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When Rage wasn't in school, it gave Malachy cause to worry. He knew she wouldn't be there if she wasn't forced to be. But it was that fact alone that caused his stomach to contract violently when he couldn't find her anywhere. Her father claimed that school was the most important thing a young person could do, and he took such offense when she didn't attend, that he hurt her. Even if she only took off for a sick day. Rage had attended school with the flu, she'd attended when she was vomiting and the nurse had tried in vain to send her home. This was bad.
Malachy ran to find his brother, smoking behind the gymnasium before classes had even started, as was his wont. Malachy grabbed Francis' arm and she looked up and his elder brother with fear in his eyes. "Rage is gone!"
Francis, annoyed, pulled his arm out of Malachy's grip. "Mal, that girl of yours could handle a raging bull. She'll be fine."
Malachy wiped at his lips to keep from telling Francis about Rage's father. He wasn't supposed to tell. It was their secret. She'd be so angry if he told, but no one would understand if he didn't. "Frankie, she..." Mal took a deep breath and he held it.
"She what, Mal? Spit it out, or get fucked." Francis took a deep drag of his cigarette.
Malachy moaned and he covered his face with his hands. "Nothing."
"Astounding. Look, if you're going to have a pathetic little spaz attack because you can't find your hip attachment, skive off classes and go find her." No one ever said Francis O'Reilly was a scholar and with good reason.
Mal groaned, but he didn't have a choice, really. He nodded and he headed away from the school building as fast as he possibly could without drawing too much attention.
Whitehead was a small town and it didn't take very long to reach the Winthrop house, though he was winded from running and he had to lean against the wall before he could find the energy to reach out and knock on the door. It wasn't answered. And from within the house, came nothing but silence. Rage's father was not a silent man. In fact, he was the very antithesis of silent. He seemed to yell everything, right down to 'hello'. If the house was quiet, he wasn't here. And if he wasn't here, Rage had no reason to be at school. But she didn't answer the door either.
Malachy was able to pick the lock with no trouble at all, and he let himself into her house, creeping like a cat over the creaking floorboards. Detritus was scattered all over the floor and there were broken beer bottles in the kitchen, indicating that someone had thrown them. But there was no sign of Reagan. She wasn't anywhere.
Feeling absolutely empty, Mal left the Winthrop house (appropriately locked) as quickly as possible. He couldn't go back to school though, so he headed for home. Dejectedly, he made his way into his room, and that was where he found Rage, curled up on his bed, crying into his pillow. "Hey!" Mal was at her side in an instant, having flown across the room and clambered onto the bed the second he saw her shockingly bright hair contrasted against his drab grey duvet-cover. "Rage..." Mal swept her hair off of her tear-stained face and he kissed her cheek. No bruises, he noticed with relief. At least...no obvious ones. "Reagan, what's wrong?"
Rage sat up, her knees hugged tightly to her chest. She lifted her red eyes to his and she wiped at her tears. "Nothing, Mal... It's nothing."
"You weren't in school. I was scared shitless. Have you been here all mornin'?" He reached out to touch her arm lightly.
Rage nodded and she shrugged. "Think so."
"Rage, what's goin' on?"
Rage couldn't tell him. She couldn't tell him because she had now way of knowing how he would react. He was 15. She was 14. And she was pregnant with his child. She was going to take care of it. He would never know. "Just couldn't be in that place today."
"Reagan, they're going to notify your father that you weren't in school, and he'll-"
"Mal, shut the fuck up!" Rage hissed. "I'll just stay here tonight. Tommorrow he'll probably have forgotten."
Mal didn't look convinced, but he was glad that she was willing to stay with him for the night, regardless. Anything to keep her safe. "Right so." And he nodded. "You're not hurt or anythin'?"
"No. You got food?"
"'Course." Mal said soothingly. He leaned forward to kiss her gently. "You can stay here, and I'll go get you something from the kitchen."
"Thanks."
Mal loped down the hallway, nearly crashing into his mother who was wandering around aimlessly which she often did for no reason other than it was better than sitting around aimlessly. The woman did nothing and never sought out a way to rectify the situation either. And whenever she got the chance, she took this out on her boys by micro-managing them. "Malachy!" She said, taking his arms and impeding his progress to the kitchen. "You're home!"
"Reagan's sick." Mal explained, trying to sidestep around his mother who was merely an annoyance.
"Is she?" Pauline frowned. "Is she upstairs?"
"Yeah." Mal said, as if defying his mother to have a problem with it.
"Oh, Malachy, you shouldn't have that girl in your room! Make her come downstairs and I'll take care of her."
"Mum, bugger off, I'm handling it!" Mal pushed around her and he headed to the kitchen, though Pauline was mere steps behind him.
"Malachy, you're missing school to take care of someone when it isn't your job to do so-"
"Yes it bloody well is!" Mal yelled at her, because if he wasn't going take care of her, who would? He grabbed whatever food he could hold in his arms and he turned around to glare at her defiantly.
"That girl is trouble, Malachy..." Mal rolled his eyes. Rage didn't do anything he didn't do. And Pauline didn't have any issues with the things her sons involved themselves in as long as they didn't get caught. Her only issue with Rage was that she was a girl and Mal was a boy. And in a few months time, she would be kicking herself for taking issue with that particular fact. Repeatedly.
"Go to hell, you'll be more useful there." Mal hissed and then he stalked back to his room, dumping the food onto the bed. "Had a run-in with the banshee. She won't be a problem." He added, locking his door as an afterthought.
"Thanks, Mal." Rage gave him a watery smile. "I love you, you know."
"Yeah. Love you too." Mal sat down on the bed next to her and he kissed her cheek, finally allowing himself to feel relief. She was alright and that meant he could be too.
Malachy ran to find his brother, smoking behind the gymnasium before classes had even started, as was his wont. Malachy grabbed Francis' arm and she looked up and his elder brother with fear in his eyes. "Rage is gone!"
Francis, annoyed, pulled his arm out of Malachy's grip. "Mal, that girl of yours could handle a raging bull. She'll be fine."
Malachy wiped at his lips to keep from telling Francis about Rage's father. He wasn't supposed to tell. It was their secret. She'd be so angry if he told, but no one would understand if he didn't. "Frankie, she..." Mal took a deep breath and he held it.
"She what, Mal? Spit it out, or get fucked." Francis took a deep drag of his cigarette.
Malachy moaned and he covered his face with his hands. "Nothing."
"Astounding. Look, if you're going to have a pathetic little spaz attack because you can't find your hip attachment, skive off classes and go find her." No one ever said Francis O'Reilly was a scholar and with good reason.
Mal groaned, but he didn't have a choice, really. He nodded and he headed away from the school building as fast as he possibly could without drawing too much attention.
Whitehead was a small town and it didn't take very long to reach the Winthrop house, though he was winded from running and he had to lean against the wall before he could find the energy to reach out and knock on the door. It wasn't answered. And from within the house, came nothing but silence. Rage's father was not a silent man. In fact, he was the very antithesis of silent. He seemed to yell everything, right down to 'hello'. If the house was quiet, he wasn't here. And if he wasn't here, Rage had no reason to be at school. But she didn't answer the door either.
Malachy was able to pick the lock with no trouble at all, and he let himself into her house, creeping like a cat over the creaking floorboards. Detritus was scattered all over the floor and there were broken beer bottles in the kitchen, indicating that someone had thrown them. But there was no sign of Reagan. She wasn't anywhere.
Feeling absolutely empty, Mal left the Winthrop house (appropriately locked) as quickly as possible. He couldn't go back to school though, so he headed for home. Dejectedly, he made his way into his room, and that was where he found Rage, curled up on his bed, crying into his pillow. "Hey!" Mal was at her side in an instant, having flown across the room and clambered onto the bed the second he saw her shockingly bright hair contrasted against his drab grey duvet-cover. "Rage..." Mal swept her hair off of her tear-stained face and he kissed her cheek. No bruises, he noticed with relief. At least...no obvious ones. "Reagan, what's wrong?"
Rage sat up, her knees hugged tightly to her chest. She lifted her red eyes to his and she wiped at her tears. "Nothing, Mal... It's nothing."
"You weren't in school. I was scared shitless. Have you been here all mornin'?" He reached out to touch her arm lightly.
Rage nodded and she shrugged. "Think so."
"Rage, what's goin' on?"
Rage couldn't tell him. She couldn't tell him because she had now way of knowing how he would react. He was 15. She was 14. And she was pregnant with his child. She was going to take care of it. He would never know. "Just couldn't be in that place today."
"Reagan, they're going to notify your father that you weren't in school, and he'll-"
"Mal, shut the fuck up!" Rage hissed. "I'll just stay here tonight. Tommorrow he'll probably have forgotten."
Mal didn't look convinced, but he was glad that she was willing to stay with him for the night, regardless. Anything to keep her safe. "Right so." And he nodded. "You're not hurt or anythin'?"
"No. You got food?"
"'Course." Mal said soothingly. He leaned forward to kiss her gently. "You can stay here, and I'll go get you something from the kitchen."
"Thanks."
Mal loped down the hallway, nearly crashing into his mother who was wandering around aimlessly which she often did for no reason other than it was better than sitting around aimlessly. The woman did nothing and never sought out a way to rectify the situation either. And whenever she got the chance, she took this out on her boys by micro-managing them. "Malachy!" She said, taking his arms and impeding his progress to the kitchen. "You're home!"
"Reagan's sick." Mal explained, trying to sidestep around his mother who was merely an annoyance.
"Is she?" Pauline frowned. "Is she upstairs?"
"Yeah." Mal said, as if defying his mother to have a problem with it.
"Oh, Malachy, you shouldn't have that girl in your room! Make her come downstairs and I'll take care of her."
"Mum, bugger off, I'm handling it!" Mal pushed around her and he headed to the kitchen, though Pauline was mere steps behind him.
"Malachy, you're missing school to take care of someone when it isn't your job to do so-"
"Yes it bloody well is!" Mal yelled at her, because if he wasn't going take care of her, who would? He grabbed whatever food he could hold in his arms and he turned around to glare at her defiantly.
"That girl is trouble, Malachy..." Mal rolled his eyes. Rage didn't do anything he didn't do. And Pauline didn't have any issues with the things her sons involved themselves in as long as they didn't get caught. Her only issue with Rage was that she was a girl and Mal was a boy. And in a few months time, she would be kicking herself for taking issue with that particular fact. Repeatedly.
"Go to hell, you'll be more useful there." Mal hissed and then he stalked back to his room, dumping the food onto the bed. "Had a run-in with the banshee. She won't be a problem." He added, locking his door as an afterthought.
"Thanks, Mal." Rage gave him a watery smile. "I love you, you know."
"Yeah. Love you too." Mal sat down on the bed next to her and he kissed her cheek, finally allowing himself to feel relief. She was alright and that meant he could be too.
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