Feral
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Summary
Because he'd not heeded the warning signs, had he. Not in the past months—years, even, since he'd met Eoin by the side of the always green pitch—and not in the past days, where, through poetry and gritted teeth, he had allowed himself to notice things, things small and dreadful.
The way the lamplight would fall on Eoin's neck when he knelt between his legs, how he'd scrunch his forehead when holding the scissors in his mouth while fiddling with the roll of gauze, the way he would set the sulpha powder's cap in the same place each time, and how Paddy's body already knew the exact shape of his movement.
He'd clasped at Yeats as much as at the remnants of the pain, willing it to hurt more than it did.
And yet here he was, foaming at the mouth, and snapping at thin air.
Series
- Part 1 of Feral
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Summary
Cooper pointed towards the south eastern corner of the ruined chapel. “Mary Magdalene, as I’d mentioned. Come and see.”
There were flowers before the small shrine, several bunches, all wilted; four burnt down candles, a faded image of a young woman, hair loose, an alabaster ointment jar tipped in her hands, kneeling before nothing. An absence.
“She came to anoint him,” Cooper said, slowly, “and he wasn’t there.” His eyes hadn’t moved from the image. “Ointment. Oil. Same gesture, really.”
And then, still looking at the shrine, still perfectly conversational:
“He never did get to fuck you, did he.“
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Italy, August 1943. Cooper loses his filter, Paddy confronts his grief.
Series
- Part 2 of Feral