by Chloe Walsh
Shivering from the cold, I moved on to rummage through the bottoms, my anxiety rising with every ginormous pair of sweatpants I picked up.
I held one pair against my body and released a frustrated sob when they reached my chest.
My eyes landed on the pair of white boxer shorts strewn in the middle of the pile and I blew out a breath.
Did he mean to leave those there?
Were they meant for me?
Was that weird?
Holy hell, were they Calvin Klein's?
On closer inspection, I confirmed that they were, indeed, designer boxer shorts.
My knickers came in a pack of seven for a fiver.
In this moment, I was acutely aware of our social differences.
His mother was a fashion designer for god's sake.
Mine was a cleaner.
His father was a barrister.
Mine spent plenty of time in court, too – on the other side of the law.
His house reeked of money and luxury.
Mine reeked of whiskey and pain.
I looked to the sweatpants in my hands and then back to the elastic-waisted boxers on the bed.
If anything belonging to Johnny was going to even remotely fit me, it would be those.
Trying not to think about it too much, I reached for the boxers and quickly stepped into them and pulled them up.
I presumed they were the snug fitting boxers, but on me they were loose and baggy, however they were staying up on my hips.
What are you doing?
What the hell are you doing?
Johnny's penis has touched these things.
And now your vagina has.
You're practically having sex with him!
Uncertainty took over then and I quickly yanked them off before snatching the sweatpants back up and stepping into them.
Like I predicted, his sweatpants were enormous on me, coming up to my chest, and the moment I let go of the waistband they fell to my ankles.
Yanking them back up, I clutched the waistband and shuffled awkwardly into the bathroom, trying not to trip over the legs in the process.
Retrieving my hair tie from where I'd left it on the shower rack, I tied a loose knot at the side of the pants and secured them up.
For about two seconds, until they dropped to the floor again.
Morose, I yanked the boxer shorts back on, ignored the voice in my head telling me that this was wrong, retrieved my hair tie from the traitor sweatpants, and tied a firm knot in the boxers.
Unsure of what to do next, I returned to his room and began to fold the discarded clothes.
I had no bloody idea why I was doing this, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t and I didn’t want him to be left with wrinkled clothes because he dragged them all out of his wardrobe for my benefit.
I was folding the last t-shirt on Johnny's bed when I noticed something sticking out from under his bed.
Something that looked just like me.
Bending down, I retrieved the newspaper with shaky hands and just stared at the picture of us.
He kept it.
In his room.
Under his bed.
My heart leapt against my chest.
It doesn’t mean anything.
It's a nice picture.
That's all.
Don’t read into this.
I was completely absorbed in my thoughts when a low groaning noise came from somewhere close by.
Dropping the newspaper on the floor, I remained completely still and listened carefully.
A few seconds later, the groaning noise came again.
From the bed!
Freaked out, I grabbed a random folded t-shirt in my hands with a death grip and lowered my face to where his duvet was balled up at the foot of the bed.
I was certain that's where the groaning came from.
"Hello?" I whispered, eyes locked on the duvet.
It moved in response, the quilt moving back and forth rapidly.
"Oh my god," I screamed, staggering backwards.
Dropping Johnny's t-shirt on the floor, I pressed a hand to my chest and watched the bed like it was a scene straight out of The Poltergeist.
"Is someone in there?" I asked when my voice returned.
I had to be imagining this.
It hadn't really moved.
I was just hyperalert.
I was losing my bloody mind.
"Hello?"
The duvet moved again.
"Oh my god!"
The duvet started to rise up.
Oh, screw that!
This time when I screamed, it was at the top of my lungs, as I lunged away from the bed.
Knocking up against the chest of drawers behind me, I lost my balance and sprawled face-first on the floor, grazing my chin on the hardwood floor in the process.
Undeterred by my faceplant, I scrambled to my feet, only to collapse in a tangled heap when my feet got stuck in his giant pants that I'd forgotten to pick up.
Kicking my foot free, and still screaming my head off, I dragged myself off the floor and bolted for the bedroom door.
It swung inwards at the same time I was pulling at the handle and I was greeted with a bewildered looking Johnny.
"What's wrong?" he demanded, eyes flashing with concern. "Shannon, what the fuck happened?"
"There's something in your room!" I screamed, lunging at him.
"Oh my god," I half-sobbed/half-screamed as I crawled up his huge frame and wrapped my arms and legs around him. "You have to save me!"
"What do you mean there's something in my room?" Johnny demanded as his arms came around my waist. "Shannon?"
He tried to pry me off him, but I held on tighter, clenching my thighs and arms as tight as I could.
Exhaling heavily, he rubbed my back with one hand and asked in a much softer tone, "What happened?"
"There's something in your bed."
Clenching my eyes shut, I clung to his body for all I was worth.
"Under the covers," I strangled out as a huge shudder rolled through me. "I'm not messing. I saw it move – twice!" I buried my face in his neck and choked out, "I think you have a ghost in your bed!"
"Shannon, I don’t have a ghost in my bed," Johnny replied, sounding amused now.
"Yes, you do," I snapped, shuddering again. "I saw it – and don’t laugh at me."
"I’m not laughing at you," he told me – while he laughed. "Come on, I'll prove to you there's no ghost in here."
He moved to walk into the room and my hands shot out, gripping the doorframe to stop him.
"Take me home," I begged, wide-eyed and horrified. "Please. Don’t bring me in there. I am terrified, Johnny!"
He brought me back in anyway, marching into the room with me locked around him like a baby monkey.
"Look at your ghost, Shannon," he chuckled when we reached the bed.
"I can't." I closed my eyes and shook my head, burying my face back in the crook of his neck. "I don’t want to see." He smelled so good, whatever cologne he was wearing was wafting up my nose, so at least I could die smelling something wonderful.
A bark filled my ears then, stalling me mid-meltdown.
"Hey, baby," Johnny cooed. "You scared the shite out of my friend here."
Baby?
Slowly, I lifted my head and turned to face the bed.
A black Labrador poked out from beneath his duvet.
A tsunami of relief crashed through me followed swiftly by a generous dollop of reality.
The dog nudged out from under the covers, tail wagging so hard it slapped against the mattress.
"Shannon, this is Sookie," Johnny chuckled. "Your ghost."
"Oh." Unlocking my arms and legs, I slid down his body, every inch of my skin flaming with embarrassment. "Oh, that makes more sense."
Feeling lightheaded, I sank down on the edge of his bed, pressed my hand to my chest, and exhaled a tremulous breath.
"Your dog," I panted, breathing hard. "Sleep
s in your bed."
It wasn’t a question.
I was just trying to piece everything together.
"I said hi and she wagged her tail. I thought she was a –"
"Ghost?" Johnny offered, smirking.
I shook my head.
"Don’t make jokes," I whispered, still shivering as the adrenalin inside of me slowly dissipated. "Not yet."
Sookie touched her wet nose to my bare thigh and nuzzled gently, distracting me.
"Look at you," I whispered, giving her my attention.
It was clear from the white hair on her face that she was an old dog.
"You're so sweet." Reaching over, I placed my hand on her head and stroked lightly.
"Now this one is sweet," Johnny stated. "She's mine – and much better behaved than the other two."
"Well, Sookie, you almost gave me a heart attack with your impressive hiding skills," I added, feeling my heart slowly return to its natural rhythm. "But you're still very sweet."
"Are you okay?" Johnny asked, tone serious now.
I felt the mattress shift beside me, but I didn’t look up from his dog.
"I should’ve warned you that she was in here," he added. "I'm just so used to her that I totally forgot. She can pass out for hours up here."
"It's okay," I whispered, keeping my attention on Sookie.
"It's okay or you're okay?"
I chewed on my lip and thought about it for a moment before saying, "It's okay and I will be okay."
Dropping my head in my hands, I let out a low groan. "God, I'm so embarrassed. Did you guys hear me screaming all the way down in the kitchen?"
"Actually, it was just me," he replied. "I was on the way up to talk to you when I heard you scream."
My heartbeat quickened.
"Talk to me?"
"Yeah, your brother had to take off while you were in the shower."
"Joey's gone?" I croaked out, feeling a sudden surge of panic race through me. "Is something wrong?"
Johnny nodded and clasped his hands together, elbows resting on his huge thighs.
"What is it?" I squeezed out. "Tell me, Johnny!"
"It's, ah, it's your Ma, Shannon," he finally said, tone gruff.
"What about my Mam?" I whispered. "Oh my god, is she dead?"
"No, no, fuck no," Johnny hurried to say. Turning to face me, he exhaled a pained sigh, took my trembling hand in his big, warm one, and said, "She had a miscarriage."
She had a miscarriage.
Your mother has lost the baby, Shannon.
Feel something!
Feel something, dammit!
I was dead on the inside.
I had to be.
That, or I was downright evil.
There was no other explanation for it.
Feeling relief over the loss of a pregnancy was the most disgusting, horrible, unforgivable crime on the face of the planet.
And that's the first thing I felt when those words came out of Johnny's mouth.
An overwhelming swell of sheer relief washed over my body for the briefest of moments as my brain registered the gratitude encompassing my heart at the knowledge that another child wouldn’t be born into this hell.
It was bad enough that we had been born into this life.
"I’m so fucking sorry, Shannon," Johnny said, squeezing my hand. "I hate that I had to tell you that."
"Is she okay?" I croaked out, when words found me.
Johnny nodded. "Your brother said she's okay, and that she had the miscarriage on Friday – although you probably knew that she was in the –"
"Yeah," I quickly lied to cover up the carnage, feeling tears prickle my eyes as disgust and self-hatred took over. "We knew there was a problem."
Was that what happened?
Was that where she went?
Was she all alone in the hospital all weekend and none of us knew?
We were bitching about her being a bad mother and she was lying in a hospital bed, losing her baby.
Oh god.
"Of course." Johnny nodded and exhaled another heavy sigh. "Joey told me to tell you that your dad is picking her up from the hospital and that they'll both be home soon."
My body froze.
The weighted pain and fearful anticipation settled down on my shoulders like an old friend's hand.
That's how familiar I was with the feeling of fear.
My heart could not have sunk any further if I tied weights to it and dropped it into the ocean.
He was back.
Why was he back?
Why couldn’t he just go away forever?
"Your brother wants you to stay here for a while. He said he would call when he can come get you –" Johnny paused before adding, "but I can take you home whenever you want, okay?"
"Joey shouldn’t have put you in that position," I croaked out, wrestling to keep my emotions at bay. "I'm so sorry about this." I stood up to leave. "I can go now."
"Shannon." Johnny's hand snaked out and wrapped around my wrist. "I don’t want you to go," he said gruffly, tugging me back down beside him. "I want you here." He rested a hand on the bed right behind my back and leaned close. "I want you to stay with me."
I shook my head, unable to form a single word.
I had a horrible taste in my mouth.
It matched the one in the pit of my stomach.
Impending doom, I acknowledged.
That's what I was tasting and feeling right now.
My father was back.
Once I left this house and returned to mine, the vicious, never-ending circle would continue.
Suddenly, I never wanted to leave this room.
Do not cry, Shannon Lynch, I warned myself. Do not shed another tear!
I dropped my head and blinked like crazy, desperately trying to fight back the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks in big, fat drops.
It didn’t work.
One tear slid down my cheek, followed in quick succession by another and then another.
"I'm going to hug you," Johnny whispered in my ear. "Tell me if that's not okay?"
Sniffling, I turned inwards and buried my face in his side, answering his question with actions.
Johnny's arms came around me, pulling me close, and I clutched his shirt in my hand, fisting the fabric tightly, as sobs racked through my body.
"I'm here for you," he told me, voice gruff and thick, as his hand moved in slow circles over my back. "If you need someone to talk to," he pulled me closer, "I'm right here."
I couldn’t stop crying and I wasn’t sure if it was the fear of facing my father pushing me over the edge, or my mother's miscarriage, or the emotions building up inside of me because of this boy whose arms I was currently in.
Unable to get a handle on myself, and desperately seeking the comfort and safety that oozed from him in waves, I did something incredibly reckless.
I crawled onto his lap.
Johnny's entire frame tensed, and his hands fell away from my body, but I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
With my knees on either side of his thighs, I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his neck.
"What do you want me to do, Shannon?" Johnny strangled out. "Tell me what to do here."
"Hold me," I sobbed, burying my face in his neck. "Don’t let go."
"Okay." His large hand cupped the back of my head and his other moved to my back as he held me to his chest, slowly rocking me on his lap. "I won't," he whispered, folding me up in his arms.
Trembling, I clung to his body and prayed for him to be my strength in this moment because I couldn’t do this anymore.
I couldn’t live like this.
I was so alone.
All my life.
I was so scared.
37
It's your birthday
Shannon
I spent a solid twenty minutes wrapped up in Johnny's arms as I desperately tried to get a handle on my emotions.
Finally, when I di
dn’t feel like I had another tear left inside of my body to shed, I pulled back to look at him.
His blue eyes burned with sympathy as he watched me carefully.
"Hi," I sniffled, feeling embarrassed.
"Hi," Johnny said gruffly as he smoothed my damp hair back off my face and over my shoulder.
"Thanks," I croaked out, resisting the urge to press my cheek into his hand.
"For what?" he asked thickly, tucking loose strands of hair behind my ears.
"Holding me and not letting go," I offered weakly.
He smiled sadly. "Anytime."
"Do you want me to go now?" I asked, feeling uncertain. "Now that I've drenched your shirt and neck?"
Johnny shook his head and repeated those same words from earlier, "I want you to stay with me."
"You do?" I sniffled, tightening my hold on his neck.
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do."
"Okay," I whispered, heart racing violently.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked then, blue eyes burning holes in mine.
I quickly shook my head, knowing that I wanted to block it all out and concentrate on the one good thing in my life.
Him.
Johnny eyed me warily. "You're sure?"
"I want to forget about it," I confessed. "I don’t even want to think about it. Not at all… at least until I have to go home and face it."
"If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do," Johnny replied huskily.
I sagged in relief.
This boy.
God.
"Are you hungry?" he offered then, releasing my hips, and removing the comforting feeling of his hands on my skin.
My stomach growled at his offer as I reluctantly climbed off his lap.
"I'll take that as a yes," Johnny said with a small chuckle.
Shaking his head, he stood up and helped Sookie off the bed before turning to smile down at me. "Come on, Shannon like the river." He inclined his head towards the door. "Let me feed you."
On shaky legs, I trailed after Johnny and Sookie, wandering down the long hallway to the ginormous staircase.
I had to fight the smile threatening to break free when Johnny stopped at the top of the staircase to scoop up Sookie and then proceeded to carry the huge, 80lb minimum Labrador down the stairs like she was a baby cradled in his arms.
Smiling, I followed after them.
"Arthritis," he explained in an embarrassed tone when he caught me staring. "Old age." He set her down carefully when he reached the ground floor and watched her waddle off down the hall before adding, "But she's young at heart."