Thursday, September 11th 2014

'You'd tell me if anything was wrong, wouldn't you?' His mother's voice was light, but Jack knew the tone. It was the same voice she used when she knew he was lying as a child. 'You're my son. I know when something's on your mind.'

His grip on the phone tightened. Could she tell? Could she hear it in his voice? He pictured her face twisting with suspicion, the sharpness in her tone when she knew something wasn't right. If she found out, she wouldn't be worried—she'd be devastated. He swallowed, forcing his voice steady. 'Just busy, Mam. And tired.'

'That's my boy. No distractions, no nonsense. Just keep focused, Jacko. College is a big opportunity, but it's not the time to go losing the run of yourself.'

Jack's stomach twisted. He already had lost the run of himself. And if she ever found out, she'd never look at him the same way again. Did she know? No. Surely not. He'd know if she knew.

'So what's your plan for the evening?' she asked.

'Just chill, I'm gonna make dinner now soon and I've got some study to do.'

'That's my boy, maith thú. Sure I'll get you go. Bí i dteag, slán a mhac. Love you.'

'Love you too, mam.'

Jack hung up the phone and tossed it on his bed with a sigh. He was exhausted. He heard more from his mam now that he was in Dublin than he did when he lived under the same roof as her. She was literally calling him at least once a day.

He knew she was just being nosy, and looking out for him, but it was stressing him out. How could she have become more overbearing when he moved halfway across the country?

'Well, what's the fuckin' craic?' exclaimed a female voice in a thick midlands accent Jack couldn't place as he entered the sitting room. It was a lot of energy to greet him as he left the peace of his own room, and he felt winded by it.

Jack stared at the girl sitting on the couch in front of him, who looked like a Sim that had been hit with the "randomize outfit" button too many times. A bleached blonde fringe, the rest of her hair black, two tiny buns sitting like antennae on her head. Her outfit was a mess of clashing colours, and yet, somehow, it worked.

'Hi, nice to meet ya. I'm Jack,' he said awkwardly.

'I'm Millie. You must be the new housemate I've heard so much about! Sorry, I'd stand up and shake your hand, but I'm just cleaning my leg here.' Jack cocked an eyebrow, and then realised she was, in fact, cleaning her leg. She had it resting in her lap and she was rubbing it down with a cloth. It was made of metal. Jack found himself staring at it in silence, and she stared back at him. 'Everything OK?'

'Sorry, yeah!' he laughed awkwardly, and took a seat in the armchair adjacent to her. He tried his best to maintain eye-contact as she spoke, avoiding looking at her prosthetic leg and felt his eyes fighting to stare, as though a magnetic force was pulling them towards the stump just above where her knee should have been.

'You at rugby or something?' she asked, barely looking up as she polished the leg.

'Gaelic football,' he corrected.

'Oooh, c'mon sporty spice,' she said enthusiastically, focusing again on polishing her leg. He tried his best not to stare, but in the silence he could only look at her. He had never seen a prosthetic leg up close before. 'Do you want to hold it?' she said suddenly with a grin on her face.

'What? No, I-'

'Think quick!' she interrupted, the words barely out of Jack's mouth, as she tossed her leg across the room at him.

'Jesus Christ!' he exclaimed as he leaned forwards to catch it and she cackled maniacally. Jack forced out a laugh, unsure of what to do now that her metal peg-leg was sitting in his lap like a newborn baby. He kept his arms pinned to his side, afraid to touch it almost, and she watched him uncomfortably squirm with a grin on her face. At that moment, one of the bedroom doors behind them swung open so hard it nearly took a chunk out of the wall and Millie let out a cry.

'Ciarán! This dickhead's after taking my leg and won't give it back!'

'Have no fear gurlies—Suzie Grant has arrived! Fresh off the night link from Cark.'

Jack gawked. His brain short-circuited because he recognised the voice, but not the person standing before him.

No. No way.

The boy he had kissed. The boy he had threatened. The boy he was desperately trying to forget, was standing there in a fucking lime-green dress.

He lived with a fucking drag queen.

'Jesus Jack, would you give the lesbian back her leg.'

'Do you not like dykes or something?' she asked.

'Don't think he gay people in general, girl,' sniped Ciaran.

'Jaysus, you're an awkward fellah,' she uttered eventually, 'but don't worry, we'll bate that out of ya as CiCi would say!'

Ciarán - the drag queen - took a seat beside Millie. The more he stared, the more he struggled to believe that this was the boy he had kissed. The boy he had shared a bed with. The boy he had almost got into a brawl with the other day.

'You can ask me if you want,' Millie said as he awkwardly passed her back the leg.

'Ask you what?'

'How I lost it.'

'Oh no, it's fine,' he stuttered awkwardly, again not knowing where to look as Ciarán smirked - his lips had somehow trebled in size and were painted a bright red.

'You don't care that I lost my leg?'

'No! No, it's not that, I-'

She cackled, 'relax, I'm only having you on.'

'You are pure cruel, girl,' snorted Ciarán.

'Shark attack in Australia,' she announced dryly, 'barely made it out alive.'

'What? Seriously?' Jack gasped, 'I didn't think shark attacks actually happened in real life.'

'That's rude.'

'Sorry, I-'

'She's messing with ya,' reassured Ciarán with an eyeroll.

'It's a well known fact that shark's love vitamin D. And I'm three D's; a depressed, disabled, dyke.' Jack stared at the two of them in a mix of cautious amusement and complete and utter shock as they snorted with laughter in his face. He had moved into a fucking mad house and he needed to get out as soon as possible. Millie grinned, crossing her arms. 'Oh we're gonna have our hands full with you, Jacky boy.'