Eimear McBride - The Lesser Bohemians

He looks around the room but not at me. Lights another cigarette. Pours another drink. Then, pressing his knuckles to the pitiless tic, continues on.

Once she was done, she’d get up and walk out and I’d just lie there getting back to blank. Sometimes I’d throw up. As it progressed, I started dropping lit matches on my stomach, or legs. Not to feel, just to revive some self that could act normally in my skin — I know you know about that. I’d wait to see how long I could take it and, as time went on, for fucking ages. By the end they could burn themselves out.

I should have said No, I know that. I should’ve known to push her off and it sounds ridiculous but the way she had me I couldn’t go against her at all. For years after I left I kept wondering if the real truth was that I’d enjoyed or invited it because physically I did you know do you know what I mean? She always made sure I did and and once that happens it’s like you’re implicated, like you’re the accomplice somehow. But it wasn’t what I wanted and I know that because of what I ended up doing to myself to get over it.

All of him shivering now, like a dog in the rain, but still You alright with this? he says I know we both have it so is it too much? And I am I feel so distraught. This is not my story though or time for upset. I’m fine, you tell me whatever you want. The tic gone so bad his mouth can hardly hold his smoke. Okay, but if you change your mind I say I won’t, please don’t worry about me.

Well, at some point, she started slipping me sleeping pills after — maybe the throwing up was disturbing the peace. At least it meant a dreamless sleep and started me considering when else I’d like that — which was already most of the time. So I began helping myself. Just the sleeping pills first but — once I started to search — there were prescription bottles stashed all over the house. I used to lift so many at a time she must’ve guessed but she never mentioned it and, as she was only getting worse, there wasn’t much incentive to stop. I can see now though I was getting depressed. I’d come in from school and just lie on my bed so exhausted I could hardly move. I was sick all the time. Every flu. Nosebleeds a lot. Then the tic started too and that frightened her, I think. She used to beg me to stop it — as if I could. It was that bad sometimes I couldn’t speak. They used to excuse me from class to go sit in the bog just to get it under control — like school wasn’t already nightmare enough. I hated it. Kept getting into fights which, actually, cheered me up. It was almost as if they solidified me. Gave me somewhere to be angry and feel like I wasn’t queer because, once she started, I lost all interest in girls — that poor one I walked home, don’t know what she must’ve thought, I never even looked at her again. My mother’d go mad though, at the bloody nose, ripped shirt, so I’d get another hiding and I always let her. Never even considered not. Whenever she wanted. Whatever she grabbed. Bottles, brushes, tin of paint once — had to get stitches after that one. I mean, by the end I was nearly twice her height but — same as the fights — I almost got to like it. Seeing how much I could take. Because the less it looked like it hurt, the angrier she’d get, then the further she’d go and that was revenge. She’d feel so bad after and I’d feel like I’d won. But also I was wolfing down pills by then so I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. What I remember most was just finding it hard, really hard, to be alive.

So did you ever tell anyone? Did anyone know? He shakes his head.

I never told and no one ever walked in but, that in itself, considering how long she was very careful though, about the pretence. Always Morning love! like nothing had happened. Never asked about the burn marks or mentioned the throwing up. No one did. Towards the end though, the stepfather’d sometimes shout through my door Get out of his room, he’s too old for that now. Or make jokes about her being cracked because of all the pills and we’d laugh about that, me and him. But I don’t think he really knew and I probably wouldn’t have wanted him to. Either way, when I left I never saw him again.

More wine? and he stands up without looking at me. Yes please. So he goes to the fridge. Gets another bottle. Opens. Fills my glass. Fills his own then sits back opposite. And when did you? I say.

By the time I was fifteen it was very bad, so I wrote to my father — he was in Newcastle by then — asking if he’d put me up until I got a job and a place. Only fucking thing I’d ever asked. Three months I waited for his reply. Barely legible when it arrived and full with fine phrases about the responsibilities of fatherhood he’d obviously nicked from something he hadn’t understood. The gist of it being Of course I could but — unfortunately — I could not. I was so desperate by then though I decided to hitch up. He didn’t recognise me at the door and, when I explained who I was, he nearly had a stroke. Fucker wouldn’t even ask me in, said his marriage was hanging by a thread and I was old enough to take care of myself. I begged him but he wouldn’t. In the end I said Please don’t make me go back, she’s fucking doing things to me. He just hit me a slap and said Don’t be such a pervert! then slammed the door in my face. I didn’t know what to do so I hitched back again in the dark and let me tell you, that was one long fucking night.

She was pretty hysterical when I got in. Been up all night. Called the police. The stepfather had already gone to work so it was only her and the other two, hiding in their room. I didn’t want to say where I’d been but she kept on and on so, eventually, I just said I went to see my dad. I had to but, even as I was, I knew what came next would be well

She went completely off her head. Shouting how I’d betrayed her. Was an ungrateful piece of shit and just like him, slinking off into the night. That she wished she’d never had me. That I’d ruined her life. None of which was unexpected but then I realised she was only working up. And my heart just started to pound. Then it really began. Throwing things first. From the sideboard. Plates. Cups. Screaming You’re in for a hiding, my boy, you’ll never forget. And I thought Alright, get on with it. You can take it, whatever it is. So I leaned against the table, like she said — arms out to support myself and I was prepared for a lot. I had faith in my pain threshold. It had always stood me in good stead before but this time she told me to pull my shirt up then she beat me with the buckle end of the stepfather’s belt hard as she could again and again I thought I was going to pass out and she just kept on and probably would’ve but I couldn’t I couldn’t manage the pain. It got so bad I couldn’t move and then there was all this mystery blood so I stopped her I turned I took it away. She went for me then, like a wild animal really, and I was so panicked I could hardly defend myself. When she said Get upstairs, it was a relief. I don’t even remember how I did but then she followed me up. The other two must’ve been listening because when she called them out they wouldn’t come. So she went in and belted them out of the room. I want you to watch this, she said A lesson about what ingratitude gets. Then she started ripping my clothes, destroying my things — not that there was much but Where can you go if you’re naked, son? Why didn’t I get rid of you at the start and have a life of my own? And me just going I’m sorry Mum, please don’t. But she wouldn’t just fucking out of control. Whacking me round the head with bits of books. Blood pouring out my nose. I couldn’t even see my back but when the younger two did they started screaming with fright so then she started really knocking them round. That’s what finally woke me up. I knew I had to do something before she killed one of us. So I got hold of her, best I could, and half dragged, half carried her back to her room. Her thrashing about, screeching Don’t you touch your mother! Fucking biting but I didn’t notice that until later. All I could think of was shutting her in and I only managed to, just. Stood there holding the door handle begging Lie down Mum. Please Mum. Please take one of your pills. Which she must’ve done because, after a while, the ranting died down and when I let go, the door stayed shut. Then everything went quiet and we went down to the sitting room.