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“Yeah, lad,” I replied with a nod. “I really fucking do.”
23Exes and Hell Nos
JOHNNY
I saw her again today.
We passed each other no fewer than five times in the hallway, and every single time she put her head down and walked past me without so much as a backwards glance.
This wasn’t a new thing, of course. Shannon had been brushing me off like I was invisible for over a week now.
Nine days to be precise.
Being ignored didn’t sit well with me. It was unfamiliar territory for me, and I was quickly learning that I didn’t like it one bit. Especially when the person ignoring me was the very same one who was tormenting my every waking thought—my dreams, too.
That’s right; I was actually fucking dreaming about the girl now. How messed up was that?
Last night, for instance, I dreamt that Shannon was watching me play. Except instead of being on the school pitch, we were at the Aviva Stadium in Dublin. And instead of wearing Tommen’s black and white, I was wearing green and white.
Shannon had on a matching Irish jersey, with my name and number on the back, and she was cheering for me in the stands.
I was thrown the ball but when I caught it, Shannon began to cry. For real, her face was contorted in pain and she was pointing at me. That’s when it got really disturbing because when I looked down, my legs were gone.
In their place were two stumps.
Then I began to shrink away, shriveling up like the creepy guy in the Harry Potter books. Shannon’s distraught face was the last thing I saw before I jerked awake.
It was fucking horrendous.
I woke up in a bog of sweat and spent a solid five minutes patting my legs to assure my panicked mind that they were still there. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the dream was a warning sign. Of what, I had no idea, but I had this god-awful feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach that wouldn’t go away.
That feeling had stuck with me all day. I couldn’t seem to shake it off.
I couldn’t shake her off.
None of this made any sense to me, and I had no goddamn clue why she was the person I wanted to go to.
Not Gibs. Not my ma. Not my coaches.
I was freaking the fuck out inside, worrying myself half to death over the summer campaign, and it was a girl I barely knew, with soul-deep eyes, that I wanted to confide in. Because something told me I could. Because somewhere deep down inside of me, I felt like she knew me.
Like she could save me?
Jesus, I was losing my bleeding mind…
After a disastrous last class on Friday—where I had retained not one iota of what the teacher had been prattling on about—I was heading out of the main building toward the P.E. hall to catch up with Coach when I heard a familiar voice call out my name. For a split second, I debated pretending I hadn’t heard her and walking out the door, but then she grabbed my hand and tugged me backwards, and manners won out.
Inhaling a steadying breath, I mentally reminded myself to be nice before turning around to face her.
“Bella,” I acknowledged with a curt nod.
She looked just as good as she always did, with her black hair styled into a bob and a full face of makeup. She was tall and curved and filled her school uniform in all the right places.
Fortunately, I was completely unaffected.
“Hey, Johnny,” Bella replied with a massive smile. Despite her five-eleven height, she still had to crane her head up to look at me. “How are you?”
The words like you give a shite were on the tip of my tongue, but I toned down my impatience and went with, “What’s up?” instead.
