by Chloe Walsh
Fuck rugby.
Fuck school.
In this moment, the sky could fall down around me, and I wouldn’t leave her.
I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
"I'm looking forward to the summer," Shannon said several hours later, as we lay curled up on her bed, watching Fair City – her choice, not mine. "Less rain, less cold, longer nights, no school, more time with you…"
Smile faltering, her words drifted off and I knew why.
It was because we wouldn’t have more time.
Because I was leaving again.
I wouldn’t be at home this summer.
And come September, I wouldn’t be around at all.
Fuck.
"Shan…"
"It's okay," she hurried to say, tightening her hold on my hand. "I forgot for a minute, but I remember now."
I wanted to ram my fist down my own throat I was so pissed with myself for the choices I had made.
"I'm sorry," I groaned, twisting onto my side to look at her. "Shan –"
"You have nothing to be sorry for," she replied in that small voice. "This is how it is. I understood what I was getting into."
"Yeah, but I'm still sorry." Reaching up, I tucked a curl behind her ear. "For how it has to be. For how hard it is being with me. I know it's not easy. I know I'm not giving you a normal teenage relationship." A pained sigh escaped me. "I wish I could, Shan. I wish I could give you the world."
"I don’t want normal, Johnny," she replied. "I only want you."
Thank fuck for that.
"And I only want you back," I whispered.
She offered me a bright smile. "Then we'll figure it out."
"Yeah." I hoped so. "Because I'm not giving you up."
Not ever.
"Speaking of giving up –" Springing into a sitting position, Shan grabbed the remote and flicked off the television. "I'm about to," she continued, leaning over the edge of her bed to grab her schoolbag. "On maths, that is." Scrunching her nose up, she hoisted her bag onto the bed and gave me an adorable puppy look. "Mind saving me one more time, Captain Fantastic?"
Feigning an exaggerated sigh, I nodded. "Last time, Lynch."
Shannon Lynch
With The Goo Goo Dolls' Iris playing softly on my stereo, I listened intently to every instruction Johnny gave me. After all, the boy was the closest I had ever come to meeting a mathematical genius in the flesh – and that included every member of faculty at every school I had ever attended.
"Where's your ruler, Shan?"
"Pencil case," I replied, spitting out the pencil I had been balancing between my lips, while I desperately tried to solve equation 2.B of my maths homework.
"The fuck?"
"Hmm?"
"Shan?"
"Yeah?"
"Shannon, look at me."
Brows furrowed, I tore my gaze off the page I was working on and looked at Johnny.
He was as pale as a ghost, still clutching my pencil case in one hand, while gaping at what he was holding in his other hand. "The fuck is this, Shannon?" he said, voice deathly quiet.
"I…" Stumped, I gaped at the pregnancy test in his hand and stared blankly back at him. "I don’t know."
Johnny looked at me in disbelief. "You don’t know?"
"No." I shook my head and grabbed the test, feeling completely dumbfounded. "I don’t."
"Don’t lie to me," Johnny bit out, running a hand through his hair. "Please don't fucking lie to me, Shannon. Not now, and not about something like this."
"I'm not lying to you," I shot back as I sprang off his bed and backed away, eyes still glued to the stick in my hand. "This is not mine."
"You're pregnant," he whispered, still sitting on my bed, surrounded by textbooks. "And you didn’t tell me."
"No." I shook my head. "No, Johnny, I'm not."
"You were sick before I left for camp last month," he accused, clearly frustrated now. "You threw up."
"I always throw up," I countered, unable to refrain from rolling my eyes. "You know that. I can't help it."
"Stop lying to me."
A laugh of pure astonishment escaped me. "I'm not."
"Shannon, you've got a fucking baby in your belly!" Johnny hissed, turning a scary shade of purple, as he jerked off the bed and paced my bedroom floor, hands flailing. "Jesus Christ, you've got my baby inside you. This is not a laughing matter, baby!"
"What are you talking about?" I choked out through fits of laughter, gaping at him in horror. "I don't have a baby inside me!"
"Oh, you don't?" Furious, he grabbed the pregnancy test out of my hand, scanned it quickly, groaned loudly, and waved it around like a mad man." I can't fucking believe you were going to let me go and not tell me," he spat. "What did you think I was going to do? Leave you here on your own with my kid so I could go play rugby? Are you fucking insane?" He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Do you know me at all?"
"Johnny, I have never seen that before in my life."
"It was in your pencil case," he growled, livid. "It's in your body."
"I know," I replied, stumped. "But it's not mine."
"You're lying to me," he snapped. "Again, Shan!"
"I'm not," I choked out, tossing what I realized was a used, pee-covered test on the floor. "Ew, my pencils," I groaned before my eyes widened. "Oh my god, who's pregnant?"
"You, Shannon." Johnny blinked in outrage. "You're pregnant!"
"No, I'm not!" I snapped, just about done with this madness. "We're not having a baby, so just calm down!"
"Oh my god!" he strangled out, rubbing a hand over his face. "You weren't going to keep it, were you?" He groaned and bit down on his fist, pacing resumed. "That's why you didn't tell me!"
"You are having a panic attack," I told him calmly. "You need to breathe and you need to listen."
"I'm keeping you!" he snarled, not listening one bit, as he stalked towards my door. "And that thing inside of ya!"
"Where are you going?" I called after him, smothering a laugh with my hand. "Johnny?"
"To buy a bleeding ring," he called over his shoulder. "And maybe hide the knives because I'm not going to have a dick for much longer, baby!"
He slammed my bedroom door closed behind him and I flopped back down on the bed, mind reeling.
Less than a minute later, my door flew back open and in he stalked like a man on a mission. Stomping over to where I was still sitting on the bed, Johnny dropped to his knees in front of me and pressed his ear to my stomach.
"What are you doing?" I laughed.
"I'm trying to get a sense of what the fuck I'm dealing with here," he muttered. "Jesus!"
"Oh my god, stop – stop!" I pushing at his head, unable to contain my laughter. "I'm going to wet myself."
"Incontinence," Johnny wailed, wrapping his arms around my waist and clinging to my belly. "That's a symptom of pregnancy." A comical yodel escaped him. "Ah shite, Shan, I'm so fucking sorry for putting a baby in ya!"
"You put a what in her?"
The fear of god spiraled inside of me when my eyes landed on Mrs. Kavanagh standing in my bedroom door.
"I'm sorry, Ma. I'm bleeding sorry –"
"I'm going to cut the willy off you, ya little toe-rag!"
Springing to his feet quicker than a cat, Johnny lunged towards the far side of my bed at the same time his mother lunged for him.
"How could you do this to me, Jonathon!" his mother wailed.
"Don’t kill me! I need to be around for my baby, Ma –"
"It's not me! It's not me!" I began to exclaim, hurrying to save my boyfriend from the wooden spoon his mother was trying to maim him with. "Edel, Edel, wait – I'm not pregnant!"
Both mother and son froze in place. "You're not?" they asked in unison.
I shook my head. "No, I'm not."
"Then who the fuck does that belong to?" Johnny demanded.
"April fool's," a familiar voice snickered from the doorway of my bedroom. "Best two-euro investm
ent at the joke shop ever, Johnny lad. You should've seen your face. Fucking priceless."
"Tadhg Lynch." I narrowed my eyes. "You little shit."
"Language," Mrs. Kavanagh scolded, lowering the wooden spoon and then discreetly tucking it back into the front pocket of her apron. "That was a terrible prank, Tadhg. I almost throttled poor Johnny."
"Sorry, Dellie."
"Ah, Jaysus," Johnny heaved, relief evident, as he flopped down on my bed and clutched his chest. "Thank Christ for that. I'm so fucking relieved that I'm not even mad."
Read all about Johnny and Shannon
in the Boys of Tommen series,
available now.
Thank you so much for reading!
I really hope you enjoyed all of our couple's tales in Seven Sleepless Nights.
Keep an eye out on social media for my next release.
Lots of love,
Chloe xx
Scroll on to read the bonus content...
Bonus Content
Beware:
This is a dark and twisted story of obsession, power struggle, sinful urges, and extreme violence, set in a dystopian-like new world. It contains explicit and detailed sexual content, and sexual violence, that some readers may find hard to stomach. This story is full of emotional triggers and is not for everyone. It is nothing like my previous work, so proceed with caution.
The Bastard Prince Excerpt
Ashton Northwood
Eight months had passed since my arrival at the Crellid estate and life was different here. I was different here. Lonely. The Crellid mansion was a scary place for a ten-year-old girl to live and I was homesick. Not for my father. No, I didn’t miss him one bit, but I desperately missed Peter, my bird, and my tutor, Miss Charlotte.
There were no girls my age to play with here, and the older girls that slept in the apartments underground were always busy. Not that it mattered. They weren't allowed to speak to me, either way. The Crellid children never spoke to me, either. The girls were like zombies and the boys frightened me. They were always trying to touch parts of my body that shouldn’t interest them.
Mrs. Solo, my tutor at the Crellids, told me that I should be happy Fabio's older boys wanted to touch and grope me. According to Miss Solo, one of the Crellid boys would own me one day and she constantly urged me to seek out my favorite one. If they liked me, they might be gentle later on, she said. She encouraged me to focus my attention on Jethro, one of the youngest boys with the sweet smile, but I had already picked my favorite.
The Spanish one.
The one Miss Solo said wasn’t entitled to me because he was a bastard with the wrong last name.
I didn’t care about his last name, or that he was a bastard. I didn’t care that Miss Solo had forbidden me to seek him out, and I didn’t even care that he didn’t speak the same language as me.
He was big and dark and pretty, and he never tried to touch my private parts. He was my absolute favorite person at the Crellids. Maybe in the world.
"I want to fuck this," Trigger growled, breaking through my thoughts, as he threw his hands up in frustration and kicked the book away.
We were camped out in my bedroom and he was scowling at the floor. As per usual, he was frustrated and spitting mad.
"It is pointing!" he barked, shaking his head angrily.
"Pointless," I corrected quietly, burying my smile at his outburst. From watching his interactions with his half-siblings, I knew the very last thing I should be doing was laughing at him. He turned mean and used his fists all the time.
His siblings were scared of him.
So was Miss Solo.
Not me.
"Pointing is something you do with your finger. See –" Giggling, I wiggled my index finger in front of his face. "Pointing."
"You ha-ha-ha," he accused, giving me a look of outrage. "On me?"
"It's at you, not on you, and I'm not laughing," I lied, sidling closer until our shoulders were touching. He was thirteen but he looked like a man. He was just so big. And his smell? It was so yummy. I always wanted to move closer to him. "I promise," I added. "And you are doing so well, Trig. Honestly. Your English is getting better every day."
"I want to fuck this." Another burst of Spanish escaped him and he dropped his head in his hands. "I want to fuck this…fucking fuck!"
"Well –" I grinned and patted his big shoulder. "You seem to have the swear words locked down."
"Ah…swear word?" Brows furrowed, he turned to look at me. "I do not…uh…know that swear word?"
"Fuck," I explain, blushing. "Fuck is a swear word."
"Fuck," he repeated slowly, dark brown eyes lock on mine. "You fuck or no?"
"I don’t know what you mean," I giggled and then quickly blushed, unable to take the heat that emanated from those big brown eyes.
"Eres un corderito," he said then, giving me a curious look. "Riéndose de un lobo."
"Are you making fun of me?" I whispered, edging closer to the huge boy with the golden skin. "Are you calling me mean names, Trigger?"
"No te preocupes." A hint of a smile ghosted his full lips. "No te morderé, corderito."
Clenching my eyes shut, I bowed my head and held perfectly still, willing the pain shooting through my body to fade, and my childhood memories of Trigger Laperro to not hurt so damn bad.
Moments later, the sound of his voice filled my ears and I stiffened.
"Why the fuck not?" Trig demanded, appearing from the hallway Jet had disappeared down, wearing nothing but a towel around his hips.
"Because he said not to," Jet strangled out, hurrying after his brother. "I didn’t know what to do."
"Ashton," Trig said gruffly and I flinched.
Stopping several feet from me, he ran a hand through his wet hair and exhaled heavily, clearly noticing my physical reaction to him. "You're still bleeding?"
"No," the word was barely audible but I managed to squeeze it out. "I don’t think so."
Another tremor racked through his body as he stood several feet from me, looking utterly helpless. "I will take you to a doctor –"
"No!" I snapped, tone harder now.
He frowned. "Corderito, let me take care –"
"I am not explaining this to anyone," I strangled out, pulse racing at the thought. "I just need to sleep. That's it. That's all I want to do."
"But –"
"I'm not fucking going, Trigger!" I screamed, spitting the words at him as my body shook violently.
Brows furrowed, he offered me a clipped nod. "Are you –" Pausing, he swallowed deeply and turned his hardened stare on Jethro, who quickly left his apartment without another word. "Are you staying?" Trig asked when the door closed behind Jet. "Here?" His heated gazed locked on mine. "With me?"
"Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice," I replied wearily, knees bopping. "You claimed me, remember? I'm yours to do whatever you wish with." Sighing heavily, I dragged myself to my feet and tipped my chin up. "However, if it's not too much to ask, I'd appreciate a couple of days to heal before you give me to your men."
"Don’t," he warned, narrowing his eyes.
I glared back at him, defiance burning in my eyes. "I'm a whore, remember? A filthy puta traidora."
He flinched.
Good.
Feel some of my pain, Trigger!
Releasing a furious growl, he stalked towards me and I cowered from him. "Stop it," he choked out hoarsely as swept me into his arms, cradling me to his chest. "I won't hurt you."
Rigid, I locked my limbs tight, not bothering to resist when he carried me down the hallway and into the master bedroom. There was no point in fighting back. Not anymore. My life didn’t belong to me. It belonged to him.
Setting me down on the edge of his king-sized bed, Trig pulled the covers back and gestured for me to climb in.
I didn’t move.
"Do you want to shower?" he asked then. "Or bathe?"
I shook my head.
"Then lie down."
&nb
sp; I remained frozen to the spot.
"Corderito, I will not fuck you again," he snapped, flustered. "Not without your consent."
"You will never have my consent," I strangled out, emotions spilling over now. "You are a –" My voice broke off as a huge sob racked through me. "I h-hate you!"
"I know," he deadpanned. "Lie down."
"I said I hate you!" I screamed, furious with his lack of response. "I hate you, Trigger Laperro! I fucking hate your guts and I wish you never came back!"
"I know!" he roared back at me, bristling now. "I heard you loud and clear, Corderito." Reaching for me, he lifted me into his bed. "Believe me, I know."
"All of those things you vowed to your father in Spanish tonight," I sniffled, curling up in a ball on his mattress and then scooting far away when he whipped off his towel and climbed in beside me. "About killing him and enjoying knowing that he'll burn in hell?" I glared at the side of his face as he reached for the small lamp and flicked it off, bathing us in darkness. "Well, I made those same vows." A hiccupped sob tore through me. "I'm g-going to k-kill you, Trigger."
"You can't kill me, Corderito," he replied quietly, turning his back to me. "Ya estoy muerto."
The moonlight shining through the window illuminated the tattoos etched across his broad, tanned back and I repressed a shiver.
From the age of nine to sixteen, when he left me, I had consistently stared at Trigger Laperro's back – his whole body, to be exact. When I first met him, his skin was mostly ink free, but as the years passed by, the tattoos had slowly accumulated to the point where he was now covered.
His back.
His chest.
His arms.
His neck.
His thighs.
Everywhere…
Blinking back my tears, I glared at the face of the inked devil staring back at me, the tattoo that covered the scars I knew were hidden underneath, before dropping my gaze to the words written across his lower back.
De las cenizas de mi odio.
