Catalina was in the background, like a piece of furniture. She lived with us, working two jobs to support us. Grandma Maria was the one who did the heavy lifting when it came to raising me. She was blind with rage because I stole her cocaine and sold it to some wiseguys down the street then used the money to buy four McMeals and a Nerf gun, when she left me unattended tonight. There weren’t even condiments in our house, only drug paraphernalia and enough booze to fill the Charles River. I would if we had the ingredients for it. I was a nine-year-old and a malnourished one at that. “You’re, like, ten or eleven, Samuel! Make yourself a sandwich.” “Because you never fucking feed me.” I flung my joystick to the side, giving her stink eye. “Why are you so small? Pam’s kid is your age, and he is, like, huge.” She’d made up her mind tonight when she’d passed by me, on her way to her bedroom. Sparrow and Troy Brennan weren’t really my aunt and uncle, but I spent a lot of time with them-and by ‘a lot’, I mean still not enough.Ĭat, AKA the woman who birthed me, was giving me away. I flung myself into the arms of Aunt Sparrow, who staggered backward, pulling me to her chest in a protective hug. The door to Uncle Troy’s penthouse swung open. That was the only thing that went through my head when the woman who gave birth to me punched the doorbell five times in a row, clutching the back of my shirt like she was disposing of some punk who’d TP’d her house on her neighbor’s doorstep. This is the last time you ever cry in your life, shithead. “What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.” Sam Brennan is not the only monster in this story. My name is Aisling Fitzpatrick, and I have a confession to make. Once our story unfolded, and the truth came to light, I was the one to cut the cord.
Sam and I were only allowed to love each other in the dark.
I wanted to feed it, domesticate it, understand it. When other kids stayed awake at night fearing the pointy-toothed beast hiding in their closet, I longed to see mine.
Maybe it was always my destiny to fall in love with a monster. The most important thing I’d ever read was scribbled on the door of a portable restroom, engraved into plastic at a carnival on the outskirts of Boston.
But that night at the carnival, when you showed me who you were, I figured out who I wanted to be.” “Maybe we were never meant for each other.
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