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It suited me perfectly.
I didn’t want attention from anyone, much less him. I didn’t miss the fresh bruising under his left eye or the busted lip he was sporting, though.
A busted lip I knew in my heart had been provided by Johnny.
Leaving my coat at home felt like a stupid idea on the walk to the bus stop after school, especially since every stitch of clothing I had on was soaked right through.
Nope. I shook my head. On second thought, I’d rather drown.
It was better than taking my mother’s pathetic peace offering, which had come in the form of my coat.
Other days it was chocolate or a cup of tea or a new pair of hair ties, or some other form of bribery given with the intention of shutting me up.
I knew full well that the text message I’d received from her at small break saying, I won’t make trouble for the boy, had been sent with the hopes of receiving a reciprocating text message from me saying the same.
I didn’t reply for two reasons.
One, I didn’t have credit. Two, she didn’t deserve to be put at ease.
Why should she, when I spent my entire life in state of constant unease?
I’d thrown her by threatening to tell the principal.
She wasn’t the only one thrown by my erratic reaction. I had felt like a caged animal, cornered. I had never struck back like that before.
I’d never felt so strongly about something.
My small act of defiance was a futile one because I would be the one who would most likely end up getting sick, but honestly, had I taken my coat this morning, it would have been the same as turning a blind eye to what had happened.
And I refused to do that.
When I walked through the front door, I dutifully ignored my father, who was banging around in the kitchen, and headed straight for my bedroom, knowing that I would rather starve to death than set foot in that kitchen and face him.
Whether he was sober this evening or not, I loathed him with every fiber of my being.
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. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an envelope on my bed with the Tommen College crest etched on the front.
Reaching over, I snatched the envelope and ripped it open.
My eyes widened as I stared down at the permission slip.
My mother had signed it.
With the permission slip gripped tightly in my hand, I flopped back on my bed and released a ragged breath.
I was going to Donegal.
22Borrowed Time
JOHNNY
Every Saturday from the age of six, I spent my day on a field with a rugby ball in my hands and vivid dreams flashing in front of my eyes.
As I grew up, those Saturdays evolved from throwing a ball around with my father, to playing with the minis, to drills and matches with my club, to training at the National Rugby Institute of Further Progression—a.k.a. the Academy—when I turned fourteen.
The routine changed, the pitches varied, but the dream stayed the same. The goal was always the same. Play for my country. And be the best.
This Saturday was different.
