Page 217 of Releasing 10
“I’m yours,” Hugh continued to promise, lips brushing against my ear as he spoke softly. “I’ve only ever been yours.”
“But I’m not a good person,” I cried out, feeling broken. “I’m a bad girl.”
“That’s not true,” Hugh replied, voice thick with emotion. “Every single thing about you isgood, Lizzie Young, and I’m your best friend, so I should know.”
“But I’m bipolar,” I croaked out, feeling my body grow limp against his.
He kissed my temple. “I know.”
“That’snotgood.”
“Says who?”
Sniffling, I choked out a pained sob. “Everyone.”
“Not me.” He kissed my temple again. “I happen to adore that complicated mind of yours.”
“It’s not complicated—it’s crazy.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong if you tried,” he replied in a confident tone. “You’re going to live agreatlife, Liz. A little complicated, sure, and maybe challenging at times, but it’ll be a fucking great one.”
“I am?”
“Yeah, Liz, you are.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because I’m going to make sure of it.”
THE OPPRESSION OF DEPRESSION
Hugh
MAY 25, 2000
AFTERCAOIMHE’S FUNERAL, THEALLEN ANDYOUNG FAMILIES HAD QUICKLY BECOMEthe talk of the town. Rumors were rampant, and Caoimhe’s cause of death became the focal point of every gossip-filled conversation within a ten-mile radius.
Mark was steadfast in his assertion of innocence, while his parents were determined to defend him with unwavering resolve.
Keith and Sadhbh wouldn’t even entertain the notion that there might be truth to what Lizzie said. Instead, they not only discredited her, but they defamed her entire family—including her dead sister.
Meanwhile, Gibsie was so inconsolable over the whole ordeal that he could barely function.
Beyond devastated at the realization of losing one of his best friends, Gibs had spent most nights since the funeral in floods of tears, finding comfort in Claire, who, aside from school, remained faithfully by his side.
Despite my father’s intense dislike of the Allens, he was determined to stand by his best friend’s surviving son, which meant he, too, was—albeit reluctantly—on the side of Mark.
Meanwhile, my mother and sister continued to feign neutrality, but it was clear they were of the same opinion as Dad.
Keith and Sadhbh’s haughty dismissal of Lizzie’s disclosure only seemed to fuel the flames when it came to Catherine andMike, who were staunch in their quest for a thorough inquest into their daughter’s death.
For weeks, Gardaí came and went from number nine Avoca Greystones, asking questions and looking for statements, but nothing had seemed to come from it.
No arrests had been made so far, and Mark continued to reside at the house across the street from mine and attend his classes at Tommen, but he didn’t get off scot-free with the people of Ballylaggin because, despite the lack of evidence, the whispers continued to spread like wildfire.
While nobody outwardly accused Mark of being a rapist, and the preliminary results of the autopsy stated no foul play, the seed of doubt had been planted, and he quickly became the town leper. People avoided him in the streets, and steered clear of him at school, which only served to cause more division between the families.
While my father’s injunction at number nine had been quickly rescinded by Sadhbh, mine would remain in force until Mark left for college at the end of June.
