Chapter 8: I don’t drink

For the next few days, nothing happened.

In the original novel, Eoin ran a high fever and spent three days on a drip, while the original Cian, afraid of catching whatever he had, stayed away for all three. It was a rare breather for Eoin in the early part of the book.

In reality, Cian slept soundly for three days and enjoyed the hotel chef’s creations, even offering an interested critique. "The truffle’s a bit old, the mousse is too sweet, and the chocolate shell is too thick. It doesn’t taste very authentic."

The system could only watch, unable to eat, and glared at Cian through every meal, so bored it felt as though mushrooms were sprouting on it.

At last Saturday arrived, another big moment in the story.

Cian flicked through the novel to the Chapter titled "Saturday Night Out."

On Saturday, Rory, desperate to get his hands on the aloof beauty, organised a party and told Cian specifically to bring Eoin. Out of a sense of "loyalty among lads," the original Cian did bring him. The whole crowd drank themselves senseless, and they kept at it until the academic prodigy was bleeding from the stomach. What came after was all censored, but Cian could more or less guess. Probably something illegal enough to land them in prison.

For the plot to move along he had to bring Eoin, though the censored parts were open to interpretation.

Sure enough, early in the morning Rory was already kicking up a racket in the group chat, rallying people.

Rory: "Drinks tonight? I’ve two bottles of the good stuff to liven things up. Same place, the Liffey Belle. I’ve booked it."

The Liffey Belle was the city’s fanciest cruise boat, which doubled as a hotel. It sailed every evening and spent the night out on the water, and a night aboard didn’t come cheap.

Rory went on. "Darragh, Darragh, are you coming?"

Darragh: "I’m in."

"What about Young Fitzgerald? Are you coming?"

Cian replied tersely. "I’m in."

Rory’s intentions were obvious. Seeing Cian answer, he immediately asked. "That stunner you’ve been chasing, the researcher from Trinity? Slim waist, long legs, a proper looker. He ran off last time. Is he coming this time?"

"Whatever’s between us, I’ll drag him there if I have to."

That was the original dialogue.

Cian typed out these intimate lines with a perfectly blank face, his glassy eyes cold and distant, a hint of impatience showing through.

Rory was over the moon. "Typical Cian, always looking out for his mates."

What nonsense, Cian thought. Looking out for your mates means shipping someone off to your friends’ beds, trampling his dignity into the mud, and then stamping on it twice? What kind of loyalty is that?

He grew more and more irritated but, bound by his character, couldn’t say much. He humoured Rory with a few more lines in the heir’s drawl, then switched off his phone.

By noon Eoin would probably be finished in the lab. Cian rang him and followed the original script. "There’s a do tonight, seven o’clock. Get ready and dress smartly. I’ll collect you."

This time the phone rang only three times before Eoin answered. He spoke softly and replied at once. "Okay."

His voice sounded less reluctant than last time.

Cian had several threatening lines ready but was cut off by Eoin’s plain "Okay." After a pause he went on in a low voice. "Behave. Don’t forget, your Nana’s place on the trial was secured by me."

"Okay," Eoin said. "I know."

It sounded as though someone was nearby, because he kept his voice very low. In the original novel Eoin’s tone was always cold and he never gave Cian a civil word. But now his voice sounded somewhat gentle.

Cian said nothing.

He glanced at the text in his hand, skipped a few lines, coughed twice, and said, "Just stay put. I’ll pick you up tonight."

And he hung up.

In the lab, Eoin switched off his phone too and pulled his gloves back on. The milky white rubber hugged his slender fingers, stretched thin enough to show a hint of skin. He looked up and caught Aoife and Niall exchanging glances.

Eoin paused. "What is it?"

"Nothing! It’s nothing!" Aoife snapped to attention.

He didn’t press and went back to reviewing the data. But when he glanced up again, Aoife was hiding behind the bench, fiddling with the equipment and peeking over.

Eoin sighed quietly. "What are you really after?"

Aoife laughed awkwardly. "Eoin, I was only wondering if something’s come up lately? You never used to check your phone in the lab."

What she really wanted to ask was whether he was seeing someone.

He didn’t dwell on it and simply nodded.

Young Mr. Fitzgerald’s messages were critical. Two minutes’ delay in replying could have landed him in hot water.

Aoife gasped and hid her face behind the lab report, her thoughts a mystery.

Niall glanced at him and handed over another document. "Eoin, with how busy you’ve been lately, are you still up for part time work from Student Services?"

Niall, a student officer in Student Services, knew about Eoin’s family circumstances. Back when Eoin had first taken on part time jobs, Niall used to save the better paying ones for him.

Eoin nodded. "I’ll still take it."

He’d tied himself to Cian mainly for his Nana’s medication, but financial support was thin on the ground and he was still scraping by. Pride kept him from asking Cian for a loan.

"There are two short term gigs at the moment," Niall went on. "One is covering as TA for next week’s pharmacokinetics class, because their usual TA is in hospital and the final is in two weeks. You’d be going over homework with the students, with fifty euro for one evening session."

"The other is volunteering at a hospital school out in the suburbs, helping the publicity team, with two hundred euro for travel."

Neither job was hard or time consuming. Eoin nodded. "I’ll take them both."

Autumn was sliding into winter and the sun set early. By Saturday evening, before seven, darkness had fully settled.

The Liffey Belle was moored at the quay, neon blazing. Inside, people were dancing, strobe lights pulsing with the heavy beat, a riot of colour.

Rory had ordered a champagne tower of over two hundred glasses stacked high. The golden liquid cascaded from the top, half filling the glasses and half clinging to their sides, and the air was thick with the sharp tang of alcohol. They were pouring pricey Belmont champagne, each bottle costing hundreds of euro. This one tower was a five figure indulgence.

Eoin stepped out of Cian’s car, and the river wind bit as he pulled his coat tighter.

It was bitterly cold.

Cian boarded the boat, handed his coat to a waiter, and was promptly shown inside.

After a few steps he saw Eoin lagging behind and tilted his head slightly. "Why aren’t you coming up?"

Eoin lowered his eyes and followed. "Coming."

He stood on the deck, the boat swaying gently on the river, and then it sounded its horn twice and slowly pulled away from the shore.

Eoin took one last look at the bank and went upstairs with Cian.

From that moment the boat became an island, with no village ahead and no shelter behind. The young heirs revelled freely inside, while everyone else was stranded, cut off from any lifeline.

Cian threaded his way through the crowd and settled into the innermost private booth.

Rory and Darragh had already arrived, sitting on either side, leaving the middle seat for Cian. Sinéad, clutching her small bag, sat stiffly beside Rory. When she saw Cian and Eoin her eyes flitted away and she quickly looked elsewhere.

Rory’s eyes swept over Eoin before he turned to Cian with a grin and threw an arm around his shoulders. "Good man yourself!"

Without changing expression, Cian brushed off the hand and gave a faint, insincere smile. "Of course."

Rory, oblivious to the subtle rejection, handed him a glass of champagne. "We’ve been waiting for you."

Cian took a light sip and turned to chat with someone else.

With his attention freed from Cian, Rory turned to Eoin. He scrutinised him from head to toe, then leaned in until he was about twenty centimetres from Eoin’s nose. He set a glass of spirit in front of him and said with a menacing smile, "Mr. Brennan, care to indulge me?"

It was poitín, well over sixty percent proof.

For someone like Eoin, who didn’t drink, a single glass could leave him retching.

Rory wouldn’t have dared force a strong spirit on Cian and offered him only champagne, but with Eoin he held nothing back.

Eoin answered firmly. "I don’t drink."

At this, not only Rory but Darragh too burst out laughing, clearly relishing the spectacle.

These spoiled young men, when the mood took them, wouldn’t think twice about forcing drink down someone’s throat. What did it matter if a person couldn’t hold it? So what if they puked their guts up?

Rory narrowed his eyes and picked up the glass. "Really? Everyone on this boat knows how to drink."

Even if they didn’t, once they were on this boat, they’d learn.

Eoin met his gaze evenly. "I don’t drink, full stop."

Rory clearly hadn’t expected such stubbornness. His expression turned stormy and he sneered. "Fine. Very fine."

With that he suddenly shoved the glass hard against Eoin’s mouth, his left hand reaching for Eoin’s neck to pry his jaw open and pour the spirit down his throat.

"If I force it, will you drink then?"

Eoin turned his head aside, but the seat was too small and his back was already against the cushion, leaving him trapped with no way out.

He frowned, his face full of open disgust. The liquor loomed dangerously close, some of it sloshing out and soaking his shirt collar. With the slightest tilt of his head he could smell the acrid reek of alcohol.

He pressed his lips together, trapped.

"Hey, I’m talking to you."

Suddenly someone spoke from behind, but with Eoin right in front of him, Rory’s mind was full of Eoin’s disdainful, almost hateful expression. It infuriated him and lit a blaze inside him. He was desperate to force the drink down Eoin’s throat and watch that beautiful face twist in terror and anguish. He wanted to make Eoin writhe, so that he would never wear that look again.

"Hey, I’m talking to you!"

Just as Rory was lost in his thoughts, he felt a strong force from behind. He was hauled back two steps and pressed bodily into his seat.

He turned around in shock to see Cian casually letting go of him, lightly brushing his sleeves as if dusting off something dirty.

The young master lounged in his seat and raised an eyebrow at him. "I’m just saying, the night’s only started. What’s the point of getting everyone locked so early? Let’s take it easy. No need to rush."

Rory said, "But"

Before he could finish, he saw Cian’s half lidded eyes slide over to him, serene yet icy, a ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Though he sat in the middle of the revelry, his dark eyes reflected the lights and were as cold and remote as a deep, icy pool.

Rory felt a chill run down his spine and suddenly had nothing to say.

He touched his nose, picked up his glass, and sat back down, saying awkwardly, "Right, it’s only the start. The night is young, the night is young."

Though everyone there was a rich heir, there were still hierarchies of family standing. Cian sat at the very top of Dublin’s social ladder, and everyone present had to show him respect.

As the night went on, round after round of drinks was poured, and the heirs joked, teased, and larked about. Darragh started rolling dice and played a couple of casual rounds. Someone in the booth lit a cigarette, and smoke filled the air.

Eoin coughed twice, trying to stifle it. After a while he stood. "I’m going to the toilet."

Cian nodded.

He stepped out onto the deck. The early winter breeze off the river was cold and quickly carried away the smell of tobacco. Eoin leaned on the ship’s railing in a quiet, deserted spot and listened to the endless lapping of the river.

These ten minutes might be the only peace he’d get all night.

He stood there a while, about to go back, when he suddenly heard someone softly calling. "Eoin?"

He turned towards the voice and saw Sinéad lingering in the shadows, hesitating as though she had something to say.

Eoin asked, "Sinéad, what’s the matter?"

Sinéad was Rory’s girlfriend in name only. She was sharp and had no real feelings for him. She was only after his money. She’d come to the party as eye candy and had stayed quiet for most of the evening. Eoin hadn’t expected her to come to him.

"Eoin," Sinéad hesitated a moment but spoke anyway, "when I arrived, I saw Rory’s phone. He was messaging Cian. You know what he said, don’t you?"

Sinéad was on the fringes of their circle. She wasn’t a bad person, but she was powerless to help anyone out of trouble. Still, when she saw something, she felt compelled to warn them.

Eoin was startled. "What?"

Sinéad took a deep breath. "It’s like this. Rory set up this party and asked Cian to come, and he specifically asked whether he could bring you. Cian said, ’We’re all mates, I’ll drag him there if I have to.’"

The cold river wind blew, and Eoin stood still, inexplicably chilled. He tucked his icy fingers into his sleeves and straightened his clothes. "I didn’t know."

Sinéad gritted her teeth. "It means letting the others join in. Several of them, the whole lot!"