Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“She’s an actress,” I tell her. “Says she can get me some work. Nothing fancy, of course. Just some extra stuff. You know the people that sit in cafes in the background or whatever?”
She blinks to signal that she wants me to keep going.
“I’m going to find me a nice boring guy, too. You know, like an accountant or something. He’ll probably drive a Prius and run marathons on the weekend, when he’s not donating to charity or whatever.”
Ma’s lips are twitching again. She either knows I’m full of shit, or she’s buying what I’m selling hard. It’s difficult to tell anymore, but she seems happy. I resolve to tell her this every day until she goes. And then, and only then, will I allow myself to break down and accept reality.
The chances of the Irish letting me leave are grim. But I have to try. Even if it means I don’t make it. At least I can say I tried. Because behind all the makeup and the stilettos and the glitter and hairspray that girl up on stage is done. Done being a pawn in everyone else’s games. Done with men who use and take and do whatever the fuck they want without any consequence.
The best day of my life will be when I never have to see any of their faces again.
Chapter Two
Ronan
Obey.
Be prepared to sacrifice yourself for the benefit of the greater good.
Never surrender. Always resist.
Do not hesitate in eliminating any threat.
Exercise self-control.
Always be well polished and clean.
Continually strive to strengthen body and mind.
Live cleanly. Do not drink, smoke, or partake in sugary substances.
Do not associate with outsiders.
Never question orders.
Always be striving towards the goal of a free nation.
For as long as Ireland is in chains, so too shall you be.
“Crack on with it,” Farrell says.
Glass digs into the skin beneath my knees as I struggle to repeat the core values one more time. I’m thirsty and my tongue is dry so it’s sticking to the roof of my mouth. Farrell’s patience is wearing thin, and if I don’t speak soon, the punishment will be worse.
I stumble over the words and forget which number I’m on halfway through. My eyes are heavy, and I don’t know how many days have passed since I slept. I’m starting to see things. Things that aren’t real, I think.
My arms are stretched above my head, but I can no longer feel them. My legs are keen for the reprieve from standing, even it if it is only to kneel in broken glass. In the two years since my training began, I’ve come to know that life is simply trading one pain for another.
There is never comfort. Not even for one moment. Because operatives are not made in beds of roses. That’s what Farrell told me when they took me from the only four walls I’d ever known. One house, four beds, four other lads. Lads I’m not supposed to speak to.
I think I was eight at the time. They always start training at eight, Farrell said.
I’m ten now. Ten.
I don’t feel ten.
Farrell glances down at me in shame, and it burns through me. I cast my eyes to the floor and wait for the punishment. My shoulders sag and I bow my head in defeat. My eyelids are growing too heavy, and I’m afraid of falling asleep. Every bone aches. My skin burns, and I tremble with each movement.
Without another word, Farrell releases the cuffs holding my wrists in place. The resulting fall smacks my face against the concrete. I can’t move. My cheek burns and I reckon it’s bleeding. The sound of Farrell’s boots echo off the floor as he moves around behind me.
He pulls my trousers up from around my ankles and I try to jerk away from him. Coyne presses his boot into the flat of my back, keeping me pinned to the floor. And then I hear the buzzing of the cattle prod.
I find a dark spot on the wall to stare at before he jabs at the soles of my feet. But it doesn’t help. Nothing ever helps. There’s only pain.
Pain. Blackness. Pain. Blackness.
I like the blackness.
Water splashes on my face, and I startle awake. Farrell is standing over me, shouting out orders again.
“Get up.”
“I can’t,” I tell him.
It’s not a lie.
He nods at Coyne and they both heave me up by my arms. I’m naked now. They’ve taken my clothes again, so I know what follows. They stuff my hands back through the cuffs that stretch my arms overhead and it requires me to stand on the balls of my feet to maintain the position. The burns are so bad I feel on the verge of passing out again. But I know I can’t.
Coyne appears with the hose. He sprays me with cold water for a long time. My body is shivering, but I try to focus on sucking some of it into my mouth. I’m so thirsty.