Page 10 of Mayfly

“You really wanna talk?” I grit out, staring at my glass.

“Yes, I wanna talk. It’s why I came over here. It’s why I’m still here despite your less-than-warm welcome.”

“Fine.” I drape my arm over the back of my chair and stare at him. “Seeing as you brought him up. That little scheme of yours to siphon off the top of Baker’s backyard gin is why I was in Juvie in the first place.”

“Fuck off.”

“It’s true.”

The glare Jude shoots back at me catches me off guard. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that senile old bastard who didn’t know his ass from his elbow, figured out two kids—of all people—had been nicking booze from him? You know that for me to believe that, you also need to convince me you kept up the racket after I left.”

I don’t look away. I don’t even blink.

“Is that true, Curren?” He leans in closer to me. “Did you keep sneaking into his yard on your own?”

“Yeah, I did.”

Jude doesn’t reply straight away; he mulls it over, like he’s deciding whether he wants to play this game or not. Then his fingers twitch on the table as if he wants to reach out, but stops himself.

“You...” He stills a moment. “You kept going back?”

I shrug; “I had my reasons,” but my chest tightens. “—I did once,” I clarify quickly. “I had to. He…” It’s my turn to fade out; to stop myself from digging up more shit I'd buried a long time ago.

It’s only soft, but I feel Jude’s fingertips on the back of my hand through my glove, before I even catch that he’s moved.“What happened?” he asks, his voice pushing me aside and talking to who I used to be.

“He did it again.”

“You’re not talking about Baker, are you?”

With a shake of my head, my eyes unfocus, and the words just fall out of my mouth. Numb. Devoid of any emotion. So matter-of-fact that if it were anyone other than Jude hearing them, they’d call the nearest nuthouse and have me interned for life.

“Harry… It had been ages—I mean, I think… At least a year. I assumed he’d lost interest ‘cause I wasn’t a little kid anymore… Then, one night when Cheryl wasn’t there, he came into my room. He didn’t drag me to the shed. There was no camera, no lights, he just… did it in my bed. He kept telling me that because he couldn’t make money out of me anymore, I needed to make sure I was always ready for him. Like it was my fucking duty. Like all I was good for was to be his whore ‘cause not even the streets would want me…”

Jude’s hand encases my fist and squeezes.

“…You weren’t there anymore.”

“I’m so sor—”

“I didn’t even cry. I was so proud of myself until I wasn’t. Until it hurt more than all the other times combined… In here.” I tap my chest. “So I snuck into Baker’s yard and drank till it didn’t hurt anymore.”

“Is that when he caught you?”

“He never caught me.”

“I thought you said—”

“I cut his dick off.”

It’s the thickest silence, like a record scratched and everyone in the pub stopped talking at once and all turned to look with bated breath, waiting for me to clarify. To repeat myself. To take it back. To say, I’m joking.

But I don’t.

Because it’s true.

The excessive blood loss and five years in detention, kind of true.

“Harry’s, I mean. With a pair of pruning shears.” With a sigh, I smile. A genuine, proper smile, and I can feel it take over my entire face as my cheeks push up and my eyes squint.

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