JOEY
“ARE you sure you’re not hungry?” I asked Molloy on Friday night, as we took our seats in the middle row at the cinema.
She shook her head. “Thirsty?”
Another head shake.
She had been banging on about going to see Boogeyman for weeks now. I’d finally managed to get a night off work to take her, and she couldn’t look more miserable if she tried.
She wasn’t talking. She wasn’t eating. She wasn’t smiling.
The girl sitting next to me was not the same girl who climbed out of my bed last week and I was really starting to worry.
“So, I heard a rumor this evening,” I decided to go with next, knowing that Molloy could never resist some juicy gossip. “According to Mack, that Johnny Kavanagh lad from Tommen kicked seven kinds of shit out of Ciara Maloney’s fella in Biddies this evening.”
When she didn’t reply, I continued to ramble on, hoping to stir some sort of reaction from her.
“Apparently, Ciara and Hannah were giving Shan shit as usual, and yer man Kavanagh absolutely lost it. Knocked over a table of drink and everything. Gave that Murphy lad a right kicking,” I added, stuffing a handful of popcorn into my mouth. “I reckon there’s something going on there; between Shannon and Kavanagh. She’d never admit it, of course, but I’m not thick. I mean, first he’s driving her home from school, then he’s taking her to the pub, and now he’s publicly defending her honor and settling scores with a bunch of bitches that have been hounding her for years? Sounds a little more than just friends, if you ask me.”
A half-hearted, “Oh?” was all I got for my troubles.
At a complete fucking loss at what to say or do next, I drummed my fingers on the armrest and decided to concentrate on the screen in front of me.
It wasn’t coming easy, though.
Not when I could literally feel the anxiety wafting from my girlfriend.
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“JOE?” Molloy finally whispered, an hour or so into the movie. “I need to tell you something.”
“Hm?” I turned to look at her, relieved that she was finally making conversation. “Yeah?”
“I’m…” Her green eyes were wide and full of panic. “I’m…” “You’re what, Molloy?”
“Scared.” Exhaling a shaky breath, she shook her head and reached for my arm, draping it over her shoulders as she leaned into my side, “I’m really scared.”
“It’s just a film,” I whispered, tightening my arm around her. “It’s not real life. Don’t let it freak you out.”
“I know.” Shivering, she buried her face in my chest, and fisted the front of my hoodie in her hand. “I’m just… I’m still scared.”
Confused, I looked down at the way she was clinging to me and felt even more uneasy than before.
The way she was acting was all wrong.
None of this sat well with me, because this was the same girl who loved gore and horror in movies.
“Do you want to leave?” She shook her head.
“I can take you home.”
Another head shake.
“You’re clearly miserable.” “I don’t want to go home.”
“Then what do you want from me, Molloy?” I asked, feeling helpless.
“What can I do here?”
“You can stay,” she squeezed out, and a shudder rolled through her. “I want you to stay with me, Joe.”
“I’m staying,” I replied, expelling a frustrated breath. “I’m not going anywhere.”
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LATER THAT NIGHT, as I drove us home from the cinema in Mahon Point, I watched from the corner of my eye, as Molloy stared out the passenger window, clearly lost in thought, as Bell X1’s Eve, The Apple Of My Eye played on the local radio station.
“I’ll drive you home,” I told her, breaking the silence. “And I’ll walk home from your place.”
She swung her gaze to me. “You’re not staying the night?” “Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because if I wanted to get the cold shoulder, then I can get plenty of those at home,” I replied, hand tightening on the wheel.
“It’s not like that, Joe,” she croaked out. “It’s not.”
“Then what’s it like, Molloy?” I demanded hoarsely. “Huh? What’s happening with you?”
“Nothing,” she whispered, retreating back to her perch of staring out the window and ignoring me. “I love you, Joe.”
“Yeah, and I love you back,” I admitted, feeling frustrated and pissed off and anxious all in one breath. “But I don’t understand what’s happening here. With you. Between us. I don’t fucking like it.”
“Don’t go home tonight,” she said, after a long stretch of silence. “Please.”
“I’m not staying at your house.” She turned to look at me. “Why?”
I shook my head. “I already told you.” “Then can I stay at your house?”
“Molloy.” I released a pained sigh. “Don’t.”
“Please.” Reaching across the console she placed her hand on my jean- clad thigh. “I know I’m holding back, okay? I know. I’m just…” Releasing a pained growl, she shook her head and reached a hand up to swat what I presumed was a tear from her cheek. “Ugh, why am I such a fucking girl?”
“Are you crying?” “No.”
“Molloy?”
“I’m being stupid.”
Throwing on my indicator, I waited for a break in traffic before pulling off to the side of the road and throwing on the hazard lights.
Killing the engine, I turned to face her. “Okay, you need to start talking to me.”
“Really, I’m fine,” she sobbed, batting tears left, right, and center, as they dripped onto her cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” she half-laughed, half-sobbed, as tears continued to fall from her long lashes. “See?” Wiping her eyes with the back of her hands, she smiled across the seat at me and said, “I’m totally fine.”
“Jesus. No, you’re not.” Pushing my seat back as far as it went, I unfastened my seatbelt and reached over to unfasten hers before pulling her into my arms. “Come here.”
“I’m fine,” she full on cried now, sobbing uncontrollably, as she buried her face in my neck. “This is ridiculous.”
“You’re not pregnant, are ya?” I joked, wrapping her up in my arms. “Could you imagine?” she joked back, still crying.
“Fuck no,” I chuckled. “I think I’d rather open the door and lie down in the traffic.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not,” she replied, laughing almost manically, before another batch of sobs racked through her. “It’s probably just period hormones or something.”
