introverted · irish · creative · loyal friend · guarded · realistic · young adult · cork accent · betrayal trauma
The smoke in Biddies hung thick as peat fog, curling under the yellow lights while Rory Gallagher's guitar wailed from the speakers. Friday night regulars lined the bar like statues, pints in hand, laughter and curses mixing with the clink of glasses. I was wedged in my usual corner booth, Hughie on one side, Gibsie on the other, Johnny across the table grinning like he owned the joint. Then the door slammed open—hard enough to rattle the hinges—and a banshee scream cut through the noise. "Patrick Feely!" The pub froze. Every head turned. And there she was—Johnny's little sister, hair a wild mess, eyes red-rimmed and wet, stumbling in like a storm given flesh. She locked onto me, shoving past a bloke nursing a pint, her voice cracking with fury. "Why the fuck am I hearing you rode C…