CHAPTER 11
AISLING
Ismelled it before I saw it. The puke.
Then when I noticed the first spot, I realized they were everywhere. Vomit stains.
Yellow and faint, covering the carpets, the floor, the walls.
I dropped my backpack at the door, following their trail up the stairway, where they led. It was unlike the housekeepers to leave any sort of dirt unattended.
Unlessthey wanted me to see it.
It was a cry for help, I knew. And not just from my mother.
Lord, what did she do now?
I reached the second floor then rounded the hallway, my stride picking up speed. Just as I expected, the puke stains led to the master bedroom, my mother’s room. Athair had left days ago, and even though I tried my best to keep an eye on her, I knew Mother was spiraling.
I stopped outside her door, putting my hand on the doorknob and drawing a deep breath.
“Mother?”
There was no answer. I threw the door open, flashbacks of Ms. B attacking my memories, raw and vivid.
Blood.
Bath.
Wrists.
Despair.
I scanned the room. It was completely empty.
“Mother?” I echoed, confused.
Cautiously, I made my way into the en-suite bathroom, my heart in my throat. I hoped for the best but expected the worst. Mother, rehashing that scene at Ms. B’s apartment, finally making good on her idle threats to take her own life. I knew my mother was a cutter. It actually provided me a screwed-up sense of security because people who cut were less likely to perform “successful” suicide attempts.
Jane Fitzpatrick wasn’t even entirely a cutter. Sometimes she bruised herself a little, well and far away from the wrists, to draw attention. But she almost exclusively did this for my father’s and my viewing. Hunter and Cillian had no idea. They weren’t pawns in her emotional blackmail scheme.
I found her lying on the floor by the vanity, facedown.
“Mother!” I cried out, rushing to the bathroom, swinging the door open.
I fell down on both knees, turning her over by the shoulder. She was passed out cold in a pond of her own vomit. Half-dissolved pills were swimming in the vomit like little stars, their content, powdery and thick. Like stardust.
Jesus.
I grabbed her hair, shoving my fingers into her mouth, forcing her to gag and throw up more. She came to life instantly, at first protesting weakly about my hurting her as I held her head, but then she started puking more.
More pills. More everything.
“You need to get your stomach pumped,” I groaned, calling an ambulance with my free hand as I continued trying to make her throw up. “What have you done?”
But I knew exactly what she’d done and why.
The ambulance arrived four minutes later. I followed it with my own car. I tried to call Hunter and Cillian repeatedly. Both their phones went straight to voicemail.
I couldn’t understand why. It was nighttime. They should be at home with their families. I resorted to texting both of them our code word. Our emergency code.
Clover.
And then, when there was no answer: Clover, clover, clover! Pick up!
Reluctantly, I didn’t want my sisters-in-law to know the extent of how screwed-up my family was, especially with Da living out of the house and my parents probably getting a divorce. I called Persy.
Persephone and I always had this unspoken connection, of two, shy and romantic wallflowers forced to blossom in the jungle that was the Fitzpatrick family.
“Hello?” Pers sounded drowsy, drunk with sleep.
“Oh. Hi,” I said chirpily, feeling idiotic for forcing on a cheerful tone. “It’s Ash. I’m trying to reach Cillian, but he is not answering. Any idea where he might be?”
“Hey, Ash. Is everything okay?” she asked and then, processing the fact I asked her a question, she added, “Kill is at Badlands with Sam, Devon, and Hunter. It’s some kind of a special gambling night. I wasn’t paying attention. Can I help you in any way?”
My blood sizzled in my veins as I gripped the steering wheel to a point of having white knuckles. My brothers were ghosting me. They’d left me to tend to our mother while they went gambling with Sam Brennan.
Fresh anger bubbled in my stomach. How dare Cillian and Hunter so easily accept a reality in which sweet, timid Aisling took care of Mother and Athair while they went to live their big fulfilling lives?
I pulled up at the hospital and ushered Mother to the ER along with her designated doctor, giving him as much information as I could based on what I knew. What drugs she may had taken, the quantity, how much of it she threw up.
They ran some tests at the speed of light and pumped her stomach, but it was already mostly empty thanks to me. Mother was put on an IV drip and was conscious now, not even two hours after she got admitted.
“Just don’t tell your father. He’d think it’s about him, and he doesn’t need the ego boost,” she moaned, reaching for the remote by her hospital bed. “Do you think they have Netflix here? Oh, this is so highly inconvenient for me. I have a facial tomorrow morning.”
I stared at her through bloodshot eyes, my whole body shaking with rage.
“You’re an idiot.”
The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them, but I couldn’t for the life of me find a drop of remorse after they were out in the open.
“Excuse me?” Her head jerked sideways. She gave me a hard, motherly stare.
“You heard me.” I stood up, walking to the window, watching snow-caked trees and dirty ice roads. “You’re an idiot. A selfish one at that. You refuse to get the help you need, and you abuse prescription drugs to get back at … who, exactly? The only person you are hurting is yourself. Now let me tell you what’s about to happen …” I turned back around, fixing her with my own glare, my newfound spine tingling with the need to take action. “I’m going to go back home, leave you here on your own, and empty all your cabinets of drugs. Any drugs. You won’t even have an Advil for your morning migraines. Then I’m going to book you an appointment with a therapist. If you don’t go, I’m moving out of the house.”
“Aisling!” Mother cried. “How dare you! I would never—”
“Enough!” I roared. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m tired of mothering you all day, every day. Of holding your hand through life. Of being the parent in our relationship. You know, I grew up seeing you and Da shipping off Cillian and Hunter to boarding schools in Europe and was terrified of sharing their fate. There was nothing I feared more than saying goodbye to you and Athair. Now, I am actually jealous of my brothers,” I spat out, “because you gave them the best gift of all. They grew up barely knowing you and liking you very little. They are not attached to you like I am. They can live their lives, do as they please, free from the chains of loving two people who are incapable of loving anyone else but themselves. I’m done!”
I flung my hands up in the air and stormed out, bumping into a doctor who scurried into Mother’s room. He called out to me, trying to find out what was wrong, but I ignored him, feeling very young and very desperate all of a sudden.
The drive back home was a blur. I was surprised I made it at all, seeing my unshed tears impaired my vision. I stormed into my mother’s en-suite, opened the cabinets, and started throwing everything into a white trash bag I’d taken from the pantry.
Anything you could get high on was gone. I shoved it all in without rhyme or reason. Sunscreen, Vaseline, bandages, painkillers, and cough medicine alike. When I was satisfied with my findings, and sure there were no other drugs to be found in the house, I proceeded to stomp my way outside, hoisted the full trash bag into the trunk of my Prius, and floored it all the way to Badlands.
I tried not to think about the last time I’d seen Sam.
I told him I never wanted to see him again then went ahead and knocked on his door. Not the most consistent I’d been, but I was worried. When I’d heard from Cillian, Hunter, and Da that Sam was nowhere to be found, I figured he was holed up in his apartment and for good reason. Honestly, I’d been more afraid he’d gotten shot or had a serious wound and was too proud to ask for help.
I’d found him sick and shivering, nursed him back to health, and then gave him the space he needed.
That was three days ago.
He never even said thank you.
Not that I had any reason to expect him to. This was Sam I was talking about, a well-known monster.
While I knew he wouldn’t hand me over to the authorities in a red satin ribbon, I also didn’t trust him with the information of what I was doing with my medical degree. Why did I share with him my story of Ms. B, then?
Because you love him, mon cheri, and when you love someone, you want them to get to know you, so maybe they’ll fall for you, too.
Well, Sam was obviously feeling much better, seeing as he was clubbing with my selfish brothers tonight.
I stopped in front of Badlands, dragged the trash bag out, and rounded the building, toward the back door leading to Sam’s office.
I knew better than to knock. Which was why I took the tweezers out of the trash bag and tampered with the lock. It was a simple lock, and I had the advantage of knowing what I was doing. I’d broken into my brothers’ rooms plenty of times when I was younger. I was bored and alone in the impossibly large, looming Avebury Court Manor.
Sometimes, my only company was other people’s things. Toys and gadgets I had found under their beds. I’d even pretended the women gracing the covers of Penthouse and Playboy—found under Hunter’s bed—were my girlfriends.
The door hissed open with a soft click, and I trampled inside. Sam’s office was dark and empty. I threw the door open and headed downstairs, the music pounding from the club making the floor quake.
I wasn’t interested in the club, though. I headed straight to the card rooms. As soon as I reached the junction of the four card rooms, I peeked into each of them. It wasn’t hard to find my brothers. They were in the last one. It was the noisiest, most boisterous room, filled wall-to-wall with men wearing tuxedos, smoking Cuban cigars and drinking old whiskey, huddled around roulette and craps tables.
Cillian was in the corner of the room, talking animatedly with Devon, while Hunter was next to Sam by the roulette.
The Monster looked brand-new, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as he barked at his employees, no hint of his previous, sweaty, fever-ridden self in sight.
Swaggering inside, the trash bag flung over my shoulder like I was Santa delivering presents on Christmas Day, I stopped in the center of the room and emptied the content of the trash bag in the middle of the roulette table, a smile on my face.
Everyone, and I do mean everyone, gasped.
Everyone other than Sam.
Hunter was the first to recover from my little stint.
“Holy shitballs, sis. Way to make an entrance.” He whistled low, reaching for the center of the roulette table to grab a pack of mints I’d thrown in there accidentally, popping two into his mouth. “Do you have some blow? I don’t use drugs anymore, but if you have a side hustle, I’d like to financially contribute.”
“Aisling,” Cillian said, all ice and manners, sauntered toward me. “What are you doing here, besides the obvious, which is embarrassing yourself?”
“Great question,” I chirped, all honey and smiles. “Well, brother, I started my day off at six am, worked a long shift, came back home to find our mother passed out in her own puke, then proceeded to shove my fingers down her throat and usher her to the hospital to ensure she didn’t overdose on chewable vitamins or whatever it was she decided to cram into her stomach. At this point, I tried to call my dear brothers, but both of them were too busy playing cards to pick up the phone. You didn’t even answer our emergency code word, even though I’ve never used it in my life before, so it should have tipped you off about the situation. Our mother is fine, by the way. But I’m not. I’m tired and in need of a shower and fed up with carrying the burden of gluing this family together all by myself.”
The room turned very quiet and very still, and suddenly, I was only aware of Sam, Cillian, and Hunter. No one else registered.
Sam snapped his fingers together and barked, “Everybody out. Family business. Phil, Jonathon, Archie…” he turned to his croupiers “…take it to room three, and get everyone a complimentary drink. Not from the vintage menu.”
Sam sat back on one of the vintage armchair recliners, lighting himself another cigarette as he observed us. I turned my head toward him. I was in the mood to set fire to every single relationship I’d ever had, and he was high on my list of people I wanted to snap at.
“Wow. You mean you’re not going to kick me out of your club?” I gasped mockingly.
“If you show up tomorrow, I will.” He lounged comfortably in his seat, smirking. “Right now you seem to be doing a fine job ruining your own evening. No need for me to interfere.”
“You’re an asshole,” I spat out.
“And you sound like a broken record.”
“Cut this out, both of you. Start from the beginning, Ash,” Cillian ordered as the last of the crowd trickled out of the room. “What happened? Since when has Mother been dabbling with prescription drugs?”
“Since forever.” I threw my arms in the air. “She is a cutter, too.”
Both my brothers paled in response.
“Bet you didn’t know that either, huh? She mainly does this for attention, to keep Da and me on our toes whenever she thinks we don’t pay her enough attention. There’s a lot you don’t know. I can’t do this all by myself. Our family is falling apart.”
“I—” Cillian started, but I was so mad I cut him off. It was the first time I ever snapped at my older brother.
“And you didn’t even pick up the phone when I called you! You ghosted me.”
“We didn’t ghost you,” Cillian maintained coolly. “We put our phones aside and didn’t see your texts.”
“Even if you didn’t ghost me tonight, you’ve ghosted me our entire lives, letting me live this nightmare of tending to our mother alone!”