Shane Butler never admitted he was lonely, not even to himself. He had learned from a young age that the only person you could truly count on was yourself.
"Shane m'boy..." his father would whisper dramatically, the glass of Irish whiskey sloshing dangerously in its glass. "Never, ever trust anyone but yourself to make you happy, to make you feel full."
"But Da, doesn't Mam make you happy?" Eight-year-old brown eyes were wide as he watched his father take a large gulp of his drink.
The innocent words stilled his father, made his eyes clearer than they had been in ages. The silence felt threatening to Shane, who was no stranger to his father's methods of punishment, his ways of teaching.
"Someday soon, too soon I fear, you will learn that happiness isn't all there is to life." Shane was startled by the regret and despair that was evident in his father's normally commanding and fearless voice. It frightened him even more. "Now, go outside and play, there's a good lad."
Nineteen-year-old Shane was letting his thoughts wander too much. He wasn't lonely. He was just..bored.
He was walking the streets of Limerick, watching all the people that passed him. He was amazed at the life they seemed to possess within themselves.
"Just like Vincent..."
The words came out in a cracked whisper and Shane felt his spine go rigid, his eyes dialate, his hands tremble.
Vincent. Vincent. Vincent.
"Never trust anyone to make you happy, to make you full..." The words whispered at the back of his brain and trickled forward out of his swollen chapped red mouth.
Shane's eyes fell upon a young blond haired man who was flamboyantly dancing in the streets, as if there was no other night better than this cold October one.
He turned his eyes to steel and crossed the street, hands in his pockets to steady himself, ignoring the oncoming traffic.