalade cornetti and groans. “God, this is fantastic.”
I take a sip of rich, dark coffee. “Ideas for a new piece. We’re going into a week on portraiture. I’ll probably force you to be one of my subjects, be forewarned.”
