Author's Note: I'd like to thank everyone who's given me feedback, both here on FF and on DS. I appreciate all the kind responses I've gotten to this story. :)
I run my hand under the faucet in the bathroom. The water's too hot, but I leave my hand under until it turns pink, until it stings too much to keep it in any more. I look up at my face in the mirror. Sometimes you forget what everyone else sees, but that's the most important part. Everyone's judgments, all their opinions - that's what makes your life, don't it?
Tall lanky lad. Eighteen. Dark hair, steely blue eyes, funny mustache. I'm the only one my age I know can grow one. My ma hates it. Reminds her of my dad, which is kinda why I've got it. Sometimes I hate him for leaving us, but I know why he did it. Ma. Ma and her drinkin' - even before he left she was a boozer. At first it was at parties and that, but then she lost her job and she got mean drunk. She'd sit around the house all day, drinkin' before noon. Her and dad used to row all the time. I don't blame him for findin' someone else. Finally had enough of it. Packed his bags and left one day. He's still in Belfast, but it's not our Belfast. His Belfast is nice - posh. Him and that woman and their little girl - Charlene or somethin' like that. I've only met her once, I think. Our Belfast is… this. Poor, run-down Belfast. Lonely, cut-throat, welfare Belfast. And he left me here. With her.
I've got a cut on my bottom lip. A bruise on my eye. A gash on my cheek. I look a right mess. I feel it too, in more ways than one. What kind of person am I? Who finds joy in something so disgusting - so wrong? I splash some water on my face and watch the droplets roll down my cheek, making tiny pink blots on the counter. It's not Alan. I keep telling myself that. It's the way I feel. When he looks at me - like he knows me. Like he wants to know me. I've never had that before with anyone. Girls look at me sometimes. It's so easy with them. Because I don't feel anything. Flash her a smile, a quick snog in the ally and bob's your uncle. She'll give you whatever you want. Tell you anything you wanna know. But this is different. I don't want anything from Alan. I just want him to look at me with them eyes. Because he makes me feel different. That's it. I'm not gay. Not me.
It's almost one o' clock. I don't really know what to do now that Pete's not talking to me. I lay on the couch and rest my eyes for a bit. I can feel him. I can still feel that weight on my chest. I can see the shocked and disappointed look on his face as he stares up at me from the floor. Why do I do it? Why do I hurt the only people who show me the least bit of affection? What if I hadn't pushed him away?
I don't even have to ask. I know what I would have done. My stomach is in knots now. I think I'm gonna be sick.
Suddenly, the bell rings. I drag myself off of the couch toward the door. I hope it's Peter. I pull back the curtain to see who it is and there's a little blonde girl who looks about twelve standing on our stoop. She looks up at me through the window with her big hazel eyes and waves enthusiastically. I'm not in the mood for this shit. I open the door and get a better look at her. She's wearing the strangest outfit I've ever seen on a child. Oversized, flower-print jumper, polka-dot skirt and neon orange leggings. I look up the street, searching for this kid's parents, but I don't see anyone. I stare down at her, smacking my gum, but she continues to smile idiotically up at me.
"Are you Brendan Brady?" I nod slightly, surprised that she's asking for me by name, as I have no idea who she might be. Unless… "I'm Cheryl. Cheryl Brady - your sister. Well, sort of anyway. See your da is my da, so I guess that makes us brother and sister, though I don't think I've ever met you and if I have I can't remember. How old are you? Why is your face all cut up? Why do you have a mustache?"
Please, God, help me. She forces her way past me and into the living room, talking incessantly. I don't think she even stops to take a breath. She plops herself down on the couch, finally falling silent. She stares at me expectantly and I realize I haven't said one word to her. "Erm… where's yer ma?" That's what you say to children, right? Out on their own?
Cheryl's picking at a scab on her elbow and doesn't even acknowledge my question. "My da told me I had a brother who lived in this part of town, so I looked for ye. I'm pretty good at that sort of stuff - gettin' what I want and that."
Now I'm really worried. What if this girls parents don't know where she is? They might be worried sick about 'er. "Look, Baby Spice, does yer ma know where you are or not?"
She twirls her hair around her finger for a moment. "Not exactly, no." She panics when she sees the exasperated look on my face. "Please, Brendan! I just want to know a bit about ye, that's all. I promise I'll only stay for a little while longer. Then I'll pop back home and no one will even know I was gone! Pleeeease?"
I'm not used to little girls begging to spend time with me. I think about it before I figure, she's the one who ran away. If anything she's the one who'll be getting in trouble for this - it's not my arse. I sit on the chair and she stares at me, wide-eyed. It's kind of cute in a way. "Your mustache looks just like me da's."
I chuckle at her. She's a strange little kid, that's for sure.
"Why's your eye all bruised?"
"I got in a fight."
"With who?"
"A guy in a bar. Him and his friends weren't treating this lady too nicely and I can't stand that." For the most part, that's technically true.
"I punched someone once." That wasn't something I expected to hear her say. "Fern McGrady last summer. She ripped my wig out during Riverdance recital, so I hit her in the face."
While the mental image of tiny Riverdancers scrapping is quite hilarious, I try to keep a straight face. "Girls shouldn't fight each other like that. It's not ladylike."
"But boys get into scraps all the time. I see 'em at school." She raised an eyebrow at me. It's something I remember my da doing whenever he was making a point. "Does it hurt?"
"A lot."
"Where's yer ma?"
"Out." We sit there in silence for a bit. "Not what you expected, am I? Living in the bad part of town, getting in fights…"
"Weird mustache," she adds, smirking. "No. But it's nice to meet my big brother." Her big funny smile kinda melts my heart a bit.
"Y'wanna stick around for a while? I can take you for a bite or somethin'."
Her face lights up immediately and I grab my jacket and head out the door, Cheryl bouncing along behind me, chattering all the way. For another hour or so I forget all about Pete and Alan and all the other shit going on in my life. I just found my weird little sister. Well, actually, she found me.
