Blackness Takes Over & Blackness Awaits (5 page)

“Not. Raped.” I breathe out. I really can’t move my jaw. Fuck that hurts. I make direct eye contact with him with my one half functioning eye. He studies my beaten face for a minute, maybe longer, and gives me a curt nod.

“I’ll be back mid-morning to check on you. Tina, your nurse, will be here in half an hour. Try to get some rest.” Doctor Callaghan puts his hand in mine and squeezes it; I return the squeeze as best I can. He turns and leaves. I can hear voices but feel myself getting sleepy again.

“Shannon?” Kavanagh whispers by my side. I open my eye the tiny bit it’s able. He looks pale and drawn, like he’s looking at a dead body. He’s holding my hand and rubbing his thumb across my knuckles. “Shannon I’m so fucking sorry. I can’t—” I shake my head cutting him off. This wasn’t his fault and I’m not going to let him beat himself up for something that had nothing to do with him. I grip his hand to get him to look at me, trying as hard as I can to convey through my gaze that this is not his weight to bear. After a few moments of eye contact he nods and I close my eye. I’m fucking tired. I feel the bed dip under his weight behind me and his arms come around so he’s spooning me, I let him. I feel safe with his arms around me. I hear O’Sullivan and Callaghan enter the room.

“How is she Kav?” O’Sullivan asks quietly. The bed dips in front of me, my good eye seeing O’Sullivan smiling at me. He’s scared. He moves my IV line and lies down in front of me.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Kav mumbles into my hair. O’Sullivan holds my hand and brushes his finger across my wrist where there are surely marks from the zip tie. The bed dips at my feet, I look down my shoulder to see Callaghan sitting by our feet. He looks at me with his eyes glistening. He isn’t going to cry, but he’s full of emotion that he doesn’t know how to direct. It’s as though he and I are able to talk to each other through our gaze. I can’t explain it, but I know he understands what I want to say to him and vice-a-versa. I nod at him in thanks. He lies down putting my feet into his chest wrapping his arms around my legs. I’m cocooned by comfort and fast fall asleep. This is what love feels like.

I’ve been at their place for ten days. I started talking and “eating” by the end of the first week. The last week was just getting back on my feet again. Kav slept with me every night. They moved me to a guest room the second night I was here, so Kav could have slept in his room but he never did. We never talked about it. Once I could talk again the questions started coming. I told the boys what Liam had done. Their reactions were fury unlike any I had ever seen. I asked repeatedly what happened to him, but they would never answer other than to tell me he wouldn’t be bothering me anymore. I gave up asking eventually. Now the hard questions.

“Why wouldn’t you go to the hospital, Shannon?” O’Sullivan asks at breakfast. I lean my head back and look at the ceiling. I know I have to tell them. I have to be honest, but that’s easier said than done for me. I trust these boys and THAT is monumental for me. The only people I’ve trusted in my life has been family. They feel like family after this week and a half and they deserve the truth.

“O’Sullivan, I didn’t want them to call social services.” He looks at me with giant bugged out eyeballs.

“Why would they do that?” He’s trying to steady his breath while he looks at the other guys whose brows are both furrowed waiting for my story.

“Because I just turned seventeen and my guardian is in the hospital with stage four pancreatic cancer…dying. Social services could take me to a group home or foster care and I would lose at least a year of school until I aged out of the system,” I rattle off as quickly as my lips allow. All their eyes are bugging out now.

“What?!” Kav asks, while shaking his head free of the dream he thinks he’s having. I just sit there and let the information sink in.

“What do you mean guardian? Where’s your family, your parents?” Callaghan asks pointedly. I’ve been dodging the family question while I’ve been here. They kept asking if they should call my parents for me and I told them there was no need, that I would call them once I could talk properly so as not to make anyone worry. It was a good lie, I thought.

“My father died when I was eight and my mom took off a few weeks later. My great uncle, Mick, was the only living relative that I had left, so I moved to Kansas City to live with him.” I keep my head down, picking at the fruit in front of me. I’ve never told anyone this story. People back home just took the “my parents are dead, I live with my uncle”
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version and didn’t push. These guys are not going to accept that.

“Moved from where, Shannon?” Kav asks me quietly, not wanting to upset me.

“Here, Kav.” I look up at him through my eyelashes. He’s puzzled. “Look guys I really don’t talk about this. Actually, I never have. I’m telling you the story of my life that no one knows because I trust you. But this is fucking hard.” I push away from the table and stand up. They all just watch me, waiting to see what my next move is. Here goes nothing.

“My father was John Murphy. He was the State’s Attorney when he died. It was big news around here, I guess.” I hear them all gasping in recognition. I have to keep talking if I’m going to get this story out. “He was my everything, guys. It didn’t matter how much work he had, or what case he was working on, he always came home every night to tuck me in. He made time for me and came to my dance recitals, taught me about sports, took me to Cubs games, let me be me, not the princess my mother insisted on. I knew I was number one in his world.” I smile thinking about him.

“My mom could give two shits about me. I was something for her to dress up and show off to the other ladies who lunched, but that was it. When my dad died I was with him…I was shot too and in the ICU for weeks. It was actually reported that I had died along with him. Before I was released from the hospital, my mom called her uncle to see if he could take me for a few weeks while she got things ‘organized’. I was on a plane the next morning by myself. When I got off, Uncle Mick was there waiting for me. She never called or wrote again. I haven’t seen her since she put me in that car with a driver that day. She didn’t even come to the airport with me.” I pause, getting my breath back. I sneak a glance at the boys, they’re stunned. Each of them is wearing a various face of question and disgust.

“My Uncle Mick raised me. He had me use his last name, it made for fewer questions, which I appreciated so much. He’s an amazing man and the reason Liam didn’t rape or kill me the other night.” Their heads all snap at that comment. “He was a military man, former Navy SEAL. He taught me to take care of myself and trained me to remain calm in a crisis situation. He taught me how to fight and how to shoot. He made sure that if he wasn’t around, that I could fend for myself.” I’m looking right at them now.

“My gun was in my purse that night.” O’Sullivan drops his head in his hands. “O’Sullivan it’s not your fault, you didn’t know it was there or that I would need it. It’s my fault for letting down my guard. I felt comfortable with you guys. I should’ve been thinking more and paying closer attention. Uncle Mick would be disappointed in me. I hate that.” I slump my shoulders forward and sigh. “I know better, he’s taught me better and on the first night I had to prove it, I fucked up.”

“No Shannon,” Kav says in a very stern tone. I snap my head up to look at him. His eyes are pinned on me. He stands up, making his way to me, putting his finger under my chin so I have to look up into his eyes. “He would be nothing but proud of you. You survived.”

I stand reaching my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest. If ever there was a time to cry, this is it. Problem is, I don’t cry. I haven’t since I found out my dad died. I’ve wanted to, sure, but the tears never come. I cried for days, maybe weeks when my nurse told me he died. My own mother didn’t even tell me. I was too unstable to go to the funeral, so the last time I saw my father he was dying right next to me in the backseat of our town car. I don’t remember the last thing we said to each other. I always try, but those words never come. I hope they were words of love. After I stopped crying about his death, I never shed another tear.

“Your father would be proud of you too. I’m so sorry you lost him.” He tugs me hard against his chest and then lets me go. I sit back down at the table and slam my orange juice.

“Well that was fun,” I say, trying to brighten the mood of the room. “Who wants to take me to Neiman Marcus to find some cover up for these lovely bruises?” I QVC model my face. It’s not working. They’re still reeling from all of that information.

“Guys. I’m fine. I’ve lived this life for seventeen years and I’m doing just fine.” I smile genuinely. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t tell this story to people for just that reason. Everyone has some fucked up shitty story about their childhood. I’m no different. I can’t see my father again. I can’t make my mother come home and love me. I can’t make Uncle Mick’s cancer go away. I can’t make Liam’s attack go away. But this is my fuckin’ life and no one else’s. This life made me who I am today, and I love who I am so I’m not sorry and I don’t feel bad for myself. There are worse stories out there boys.” I look at them in the eye one by one.

“I can’t believe you’re fuckin’ seventeen years old!” O’Sullivan laughs.

I shake my head and chuckle. “Really? That’s the takeaway you’re going with Sully?” Kavanagh’s head shoots up and he looks at O’Sullivan right in his face, waiting for something, his gaze is tense. I watch and wait too because I have no idea what silent communication is going on.

“What?” I arch my brow.

“No one calls him that. He fuckin’ hates it and never allows it to roll off anyone’s tongue at him,” Callaghan explains quietly, waiting for Sully to blow up at me I guess. I look at Sully and wait. His panty dropping smile sweeps across his face and his chocolate eyes sparkle.

“I like it when she says it,” he says, looking directly at me but talking to his boys. He breaks eye contact and shrugs. “I guess there are a lot of firsts going on around here lately. Shannon tells us her truly fucked life story, Kavanagh is sleepin’ with a chick for the first time ever, Callaghan is talkin’ for a change, and I like the name I’ve always hated. What the hell is goin’ on in this house?!” We all laugh.

“Cally, what’s he talkin’ about?” I ask Callaghan as I’m obviously missing something else. He arches a brow at me.

“Cally?” he rolls off his tongue, thinking on the nickname a minute. “Okay. I have the tendency to be a little closed off, I don’t talk much. I mean I talk but just to bullshit, pull chicks, stuff like that. I never talk about anything important, according to my family and these dicks,” he scoffs, nodding at the guys. He’s nervous.

“What’s that about Cally?” I ask softly, trying to encourage the non-talker to talk. I reach my hand across the table to his and give a quick squeeze. He interlaces our fingers and rubs my knuckles with his other hand.

“My mom died when I was little. Fucked me up according to therapists and doctors.” He sighs and shrugs. “Like you said, we’ve all got some fucked up story. Mine’s no different.”

I get up and climb into his lap, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, nuzzling in. “You’re not fucked up,” I whisper. We all sit there in silence for a few minutes until some of the tension slips away. I climb out of Cally’s lap and resume my seat in the chair next to him. He scoops my hand back up and resumes his previous hold and stroke pattern.

“Kavy, what about you? Who are you knockin’ boots with?” I snicker at him. He shakes his head at his new nickname and smiles the smile at me that’s only mine.

“I’m not knockin’ anyone’s boots Kid.” Kid? I’m guessing the seventeen-year-old just got a nickname…I can handle that. “I’m sleepin’ with you. I never let chicks stay after said boot knockin’. I don’t sleep that well to begin with and I certainly don’t cuddle with randoms. I’ve never slept as well as I do when I sleep with you. Don’t know what it is, but it’s workin’ for me.” He shrugs at me and I study his face. Is he hitting on me right now? After a minute or so I shrug too. He’s not hitting on me; I’m like his comfort blanket.

“Sully, what’s your beef with the nickname?” I smile at him and he gleams back at me.

“It’s my pop’s nickname. Don’t get me wrong, I love him, but I’m not him.” He glances at me, wondering if that’s enough information to satisfy me. It’s not.

“Who’s your dad, Sully?” He hunches forward in his chair.

“He’s the Deputy Chief of the Bureau of Organized Crime.” He looks up at me sheepishly. That doesn’t mean shit to me. I don’t care who his father is, but apparently other people do, or have. I know the pressure of having a well-known father, but only from a little girl’s perspective. I can imagine the pressure that Sully feels is well beyond anything I ever experienced. Shitty.

“Okay,” I breathe out and shrug, “so we’re one big fucked up happy family, huh boys?” I ask, again, trying to break the tension. This time it works, and we all chuckle.

“I think I should get my stuff together and get outta your hair. I’ll go back to the dorm if one of you guys can give me a lift?” I’ve been here for ten days and I’m sure they have better things to do than babysit me. I like it here though. No singing neighbors! The boys went to my place and grabbed stuff for me the first few days I was here, but I’m in need of clothes and some body wash that doesn’t smell manly. I need some conditioner for my poor head too. Once I got the staples out I “washed” my hair, but it’s in serious need of some proper hair care.