Wicked. Stupid. Fuck! That’s what I was, seeing the situation I was in. Fuck, how didn’t I see it coming?! Shit!
Dammit! I should probably tell ya what’s going on, here. Best to start at the beginning, though.
Prologue: Luck o’ the Irish ... not! 1989 - 2008
My name is Richard Donnelly, but everyone calls me Rick. I’m the son of James and Erin Donnelly. Yeah, full blooded South Boston Irish, here. Hot temper? Check. Iron jaw? Check. Fists calloused from multiple fights? Check. Stupid fuck from Southie? Check. Yeah, I grew up in South Boston, where the Irish Mob ran the show. You ever see The Departed or Black Mass? Those movies barely scratched the fuckin’ surface.
Life wasn’t easy on us. Mom and Dad did what they could for me, but school still sucked. I had a few close friends, but there were always stupid fuckin’ assholes around, too. I never shied away from a fight, and I usually ended up either in detention, or suspended. It took me two tries to get through eighth grade, because of stupid fucks picking fights with me. I won more than I lost, I’m proud to say. No matter what, though, I’d promised my Mom that I wouldn’t do or sell drugs.
Why did I promise her that? Simple answer: She died of breast cancer. By the time the doctors caught it, she was already in Stage 4. Nothing they could really do for her. I made her that promise on her death bed, right before I started High School.
Dad took Mom’s death really hard. He soon found himself at the bottom of a whiskey bottle, every damn night. Luck of the Irish? What a fuckin’ joke!
If you want to know what the luckiest day of my life was, it was when I got arrested at the age of 17 for assault and battery. Hey, the asshat that I smashed was trying to rob Old Lady O’Connor. Not in my neighborhood, dammit! I guess if I’d stopped beating on him when he finally let go of the purse, I wouldn’t have faced any charges. Was I that smart, though? You already know the answer to that.
The cops pulled me off the stupid fuck and slapped me in cuffs, as I wailed away on Dwight Fisher’s face. Imagine the scene in Game of Thrones, where Jon Snow is beating the shit outta Ramsay Bolton, and ya get the idea. My fist, his face, ‘til the fat lady sings. Or in this case, ‘til a couple of Boston’s “Finest” pulled me off the fucktard!
Anyways, to make a long story a bit shorter, I only got six months in Juvie for that dust up. Thanks to witnesses who testified that I was only helping out our neighborhood matriarch. The judge wanted to make an example of me, though. Hey, it coulda been a lot worse.
Strangely enough, I didn’t get into nearly as many fights in the joint, as I did on the outside! I had to fight one guy on my first day. After that, they left me the fuck alone. Go fuckin’ figure, right?
While I was inside, my life took another shit biscuit on me. My Dad died. Grams and Gramps found him after he didn’t answer his phone for two days, and they went over to check on him. From what they told me, he’d drunk three fifths of Jameson, and that was all she wrote. He never got over Mom dying, and I hoped they were together in Heaven. At least they let me out, to attend his funeral.
Yeah, it hurt like hell! But that was when I met Ms. Murphy. Ms. Amelia Murphy was an older black lady, who acted as a counselor in Juvie. She was the no-nonsense type, but deep down, she had a heart of gold.
After hours of talking through my problems, she asked if there was anything I liked doing as a hobby. When I told her that I liked computers, since I’d fixed my Dad’s PC a few times before he died, she asked if I would like to train on them. I jumped at the chance!
She set everything up for me, for after I got out. She talked to Grams and Gramps about it, and said that the City of Boston would foot half the bill for my training. They footed the other half. With my credits from the education in Juvie, I went on to finish my junior year, and managed to keep my nose clean through senior year, too.
Ms. Murphy stayed in my life, even after I got out of Juvie. She and her daughter, Alysha, became regulars at Grams and Gramps’ place for Sunday dinner after evening Mass. Alysha was a year older than me, and I went over to their house some nights, so she could help me study. It didn’t hurt that she was wicked hot, either!
Nothing happened, though. I guess it was the color barrier, or whatever they call it. I was scared to ask her out, thinking she’d probably turn me down flat. For reference, she looks a quite a bit like Aja Naomi King, but taller and with bigger tits. I eventually came to think of her as my best friend. She already saw me as one of her best friends, so that made it easier.
So, yeah. I’d gone to live with Grams and Gramps McKinnon, Mom’s parents, after I got out. Dad’s folks died before I was born, so I never knew them. Senior Year, I had a breakout season in Baseball, and ended up with a full ride scholarship to the University of Florida. Hey, I thought my luck was finally turning around.
Part 1: Damn Yankee! 2008 - 2015
Now, Mom and Dad raised me to always treat women right. They taught me that if a lady was in trouble, to do what I could to help her out. So in my freshman year as a Gator, I ended up in my umpteenth fight. The result of which, led to my first date with Sophie Randall.
Fuck, she was hot! Sophie wore her long red hair in a ponytail, most of the time. When several frat boy fucktards tried to get her to go with them, and she told them fuck no, I had to step in. It was just their shitty luck that I’d just finished batting practice. I was on my way back to my dorm, bat in hand.
I know what you’re thinking. No, I never went looking for trouble. Trouble just had a way of finding me. In this case, I wasn’t going to allow Sophie to get raped by these stupid fucks.
When two of them grabbed her, I saw red, and not the red on her head. So, with aluminum bat in hand, I waded into the fray. Nah, I didn’t go in swinging wildly. Shit, gimme some credit here! I used it more like a night stick, using each end to deliver shots to ribs, nuts, or to the jaw of an unlucky fucktard. I took a few hits, myself, but not enough to feel through the adrenaline. I’d feel it in the morning, though!
Nah, I didn’t try any of that “let the girl go” shit, either. I fuckin’ hate clichés, ya know? Besides, why warn the stupid fucks? No point to it, really. If anyone has a problem with me not fighting “fair” then they can go fuck themselves.
Sophie had called Campus Security, while I beat the shit outta those fucktards. They arrived just after the last douchebag hit the ground.
Their first act was to slap me in cuffs, of course. I wasn’t any stranger to police procedure, but Sophie squared it all away with a few statements. She identified me as the guy who’d rescued her after those fucktards tried to manhandle her over behind a dumpster. I looked where she pointed, and sure enough, there was a dumpster! So, that’s where they’d planned to take her. Oh, well. At least they wouldn’t get her, now.
Once they got their reports filled out and took our names and student ID numbers, they let us go. In turn, they placed the fucktard frat boys in cuffs and called the local cops to come get them.
“Are you ok?” I asked. “Did those stupid fucks hurt ya?”
“I’m ok, thank you,” she replied in her southern drawl. She smiled as I stood there. “Your eye is gonna need some attention. Why don’t y’all come back to my dorm room, and I’ll give you some ice for your eye. I’m planning to go for a nursing degree, so you’re in good hands. What’s your name, sir?”
I laughed at that last part. “My name’s Rick Donnelly, not ‘sir’. I already know that you’re Sophie Randall. We have English 101 together.”
“Oh! That’s right! You’re the new shortstop, ain’t ya?”
“That’s me. You a Baseball fan?”
“Are you kidding? I love the Devil Rays!” Sophie replied, making me smile. Super cute, sexy, smart, and loves Baseball? Fuck yeah! “Now, c’mon. Where y’all from?”
“Boston,” I said, smiling as we started walking towards her dorm. “South Boston, if it makes any difference.”
“So, you’re a Yankee,” she snorted and gave me a disgusted look. When I raised an eyebrow, she laughed lightly and winked at me. “Don’t worry, honey. I love your accent. It’s cute!”
“Well, your accent is sexy as fuck,” I retorted, before my mouth filter could kick in.
“Well, ain’t you a smooth talker!” she laughed again.
“Sorry about that,” I blushed. “No filter, sometimes. We’re kind of blunt, where I come from.”
“I think ‘blunt’ is an understatement, Rick. Don’t worry about it, though. I like bluntness. It shows that y’all are honest. C’mon up, we’re here.”
Sure enough, while we’d walked and talked, we’d also arrived at her dorm. I checked my watch, and saw that it was only a little past 9pm. I remembered from orientation that dorm curfew hit at 10.
“Lead the way, Sophie,” I shrugged.
Once we got to her room, she gave me an icepack in a towel, and I put it on my eye. In spite of that, I knew I’d have a shiner, the next day. But with the ice pack on, it wouldn’t be as swollen, so there was that.
“So, what’s your story, hon?” Sophie asked, once she’d given me a few Band-Aids for some scrapes on my jaw and arms.
.... There is more of this story ...