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If my parents’ relationship was a representation of love, then I wanted no part of it.
Darren was born gay, the same way Joey was born straight and I was born empty.
My last coherent thought before I hit the ground with a thud, and a thick cloud of darkness cloaked over me, was this: Nothing changes. I was wrong, though. Everything changed after that day. Everything.
I thought about making a run for it, but I could hardly throw her off me. Yeah, because breaking her head wasn’t fucking bad enough. So, I just sat there with her head in my lap and her cheek nuzzling my dick and prayed to God to give me the strength to ignore the feelings growing inside of me and not get an erection.
“Yeah,” I replied gruffly, feeling like I would promise all the fucking promises in the world just to make this girl feel better.
“I’ve got your back.” “No, you got my head,” she croaked out. She glanced down at her body and sighed. “Actually, I think you ruined all of me.” Thank fuck for that, because you’re ruining all of me right now, I thought to myself.
Fuck, I had a feeling that her pretty face would be cemented in the fore point of my mind for a very long time. But it was those wild eyes that really struck me, and I had this crazy urge to google eye color charts just so I could figure out the fucking color blue in her eyes. I would do that later, I decided. Creepy or not, I needed to know.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Now why in the holy hell did I have to ask that? You are almost two years older than this girl, asshole! She’s too young for you. You know the rules. Stand the fuck down. “No,” she replied slowly, cheeks turning pink. “Do you?” “No, Shannon.” I smirked. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
It mattered that she was able to do this to me. It mattered that, hours later, I was still thinking about her, wondering about her, and inevitably worrying about her. It mattered that she mattered when no one ever mattered to me before.
Older brother lodges fourth complaint about the bullying. Older brother should have found some older female friends and had them kick the shite out of these mean girls. Graffiti on bathroom walls. Assault in the schoolyard, older brother suspended. Older brother must have sorted it himself.
Dammit, I knew she was vulnerable. That feeling I had earlier today? The pain I was so sure I’d seen in her eyes. It was real, it was there, I recognized it, and now I could do something about it. I could prevent anything like this from happening again. It wouldn’t happen again. Not on my goddamn watch.
“Shut the fuck up, Gibsie!” “Fine,” he huffed, scowling. “I won’t talk.” I mentally counted in my head, wondering how long Gibsie could keep his mouth shut, but only got to seven when he started back up with his verbal bullshit. “How are you managing with ejaculating?” I snapped my head toward him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not talking about this with you,” I told him as I stalked into the main building. “There are some things in life that we don’t share, Gibs.” “Well, sue me for being worried about my best friend,” he shot back, falling back into step beside me. “Come on, Johnny, I’ve seen it.” It being my mangled reproductive parts. “You can talk to me.” “I don’t want to talk to you,” I barked. “And never about this.” “Do you know how detrimental not releasing can be to your balls?” Gibsie exclaimed, deciding to torture me some more. “It’s really bad, Johnny. I saw this video on the internet. It was beyond
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“Go on, Gerard,” Claire coaxed, shoving Gibsie toward the tub. “You can do this. I have every faith in you.” “Ah fuck, okay! Okay!” With his arms stretched out, Gibsie prowled toward the cat. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he coaxed, reaching over the tub to pick him out. “Good pussy… That’s right… I love pussies… I do… I won’t hurt you—ahhhhh!” Brian snarled and whacked a paw at Gibsie, who, in turn, screamed like a girl and dove behind Claire. “Bad fucking pussy,” he choked out, dragging Claire away from the flailing cat, who was hissing and spitting at them both.
“Did you ever talk to Shannon Lynch after that day on the pitch?” I turned my bleary gaze on him, too drunk to mask my curiosity. “My Shannon?” Hughie laughed. “She’s your Shannon now?”
“Lovely girl,” he added thoughtfully. “Horrible family.” “What do you mean?”
Hughie placed a hand on my shoulder. “Keep looking out for her, Cap,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “God knows someone needs to.” And then he was gone.
“You remember who I am, right?” he asked, still smiling, although he looked a little nervous now, probably because I was staring at him like a creeper. “Shannon like the river.” Oh god. “Yeah,” I choked out, feeling every ounce of blood in my body rush to my cheeks as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I remember you.” Unsure of what else to say or do, I stupidly raised a hand and waved. “Hi, Johnny.” What was wrong with me? Seriously? Did I just wave at him? While I was talking to him? God… The smile he was sporting grew into a full, perfectly straight pearly-white smile. “Hi,
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Instead of joining in on the banter, I was icing my thigh because putting the ice on my balls wouldn’t be socially acceptable,
I don’t have a rugby-shaped head,” Gibsie grumbled. He looked to Johnny. “Do I?” “No, Gibs.” Johnny sighed. “Your head’s not shaped like a rugby ball.” “Really?” He touched his head self-consciously. “Because I weighed like twelve pounds when I was born, and my mam’s always bitching to her friends about how I wrecked her with my big head.” “It’s a perfectly normal head, Gibs,” Johnny coaxed. “Very circular.” “Not too big?” “You grew into it,” he assured him. “Fits you fine now.” Unable to stop myself, I snickered at the sight of Johnny comforting Gibsie.
I hated humans. They were such a disappointment. And to think God switched dinosaurs for man. He must be raging.
The minute my eyes landed on her, I knew I was in trouble.
Concussion-giver or not, some part of my brain told me that I was safe with this boy. That was probably the concussed part talking.
I took a step back and shrugged, feeling a surge of heat flood my face and a whole truckload of relief to have been caught checking out his car and not his ass in those pants. Because I had totally checked that out, too. It was hard not to. It was round and firm and…
Dropping my head in my hands, I grabbed clumps of my hair and just tugged. I had learned a valuable lesson tonight though, and that was to never ask a girl what she was thinking if you weren’t prepared to take a huge fucking knock to the ego.
My life was going to hell. My body was falling apart. My dreams were slipping out the window. I had a whole heap of problems to worry about. And still, I couldn’t get her out of my head. Midnight fucking blue eyes and painfully accurate words. And now it was worse because not only was she in my thoughts 24/7, but I had a bleeding picture of her to torment myself with. And I would torment myself with that picture. I planned on it.
“You are so concerned with fighting the bullies at school, Mam,” I sobbed, tears streaming down my cheeks, “when the biggest bully of them all lives under this roof.”
“What happened?” he demanded, glaring down at me. “Who the fuck made you cry?” “What?” I breathed, shaking my head. “I’m not crying.” “Your eyes are red and swollen,” he deadpanned. “You’ve been crying.” His eyes moved to my cheek. “The fuck happened to your face?”
“Give me a name,” Johnny growled, dropping his hands to his hips. “And I’ll take care of it.” “What—no! I’m grand,” I quickly replied. “I have allergies.” “Me too. To assholes and bullshit,” Johnny snarled. “Now, tell me who made you cry and I’ll fix it.”
No wonder the blond was pissed, I thought to myself. The dark-haired git was clearly going out with her, and yet he was staring at Shannon like she was dinner. My dinner, prick, I wanted to roar.
“Now,” I sneered, glaring down at their faces. “Who wants to call my girlfriend a whore to my face?”
Several heads turned my way and I did not give one iota of a fuck. Someone was going to pay for her pain. “Well?” I demanded, glaring at the blond. “You?” I asked before flicking my gaze to the redhead sitting beside her. “Or is it you?” “Listen, I don’t know what she said to you,” the blond began to say, but I cut her off with a shake of my head. “Is this your fella?” I asked, inclining my head to the dark-haired prick who was ogling Shannon less than five minutes ago, yet had turned conveniently quiet now. “Is he?” The blond’s face reddened and she nodded. “That’s good to know,” I mused, and
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“Is that good for you?” “Yeah, Shan.” Offering me a small smile, he reached for his bottle of water and took a swig. “You’re good for me.” “Huh?” “It,” he correctly gruffly, and then roughly cleared his throat. “It’s good for me.”
Sooner or later, he would be back, promising heaven and delivering hell. Nothing would change. It never did.
You could love this girl your whole life, the crazy thought persisted inside my brain over and over, if you just let yourself.
“And Bella?” Cormac asked after a long pause. “Are you going to cause problems with her?” “Because you’re with her? No,” I told him. “If she fucks with Shannon? Absolutely.” “Shannon?” “Yes, Shannon,” I bit out, tone harsh now. Cormac stared blankly. “Who’s Shannon?” “Shannon is the reason you’re going to end up with a broken jaw.” “The hell?” “Bella was threatening to go after her,” I snarled. “If that happens, I will fuck you up.” He blanched. “Why me?” “Can’t hit a girl, which means I’ll be coming for the next best thing,” I explained. “So, bear in mind that every single time your Bella
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I pulled up my phonebook and dialed the number labeled Fat Paddy. Fucking Gibsie. I should have known better than to leave my phone alone with him when I went for a shower. The last time he got ahold of my phone, he renamed my mother Sugar Tits and Bella Devil Pussy. It was all shits and giggles until Sugar Tits texted me in the middle of the night, demanding I come downstairs and unlock the front door because she was standing outside and wanted to come inside. Not knowing who the hell was texting me, I had replied with more profanities than I cared to think about before threatening to call
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Frustrated, I turned my attention back to my phone and scrolled through my contacts, looking for Hughie’s name. “That little bollox,” I cursed when I realized that Gibsie had once again changed the name of every single contact on my list. Sugar Tits and Devil Pussy were once against present in my contacts, along with new ones like Big Daddy G, Fanny Flaps, Call if Arrested, Do Not Call if Arrested, and my personal favorite: Judas Iscari-cunt.
“Thanks again for the lift.” “No bother,” Joey replied. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to his girlfriend’s lips before fastening his seat belt. “Where are we heading?” Straight to your house because I wanna fuck your sister, I thought to myself.
He started the engine and had just pulled onto the road when I felt the car brake suddenly. “What the fuck?” Joey barked seconds before two hands slammed down on the hood of his car. “Get off my car, asshole!” “You’re stealing my center,” Gibsie roared in the window as he leaned over the hood of the car. “Give him back.”
“You’re supposed to be gone home with Hughie.” “The Gards pulled him over for tax and insurance,” he called back through the windscreen like that answered my question. I gaped. “So? Hughie’s above board.” “He looked at me, Johnny—shone his big fucking torch right in my eyes,” he called back. “I panicked and jumped out of the car.” Shrugging, he added, “I’ve been running around town ever since.” He narrowed his eyes. “I tried to call you but you kept cutting me off!” I glared at him. “You’re King Clit?” “Oh, yeah,” Gibsie snickered. “I forgot about that.” “What’s Hughie down as?” “Ginger
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“That’s lovely,” Aoife chimed in, and I noticed the way she placed a hand on her boyfriend’s knee. “Isn’t it kind of him, Joe?” “Why?” Joey demanded, tone hard and suspicious. “What’s in it for you?” I sighed heavily and tried to come up with something believable. “Because I fucked her—” “You what?” Joey roared, slamming on the brakes. The sudden jolt of the car stopping caused Gibsie and me to lunge forward. Turning around, Joey glared at me. “You better be messing around right now, Kavanagh, because I swear to Christ I will—” “Over!” I hurried to explain, dragging myself back onto the seat.
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I was a sitting duck waiting for her brother to make the next move. If Joey hit me, I wouldn’t hit back. I wouldn’t retaliate. That was the scary thing about this situation. Sitting in his car, drunk off my ass, knowing that I was more than capable of beating the shite out of him, but knowing I wouldn’t. Because of her. Because he was important to her. Because if I hit him, I would hurt her. And hurting her was bad. Hurting her made me want to hurt something harder.
King Clit Is a Liability
“You know where the kitchen is. I’m not fucking cooking for you.” “I’m not used to gas.” Gibsie shrugged helplessly. “We have electric at home.” “Your mother is a baker,” I snapped. “How do you not know how to work a bleeding stove?” “And yours is a flashy fashion designer,” he shot back. “But I don’t see you prancing around the place in fur coats and Prada handbags.”
His father was a barrister. Mine spent plenty of time in court, too—on the other side of the law.
“You never know,” he said with a smirk. “I might take you with me so you can cheer me on in the stands.” Please do. Please take me away with you. “You’re very sure of yourself,” I said instead. “You can wear my number and shout, ‘Johnny, Johnny,’ from the stands.” He chuckled before settling back down to watch the game. Don’t tempt me…
“Oh, that girl.” Gibsie chuckled. “The resurrectionator.” “Stop laughing. It’s not funny. I need your help,” I snapped, flustered. “And ‘resurrectionator’ is not a word.” “Yes, it is,” Gibsie challenged. “Jesus was resurrected. It was a resurrection performed by God, the ‘resurrectionator.’ Similar to Shannon, the ‘resurrectionator’ of your bollocks that day outside the P.E hall.” Snickering, he added in a deep voice, “She shall appear and he shall arise.”
“Fine, lad, I’ll help you,” Gibsie replied with a sigh. “Even though it’ll never work, you’re doomed to fail, and I’ll more than likely end up giving the best man speech at your wedding at some ridiculously young age because you’ll have bulldozed the shit out of things, for now, I will absolutely help you bury your head in the sand.”
“I am going to castrate that little shit—” “Oh my god, no!” I squealed. Thinking back over my words, I suddenly realized how badly that must have sounded to Mrs. Kavanagh and, desperate to wipe the look of terror off her face, I quickly clarified. “Out. Johnny knocked me out. Not up.” Oh, dear god, let me die. “Out,” I emphasized for the dozenth time. “The bump was on my head.” “How did he hurt you?” his mother asked, looking troubled and yet massively relieved. I sighed heavily. “With his balls.” “With his balls?” she repeated, looking horrified. “Johnny knocked you out with his balls?”
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