Page 20 of Cillian

“Who the fuck said I did?” He tensely sat up straight in his chair.

“I didn't mean anything by it. It's just annoying to watch you survey every inch of the room like we make you uncomfortable or something.”

“Elizabeth ain't but two things that scare me and Black people aren't one of them.”

“Well, you would never know by the way you can't seem to let your guard down for just a second.”

“I look where I want to look. Anything to not have to look at you,” he spat.

“Now you're just being cruel. It's not like I won't take some responsibility for us getting on the wrong foot?—”

“I don't look at it as being on the wrong foot. I see it as being exactly where we need to be,” He challenged.

“Cillian, I don't know if you want me to apologize or something? But I’m admitting I didn't have the context when I came forward. That part I'm not going to apologize for. I had a lot going on at the time. I was just a scared seventeen-year-old girl thinking she was doing the right thing?—”

“The right thing wouldn’t have been talking to fucking coppers. A girl like you should have known better. You think they were gonna give someone like me the benefit of the doubt?”

The comment made me drop my fork and knife. Since it was clear he was baiting me, I entertained it and took the bait. “And what pray tell is someone like you?”

“A gangster. Irish.”

“Oh, I'm sorry for not considering those things. Guess I was too busy worrying about getting a dangerous man off the streets. At least you're fucking Irish. If you were Black, you'd already be dead.”

“You think I should be grateful that I ate fucking slop for three years. Got jumped every other month for being from the wrong family. Not to mention have my family get on without me?”

“No, but it's a lot better than what my people get. And I'm not going to apologize for being scared.”

“Good, because I don’t want your damn apology. So, keep your fucking charity. Only thing you could give me is a wife who knows when to shut the hell up.”

In all our banter, I hadn’t even realized someone sitting opposite, until a gentle hand grazed my shoulder. “I'm sorry, is this seat is taken?”

“Actually, it…” Just as I was about to dismiss our table crasher, one look in their direction and all the air in my lungs vanished. Expecting it to be Bellamy, my insides wove itself in knots at the sight of our guest.

All it took was one look. One dirty glance in my direction and I was taken back to eighteen. Taken back to sixteen. Even as young as twelve. Back then I didn’t understand what was happening to me. All I knew was that for seven years…I didn’t even know how to explain what he was doing to me. I knew it was wrong. But Papa said that it proved I wasn’t being fast.

Cillian’s words ricocheted in my head. “But there’s a difference between that kind of wickedness and mine. At least I can turn mine off. A person attracted to kids ain’t never gonna be able to turn that off.”

Suddenly, my body felt glued to my chair. I couldn’t blink. I couldn’t speak. In his presence, I was taught not to move. Not to react. All I could really do was recite Psalm 34:4-5 under my breath and pray it ended sooner.

My heart was beating faster than it ever had. Maybe even faster than when I witnessed someone die. He’d only sat down for a few seconds, not even a minute, but even that had felt like a lifetime.

“It was nice to see you Elizabeth.” My body uncomfortably shook at the sound of my name leaving his lips. As he stood, I kept repeating my words of comfort up until he was out of view.

“Family friend?” Cillian’s question breaking me out of my trance. I planned to get up so I could find some place quiet to cry, but my dress was wet, as well as the train of it. In such a short exchange, I hadn’t realized I’d been sitting in a pool of my own urine.

Completely trapped, I broke down in an uncontrollable sob feeling just as powerless as I’d felt when my father had forced me to go to him every year. No matter what I did, I’d be humiliated. If I stood, everyone would see that I’d soiled myself. If I stayed, there was no way of knowing whether I’d encounter him again.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” A slight snarl curling onto Cillian’s lips. Assuming I would match his energy, his face dropped into one of concern when I wouldn’t stop crying. All I could do was cover my mouth to muffle the sound so I’d bring less attention to myself, but with Cillian, the scene had already been made.

“Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?” His angered expression softened, but I could barely get the words out.

“I want to go home.” The words leaving my mouth no louder than a whisper. Cillian pulled his chair closer to mine, assuring me if I wanted to go home, then that’s what we were going to do.

“Get up.”

“I can’t.” Another whisper.

“Elizabeth, if something’s wrong with you, you need to stop wasting my time and get up?—”