by Chloe Walsh
His words caused a shiver to roll through my body.
"I'm glad you're back to me." I knew I was opening myself up to heartache, not to mention the world of pain if he rejected me again, but I had to say it. "I really missed you, Johnny."
"Christ, Shannon, I don’t know what to –" Johnny exhaled a huge breath, and then proceeded to lift my hand to his mouth. "You're okay," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand, wires and all. Inhaling deeply, he placed my hand on his cheek and leaned into the touch. "You'll be okay, won't you?"
Nodding, I cradled his cheek in my hand and whispered, "Are you okay?"
"Don’t ask me that." His blue eyes burned holes inside of me so deep I felt like I could never be repaired as he said, "Not when you're the one lying in here."
"I'm sorry."
"Don’t be sorry." Clenching his eyes shut, he bowed his head, still clutching my hand to his cheek. "I'm the sorry one." He released a pained groan and pushed into my touch, rubbing his cheek against my palm. "I just need you to be okay," he croaked out. His lashes were so thick and hooded, I could hardly see the blue hidden beneath them. "I know I was a complete spanner when I came around after the surgery and I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry for pushing you away. I was just embarrassed and ashamed…and I was petrified of scaring you off, but I should have stopped you from leaving. I should have handled myself better. I should have asked you to stay with me." Twisting his face, he pressed a kiss to my palm and whispered, "I wanted you to stay with me."
My heart skipped a beat. "You did?"
"I always want you to stay with me, Shannon," he replied, clearly agitated. "And if I'd just manned the fuck up about my feelings and asked you to stay, I could have stopped this from happening –"
"No, you couldn’t," I interrupted him, trembling. "I would have had to go home at some stage. Staying an extra day or two would have only made things a million times worse."
"Worse?" He clenched his jaw and balked. "Shannon, look where you are. How can it get any worse?"
"Things can always get worse, Johnny," I whispered.
"So, he did this to you?" he came straight out and asked me. "Your Da?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but Johnny got there first.
"Before you say anything, I want you to know that Joey called me and told me everything I needed to know," he said, staring into my eyes. "Not that I needed him to. I figured it out on my own." His hand tightened around mine. "All those times you came into school black and blue and all fucked up –" his voice broke off and I watched as a vein in his neck bulged and pulsed. "All those times you lied to me? It was to protect him?"
"I don’t want to talk about it," I whispered, falling into my life-long learned pattern of avoidance.
"No, no, we're not doing that." Johnny stared hard at me, calling me right out on it. "You don’t get to shut me out, Shannon. You don’t get to do that to me again, because I won't go this time. Do you hear me? I'm here, I'm in, I care, and I'm not going the fuck away."
My mind was reeling, struggling to make sense of what he was saying. Did he mean...? Was he...? Did he want...? "You care?"
A pained groan tore from his throat. "Yeah, I care." He leaned closer. "I care so fucking much I can hardly breathe."
My breath hitched. "What do you want to know?"
"How about you start with telling me what's wrong with you," he suggested, blue eyes glued to mine. "What's the damage?"
"A few cuts and bruises," I admitted. "And a collapsed lung."
"Jesus Christ." I watched with my heart in my mouth as Johnny's face drained of color before returning with blood-red vengeance. "Fuck."
Releasing my hand, Johnny leaned back in his chair and pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead, putting space between our bodies and his temper. He didn’t say a word. He just sat there for several moments, breathing deep and hard, obviously wrestling with his emotions.
His dark hair was cocking up in forty different directions and he was sporting several days' worth of stubble on his jaw. Unsurprisingly, the disheveled look worked for him. He had on a pair of loose, grey sweatpants and a navy hoodie. The hospital admission band he'd been wearing the last time I saw him was still strapped to his left hand, and a set of metal crutches lay at his feet.
"You should've told me the truth," he finally said. "What was happening to you." Dropping his hands from his face, he leaned forward and snatched my hand back up. "I could have helped you."
"You couldn’t," I breathed. "And I couldn’t."
"No?" His voice was sad, matching his eyes. "Why not?"
"Because…" My heart was hammering violently against my ribcage. "Because…"
"Because?" Johnny offered, voice gentle and coaxing as he shifted closer to rest his elbows on the edge of the mattress. "Did you think that I wouldn’t believe you?" He leaned closer, settling his chin on top of our joined hands. "Because I would. Every single time."
"Because he's an alcoholic," I squeezed out, feeling suddenly starved of oxygen. "And I was trying to keep my family safe."
"Safe?" he continued to probe, luring me into security with his irresistible coaxing, with the promise of safety. "From him?"
I shook my head, eyes wide and full of unspoken fear. "The foster system." My heart felt like it had climbed into my throat, making it hard to get the next part out, "Been there before." Releasing a pained exhale, I held onto his hand, taking comfort in the way he made me feel grounded. "Don’t want to go back."
"When?"
"When I was little." I swallowed deeply, feeling the burn. "It wasn't…good."
Johnny nodded, and the heated interest in his eyes told me that he was committing my words to memory. Everything about this boy was intense and larger than life. He was far too intelligent to insult him with anymore lies or watered-down truths, so I didn’t.
Instead, I went with the truth. "They don’t want me to talk about it with anyone." And especially not with you.
"Who's them?"
"My mother," I told him, feeling uncertain and wary. "And Darren."
Johnny's brows creased in confusion. "Darren, as in the brother who doesn’t live in Cork anymore?"
I nodded. "He's back."
His brows shot up. "Since when?"
"Since this." I gestured to myself, feeling embarrassed. "He says he's home now, and that he's going to help Mam with the kids and, ah, and my…my f-father." I cringed at the last part –the father part.
"He says?" Johnny narrowed his eyes. See, too intuitive for his own good. "So, you don’t believe him?"
"I don’t know what I believe anymore." I shrugged wearily, too tired to put up a barrier between us. "A lot of grownups are saying a lot of things, they're all talking around me and above me, and I'm just –"
"Done with the bullshit?" he offered, squeezing my hand.
"Yes." I nodded, grateful for his acute interpretation skills. "I'm so done with the bullshit, Johnny."
"Where's your father now?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I don’t know."
"What do you mean you don’t know?" His tone was sharp, even outraged. "He wasn’t arrested?"
"He's missing – slipped out after it happened and hasn't been seen since," I whispered, feeling panicky at the thought of my father being out there somewhere. "Darren says he will be found and charged, but Joey isn’t so sure. Nobody's telling me anything…well, except for Joey. Joe reckons that Dad's probably staying with friends of his in Waterford, keeping his head down until the dust settles and Mam takes him–" I expelled a defeated breath and mumbled, "back."
"Back?"
Numb, I shrugged. "I'm really not supposed to talk about this with –"
"It's me," he told me, tipping my chin up with his fingers. Meeting my gaze, he added, "You can tell me anything, okay?"
"I'm scared," I confessed, biting down on my bottom lip. "And I don’t want to go home."
"With your Ma?"
I nodded stiffly.
&
nbsp; "Because she let you down," he said quietly. "Because you don't trust her."
"She makes promises but that's all they are; empty promises." Shaking, I moved to wrap my arms around myself, only to think better of it and latch on to his warm arm instead. "We're supposed to feel sorry for her because of what she went through, because she's a victim too, and I know that, I truly do, but I just… I can't find it in me to feel that way." The usual fear and uncertainty that consumed me whenever I was in his presence was absent now. I felt stripped down to the bone and laid bare to this boy, and he was still here, still looking at me with the same eyes, still wanting more from me. "She's getting support now, and the Gardaí and Social Services are obviously confident in her ability to parent us – that's why they're working with her. They're setting her up with all types of services and counseling."
"But you don't?" Johnny asked. "You don't think she can?"
"I know she would never hurt us," I whispered. "Not on purpose at least. She's not violent, Johnny, and she's not cruel. She's just weak. Darren keeps saying that we need to have patience and give her a chance, but I just… I can't get my hopes up." Gripping his forearm with both hands, I squeezed. "Because I've seen this all before. She'll take him back – I know she will – and then what? What happens then, huh?" Shaking my head, I furiously fought with my emotions, blinking away traitorous tears. "Nothing. Nothing will happen just like always, and I'm just so done with it all, Johnny." I exhaled a ragged breath. "I want to get out of this town, go far, far away, and never come back."
"Can you tell them?" he asked. "That you don't want to go back with her?"
"And where would I go? What would happen to my little brothers if I did that? They want to stay with her."
"Are you sure?"
"Ollie and Sean do. I don't know about Tadhg, he's not saying much, and Joey's over eighteen so he can legally live wherever he wants." I sighed in defeat. "If I push back on this, if I tell them that I don't feel safe with her, they'll whip us all into care and we'll be split up." My brows furrowed and I cringed before admitting, "I tell lies like I breathe air. Even to myself. Half of the time, I don’t even know what's the truth or a lie. I have to actually think long and hard about it because that's all I've known. I've been covering things up for so long that I'm not even sure if I'm thinking clearly. And now, I'm doubting myself because I keep thinking what if I'm wrong about her? What if I'm wrong to think badly of her?"
Johnny was silent for a long time, not making a sound, just being there, being with me, sharing the weight, shouldering the pain with silent support. And I think I loved him more for what he didn’t say in that moment. He didn’t make the promises he couldn’t keep. He didn’t offer more than he could give. He just stayed.
Several minutes passed before he spoke again. "When did it start?"
"I don't remember a time when it wasn’t like this," I admitted, feeling exposed and helpless.
"And me?" Johnny swallowed deeply. "When did it start because of me?"
"He was always paranoid," I told him, deciding I had nothing left to lose. "But once that picture of us was published in the paper, he had his own version of proof."
Johnny dropped his head. "Fuck, Shannon, that was months ago."
"I know," I sighed wearily.
"I made it worse for you," he strangled out.
"You made it bearable," I whispered.
"Where else?" Two words that seemed to be torn from deep within him. His gaze roamed over me slowly, unabashedly, darkening, until finally settling back on my face. "Is there more?" His fingers trailed over my cheek. "Show me where he hurt you."
I hesitated to respond, feeling cautious and uncertain.
"You can trust me," he said in a voice so low it was barely audible. "I'm not like him, Shannon. I won't ever hurt you – I couldn’t. Not in any shape or form."
I knew this.
Aside from Joey, Johnny Kavanagh was the only other person I did trust.
It was with this knowledge that I slowly pulled my aching body into a sitting position.
"Take it easy," he coaxed, leaning over to help me sit up. "You okay?"
"Yeah." Letting my legs dangle off the side of the bed, I sat facing him, and reached for the hem of my pajama blouse I had changed into earlier. Gingerly, I lifted the fabric up to reveal the left side of my black and blue ribcage.
Johnny sucked in a sharp breath at the sight. "Fucking bastard," he snarled and then seemed to check himself because he swallowed down whatever else he was about to say, clenched his jaw, and whispered, "I need to see everything. Show me everything. I need to see it all."
So, I did.
I showed him my arms and legs, my neck and thighs, and with every bruise and cut I revealed, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.
"And they made a hole here," I explained in a shaky voice, clumsily unbuttoning my pajama blouse to reveal the fresh bandage strapped to my chest and side. Shivering, I cupped my tiny breasts and twisted sideways to show him. "To help me breathe."
Johnny's eyes flicked to the bandage and I watched his entire frame stiffen. He wasn’t looking at me in a sexual way. No, it was a look of pure horror. "Jesus Christ." He dragged his chair closer to the bed until my legs were nestled between his knees. "Is it sore?" Resting one hand on my thigh, he gently grazed the bandage with his free hand. "Are you in pain?"
Yes. "I'll be okay," I replied, turning back to face him. "The doctor told me it will heal in a week or two."
"He did this to you because of me –" pausing, Johnny caught ahold of the fabric on either side of my chest and began to snap the buttons back into place, keeping his eyes on mine the entire time. "Because of what happened in the changing room?" When he was finished re-doing my blouse, he shook his head, expression torn. "Because you're not supposed to be with me?"
I shrugged helplessly. I couldn’t lie anymore. Not to him, at least. He saw it anyway, the truth in my eyes, and it caused a low, pained groan to tear from his chest. "I'm so sorry, Shannon." Resting his forehead against my stomach, he wrapped his huge arms around my waist and whispered, "I'm so fucking sorry."
My body was shaking so hard, I was struggling to hold it all back, to keep my feelings buried down, when all I wanted to do was fold into this boy and never come back up for air. Trembling, I cradled his face to my stomach and exhaled a broken sob. "It's not your fault," I choked out, feeling the sting of hot, salty tears as they trickled down my cheeks. "It's not. If it wasn’t you, he would have found something else to hate me for. That's the way it is in my family. My father doesn’t need a reason to do the things he does, Johnny. He just needs a notion." Shaking, I trailed my fingers through his hair, forcing myself to keep my touch gentle and not cling to him and beg him to take me away like I so desperately yearned to do. "Don't be sad for me."
"Sad? I'm not sad, Shannon. I'm fucking devastated," he strangled out, lifting his head. "I was positive it was someone at school. Fuck, I was obsessed with figuring this out and I was looking in the wrong direction the entire time."
"Johnny…"
"I drove you back to that house," he groaned, distressed. "I watched you walk into that fucking house and I went home to a warm, safe bed, knowing in my heart something wasn’t right but not opening my mind enough to see it!" Shaking his head, he released a frustrated growl. "I am so fucking sorry. You didn’t deserve to have another person let you down."
"It's okay," I croaked out.
"No, it's not. It's not okay." He exhaled a heavy sigh and whispered, "Shannon, did he –" Johnny blew out a breath and shook his head before trying again. "Did he…" Flinching, he closed his eyes. "He hurt you." It was a statement, not a question. "Physically." He opened his eyes and looked at me once more. "Did he do anything else to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I need to know if he…" his voice was pained as he struggled to get the words out. "Did he… ever make you do things that you didn’t want to do?"
"Like what?" I strangled out, pani
cking.
"Did he ever touch you?" the words came out of his mouth in a rush. "Sexually." He closed his eyes as a pained groan tore through him. "Did he do that to you?" Opening his eyes, he looked at me, expression torn, and said, "Did he rape you, baby?"
"No."
"No?" Relief flooded his eyes for the briefest of moments before doubt poured back in. "You can't lie to me, okay? Not about this. I need you to tell me the truth."
"He didn't touch me like that," I croaked out, heart bucking wildly in my chest. "Nothing like that ever happened to me."
Johnny stared hard at me for the longest moment before releasing a shaky breath. "Okay." Nodding to himself, he whispered, "Okay," several more times as his shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry for asking you that, but I had to."
"It's okay."
"But I need you to know that you're not on your own in this. Not anymore." His voice was steady and strong now. "You have me."
My heart leapt in my chest. "I have?"
"Absolutely." His brow touched mine then, achingly soft, and his blue eyes bore into mine, silently asking for permission. To do what, I had no clue, but I was willing to say yes to whatever he asked of me. "I'm here," he whispered, stroking my nose with his. "And I'm going nowhere."
Oh god…
"Johnny?" My hands moved of their own accord, knotting in the fabric of his hoodie. "If you're going to let me down –" dropping my head, I closed my eyes and inhaled several shaky breaths before tipping my chin up and opening my eyes, "then I need you to do it now, okay? Don’t wait until it's too late, and please… please don’t make it hurt –"
Johnny silenced me by putting his lips on mine. Stunned, I could do nothing but sag against him, giving him all of my weight and trusting him not to break me.
It was a soft, innocent, almost featherlike peck on the lips, but it was everything in this moment, and it meant everything to me because it was from him. Because for the very first time he kissed me first.
"I won't," Johnny whispered, brows touching, lips gliding against mine as he spoke. "I'll always be careful with you, Shannon like the river." Exhaling a shaky breath, he tucked my hair behind my ears and cupped my face in his hands. "I promise."