by Chloe Walsh
I didn’t know for sure because she wouldn’t look at me.
I couldn’t gage how she was feeling because the window to her emotions were her eyes that were trained on her feet.
It fucking sucked, but I knew I needed to give her space right now.
Problem was, the closer to the front door we got, the more depressed I felt.
My dick was devastated.
My chest was burning.
My brain was doubtful.
I was completely fucked.
48
You're okay
Shannon
There were no words to explain the turbulence of emotions whishing through my body.
Striving for control, I concentrated on breathing in slow, deep patterns.
I didn’t know what to do.
Apologizing didn’t seem to cut it.
Besides, I'd already done that.
I contemplated telling him that I had temporarily lost control of my senses back there, but I thought he might already know that.
Thoroughly mortified by my actions, I stared out the windscreen into the darkening sky and ignored the boy sitting in the driver's seat beside me.
"Are we going to talk about it?" Johnny finally asked after several minutes of strained silence.
I shook my head, cheeks flaming with shame, and continued to stare out the window at nothing.
"Are you going to talk to me?" he asked then, voice low and gruff.
Again, I shook my head, too embarrassed to look at him.
"So, what?" he demanded. "You're just going to ignore me altogether?"
I shrugged helplessly.
I knew what was coming if we spoke.
He was going to give me the talk.
And right now, with my emotions frayed and my stomach churning from anxiety, I honestly didn’t think I could hear that talk.
I couldn’t take his rejection.
"Shannon," Johnny growled, clearly frustrated.
Flicking on the indicator, he pulled onto the side of the road and killed the engine.
Oh no.
Oh please god, no.
"Shannon." Turning in his seat, he pushed the armrest that separated us up, and twisted his body to face me. "We need to talk about what happened back there."
"I'm sorry," I got there first and said. With my heart hammering in my chest, I turned in my seat and faced him. "I am so sorry."
"I don’t want you to be sorry," he replied, blue eyes burning into mine. "What happened in my room?" Shaking his head, he released a pained growl. "I didn’t expect it – I didn’t expect you." His breath fanned my face as he spoke, causing my body to shiver involuntarily. "I don’t regret it," he added. "And I don’t regret you doing that –"
"But?" I filled in, keeping my eyes trained on my hands folded on my lap, knowing full well there was a but coming.
"But I'm leaving in a couple of months, Shannon," Johnny finally said. "Once the summer comes, I'll be out of here and I won't be back until school starts."
"I know," I whispered, clasping my hands tightly together.
Joey told me all about it.
He was leaving to be a big star.
"That's the way it is for me," Johnny added gruffly. "And it's only going to get worse – longer stints away. More traveling. Permanent moves. That's what's coming down the line for me. Down the very close line. It wouldn’t be fair of me not to disclose that now." He sighed wearily and ran a hand through his thoroughly disheveled hair. "You need to know that I'm not going to be here for much longer."
"I know," I whispered, feeling the burning ache in my chest. "And I know I shouldn’t have kissed you," I choked out, voice torn. "Okay? I know that. It was wrong. I understand. I just…I just…"
"You just what, Shannon?" he coaxed.
"I thought you liked me," I strangled out.
"Jesus Christ," Johnny groaned, dropping his head in his hands. "Of course, I like you." He tugged on his hair and sighed. "I think it's pretty fucking clear that I'm mad about you." Exhaling a pained groan, he added, "But I'll be eighteen in May, Shannon."
"I'm sixteen," I whispered.
"I know, Shannon, fuck I know," he groaned, voice torn. "But I'm trying to do the right thing here."
My heart fluttered uncertainly.
I didn’t know what to think or how to feel.
He was rejecting me and telling me he liked me all in one breath and it was too much for my heart to take.
"For who?" I croaked out.
"For the both of us," Johnny strangled out. "My career is taking off and I need to stay focused. And you deserve someone who can put you first." He ran a hand through his hair again, looking both stressed and tired. "I can't do that." He looked me right in the eyes and said, "I want to – I really fucking want to. But I'm not in the position to do that for you." Exhaling heavily, he added, "I can't give you a relationship, Shannon, and it would be selfish of me to ask you for something I can't follow through on."
There it was.
The rejection I'd been waiting for.
"I didn’t ask you for a relationship, Johnny," I choked out, thoroughly humiliated. "I've never asked you for anything. So, don’t worry about giving me the let me down gently talk because it's unnecessary."
Johnny released a frustrated growl. "I'm not trying to let you down, Shannon, I'm trying to figure this out with you –"
"Listen, Johnny, I’m really tired," I whispered, turning back to face the window. "I just want to go home now."
"Come on, Shannon," he groaned, tone agitated now. "You can't avoid this."
I had every intention of avoiding him for the rest of my life.
I planned on starting that avoiding as soon as I got out of this car.
"Shannon, talk to me."
I remained silent.
"Shannon, come on," Johnny pleaded. "Don't be like this."
I didn’t think there was any other way I could be given the circumstances.
I kissed him.
He rejected me.
I put myself out there for him.
He turned me down.
It was my fault.
One hundred percent.
I accepted responsibility for my recklessness.
But that didn’t mean I was strong enough to listen to the painful verbal repercussions of my actions.
"Just fucking talk to me," Johnny demanded, unwilling to let this go.
"What's to say?" I croaked out, turning back to look at him, giving in to his relentless probing. "You don’t want me. I heard you. I got the message."
"You clearly didn’t if that's what you took from it," he shot back, looking furious.
When I didn’t respond, Johnny literally growled.
"Fine, if you don’t want to hash this out, then I won't say another word," he announced, throwing his hands up in the air. "Is that what you want, Shannon?"
"That's what I want, Johnny," I whispered.
"Suit yourself," he bit out, starting the engine again. "I give up."
With his words of rejection belting in my ears, and my emotions in turmoil, I clenched my eyes shut, and prayed for time to speed up.
I had the worst pain in my stomach to match the throbbing ache in my chest that seemed to blossom and burn with every mile he knocked up on the clock.
When Johnny pulled onto my street, I lied just like I had every other time he dropped me home and told him that my house was the one at the other end of the street, knowing full well that if my father saw me climbing out of his car, I'd be as good as dead.
However, I did not anticipate that he might turn off the engine again, which is exactly what he did.
"Are you okay?" he asked, turning in his seat to face me.
"Yeah," I croaked out.
He nodded slowly. "Shannon, listen –"
"You don’t have to say anything else," I quickly stopped him by saying. "It won't happen again."
He frowned. "No, that's not what I was –"
"I'm sorry
," I blurted out and then grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. "I really am very sorry." Unbuckling my belt, I slipped out of the jeep and slammed the door closed before he could say another word.
I couldn’t handle more.
Not tonight.
Mortified, I hovered outside my neighbor's garden wall until it was clear that Johnny was waiting for me to go inside before he left, and then I did the only thing I could; I ducked my head and ran down the footpath to my actual house, not daring to look back at him.
Slipping inside, I closed the door behind me and exhaled a ragged breath before quickly searching the downstairs.
The house was empty.
Ollie, Tadhg, and Sean went to Nanny Murphy's on weekdays, with the exception of Fridays when Nanny dropped them straight home after school because she went to Beara on the weekends to visit her granddaughter and wouldn’t be home until at least eight o’clock.
Joey and Mam both worked on Mondays, and my father kept a stool warm at the bookies most evenings.
Nothing changed.
Miscarriage or no miscarriage, my screwed-up family went on as normal…
Thankful to have avoided another pointless confrontation, I kicked off my shoes and hurried up the staircase to get out of my damp clothes.
We had a second-hand tumble dryer in the utility room that I wasn’t supposed to use because of how hard it was on the electricity, but I was going to use it this evening.
I had no choice.
Back in the house of pain, I closed my bedroom door and then quickly stripped out of my wet clothes before throwing on my pajamas.
I was halfway down the staircase with my uniform balled up in my hands when there was a knock on the front door.
Pausing mid-step, I squinted my eyes and tried to make out who the tall shadow outside the frosted glass could be.
Another knock came, louder this time, so I hurried down the remaining steps and wrenched the door open, only to find Johnny standing outside in the rain, looking like some sort of semi-drowned angel.
Instantly, my heart jackknifed in my chest and then began to thud so hard it was almost painful.
Seriously, God?
Why?
"Hi," I whispered, clutching the door with a death grip. The step into our house was a least a foot high, but I still found myself staring up at him.
"Hi," Johnny replied, blue eyes locked on mine. "You live at 95."
I nodded, mortified.
"I thought your house was number 81?" He frowned. "That's where I've been dropping you off?"
I shrugged helplessly, feeling at a loss.
"Well, you left your bag in the car." Shifting my bag off his right shoulder, he held it out to me.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush once again. "Your jacket's up in my bedroom –I'll go and get it." I turned to run up the staircase, but he stopped me with a hand to my wrist.
"Don’t worry about it," he explained, quickly retracting his hand. "I'll get it off you at school or something."
"Okay."
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Johnny rocked back on his heels, considering me for a brief moment before blowing out a breath. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I whispered, not feeling one bit okay.
"Shannon, I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you –"
"Please, don’t say anything," I begged, beyond mortified at this stage. "Please."
"Things are complicated for me right now–"
"Johnny, please just forget it ever happened."
He stared hard at me for an achingly long moment before nodding stiffly. "If that's what you want."
I sagged slightly. "It is."
His gaze flicked to my neck then, and his expression instantly darkened.
"I need to go inside now," I stated, fearful of him starting back up where he had left off.
"Right," he said with a small shake of his head. "Of course, yeah, and I'd better get going."
"Okay."
"I'll guess I'll see you tomorrow," Johnny said, and then he turned around and walked away from me.
Feeling bereft, I chewed on my lip as I watched him walk away. "Bye, Johnny."
"Bye, Shannon," he called back, casting a quick smile over his shoulder.
Oh, god.
With my heart knocking around restlessly in my chest, I closed the door and trudged back up the staircase.
I needed to lie down for a minute so I could process my thoughts.
Slipping back inside my tiny room, I walked straight to my single bed with the intention of faceplanting the mattress, only to stop short when my eyes landed on Johnny's jacket strewn on my bed.
Like the creeper I was, I sank down on the foot of my bed, reached for his jacket, and held it to my chest.
His smell was everywhere.
On his jacket.
On me.
Holding the drenched fabric, I inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of his deodorant, and then mentally chastised myself for being such a freak.
What was I doing?
Why was I allowing myself to feel these emotions?
They were dangerous.
I had to stop.
He doesn’t want you.
No one does.
Feeling sick to my stomach with regret and anxiety, I pulled back the covers, climbed into my bed, and then curled into the smallest ball I could.
Everything hurt.
My body.
My brain.
My heart.
Breathing slowly, I attempted to rid my mind of every bad thought plaguing me.
Every embarrassing and soul-destroying memory of how ridiculously stupid I had behaved.
It didn’t last long.
Fifteen minutes into my silent mourning, the sound of the front door slamming filled my ears.
No less the three minutes later, my bedroom door flew inwards.
"Where's the dinner?"
Remaining perfectly still, I clutched the duvet as my body coiled tight with anxiety. "I forgot."
"Well get out of that fucking bed and come down stairs," Dad snarled from my doorway. "You've jobs to do around this house, girl, and that includes putting on the dinner. 'Tis about time you earned your keep."
"I feel sick," I croaked out.
It wasn’t a lie.
My stomach was cramping up.
"You'll feel a lot fucking sicker if you don’t get your useless hole out of that bed," my father warned. "Sick. Your mother's fucking sick and she's working to pay your bastard school fees, you ungrateful little cunt."
I knew he hadn't been drinking today, but my father sober was still terrifying to me.
"You have five minutes to get down those stairs, girl," he added. "Don’t make me come back up to ya."
He slammed my bedroom door closed, and while I listened to him thumping back down the stairs, I debated my options.
Stay where I was and take a beating, or do as he asked and risk one anyway?
There was no choice.
There never was.
Not for me anyway.
Throwing back the covers, I climbed out of bed and walked back down to hell.
"Are you still talking to me?" were the first words that came out of Claire's mouth when I answered her phone call later that night.
I was just finishing mopping the kitchen floor before bed, having cooked the dinner and washed all the dishes.
Balancing my phone between my ear and shoulder, I poured the water from the mop bucket down the kitchen sink and quickly tucked them away in the utility room.
"Considering I just answered your call, I'd say it's pretty obvious that I'm still talking to you," I replied in a hushed tone.
It was gone eleven at night, but my father was still in the living room watching some match on the television, and I knew better than to disturb him.
"I'm so sorry," Claire groaned down the line. "I didn’t mean to embarrass you today, I swear. I was just sick of listening to those two d
roning on about Johnny and wanted to put them in their place."
"Don’t worry about it." Grabbing Johnny's jacket out of the tumble drier, I flicked off the kitchen light and padded out. "I'm not mad," I added, my voice barely more than a whisper.
"Can you talk right now?" she questioned.
"Yeah," I whispered, creeping towards the staircase. "Just give me two secs."
"Okay," she replied.
Holding my phone to my chest, I tiptoed up the staircase, avoiding every creak with expert precision.
"Okay, I'm back," I told her in a more audible tone once I was safely inside my bedroom with the door locked.
"You're sure you’re not mad at me?"
I shook my head and flopped down on my bed. "I’m really not."
"Oh, thank god," Claire sighed loudly. "I've been a wreck all evening worrying about it. I won't be in class tomorrow and I was afraid you wouldn’t pick up when I called."
My heart sank. "You're not coming to school tomorrow?"
"I have that hockey blitz with the school," she explained. "But Lizzie will be there."
At least there’s that.
"Well, I'm not mad."
"You're sure?"
"I have good news," I said, deciding on changing the topic. Otherwise we would end up going back and forth all night. "I forgot to tell you last week, but I think you'll like it."
"Spill your beans, Lynch."
"Mam signed the forms. I turned them in the other week." Exhaling heavily, I said, "I'm allowed to go to Donegal with you after Easter."
I had to hold the phone away from my ear for a few moments while Claire squealed her excitement out of her system.
"This is the best news ever," she gushed. "You have no idea how happy you've just made me. I thought I was going to be trapped in a foreign county for two days with Lizzie and Pierce," she continued to say. "And you know how screwed up their relationship is."
"A foreign county," I snickered, then grunted when a sharp pain ricocheted through my side.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, it's just my stomach," I replied, stroking the curve of my belly. "It's been bothering me all day." Worrying my lip, I added, "I hope I'm not coming down with something."
"Then you better take some paracetamol and get the hell over it," Claire retorted chirpily. "Because we're going to Donegal, baby! Woo!"
