Page 83 of The Secret We Keep
They call it perspective.
I’ve been trying to gain some all night.
At just after one in the morning, my stomach still aches from throwing up as soon as I got home. I knew Morgan would be awake when I got back into bed. That’s why I sent her a text. I just needed to hear from her. Know she was there. Happy. Safe.
It makes sense now; her parent’s reasoning for doing what they are doing to Morgan. It’s because they love her unconditionally. While I don’t agree with sheltering her from it, I understand why they have.
Morgan has lost her vibrancy. That spark that always drew everyone in. But the girl I still remember deserves to be given the chance to recover. Even if she can’t, she deserves someone on her fucking side and fighting for her.
The way I’ve watched people whisper and talk about her like she isn’t a real fucking person is the worst thing. If I had been here and been able to intervene, things would have no doubt been so much different. But I wasn’t. And since Ihavebeen here, what have I been doing the entire time? Classic Paddy, that’s what. I’ve pushed my weight around. Thrown fists. Made jokes. Not taken anyone’s feelings seriously. And for what? Fucking, nothing. That’s what.
Giving up on sleep, I throw the covers back and head downstairs for a much-needed drink. I’m not sure it will help, but I know where Pops keeps an emergency bottle. When I find it, I grab a tumbler and pour myself a double, throwing my head back and gritting my teeth when I swallow the burn. As a kid, it always amazed me how my old man and his social club buddies could stomach bottle after bottle of this stuff. One swig and I’m not sure I can stand any more.
I pour again without thinking, letting the bottle hit the counter harder than I had planned. Necking the next shot back, my throat tightens, hot heat swimming through my veins as I grind my teeth, battling not to gag.
“Paddy?”
I release a harsh breath and spin on my heels.
“Everything alright?” Mum steps closer, pulling her dressing gown together.
“I’m fine, Mum. Go back to bed.” My voice is hoarse.
Mum’s eyes glue to mine before she spots the bottle on the side. “What’s that?”
“Whisky,” I croak, throat still burning.
She sighs before reaching me. “I know it’s whisky. Why’d you have it?”
Trailing a hand through my hair, I struggle not to blurt out everything that’s bothering me. My mother has enough going on with Evie being here, she doesn’t need any more stress from me.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Couldn’t sleep?” she reiterates, her voice questioning.
“Yeah,” I heave on a sigh, wanting to grab the bottle and go back to the quiet of my room. “It’s been a long day. That’s all.”
Giving me a,don’t bullshit me,look, she asks, “What happened?” before she moves to the kettle, sidling past me.
I let my head drop and rub my face in the palms of my hands. “Too fucking much,” I say, my voice muffled.
Mum lets out an annoyed breath. “Do you have to swear, Patrick?”
“It’s one in the morning, Mum. Evie won’t be awake to hear me.”
She grabs a mug and clicks the kettle on. “No, probably not. But I don’t like it all the same.”
“Jesus Christ, do you want me to start paying you too?” I mutter, shaking my head. I move to leave the kitchen, but she stops me.
“Talk to me, son.”
I slowly turn to face her. “What do you want me to say?”
She makes some tea and sits at the table. “I want you to tell me that you’re okay. If you can’t do that, then maybe I can listen to whatever’s troubling you. I’m a good listener, your father says so.”
Sitting down beside her, I give her a reassuring smile. “That’s because you’re nearly deaf, Mum.”
Her back straightens with a snap. “What?”
