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“The lounge?”
“It’s quieter.” He looked around and muttered, “Maybe we’ll get some peace and fucking quiet,” under his breath.
He didn’t like this, either.
He might act like it didn’t bother him. But this wasn’t something he was comfortable with.
It was with this realization that I found myself taking his outstretched hand.
Overwhelmed, I followed Johnny to the bar, where he ordered us more drinks before walking through a door at the side of the bar, and into a dimly lit room. This room had more of a youthful feel to it, with pool tables and dartboards on the walls, and a jukebox playing in the corner.
I noticed several teenagers sporting a range of different school uniforms from the local district lounging around. Like when we walked into the main bar, everyone turned to look at him, but after a few head nods and “How’s it going, Kav,” they turned back to their company.
Johnny led me over to a table in the far corner of the lounge, but this time instead of taking one of the barstools on the other side of the table, he set our drinks down and sat down on the leather bench beside me.
From here, we had a perfect view of the rest of the room, with the perk of being slightly tucked out of the way.
You should go home, Shannon, my common sense commanded. You should not be here.
“Better?” Johnny asked, settling down beside me.
I nodded and reached for my Coke, eyes locked on the goings-on around me.
I could see several boys at the far side of the lounge wearing BCS uniforms, and that made me want to crawl under the table and hide. I was so nervous that I had to use both hands to stop the bottle from shaking.
Seeing Ciara Maloney, my greatest tormentor from my old school and the giver of my eyelid scar, sitting among them made my entire body coil up with dread. Like she could sense me watching her, Ciara turned her face in my direction.
Great. Just bloody great.
The moment she recognized me, that familiar glint of malicious intent flashed in her eyes for about two seconds before her gaze moved to Johnny, who was sitting beside me. Her mouth visibly fell open and she began to nudge the girl sitting beside her, Hannah Daly—her best friend and another one of my bullies.
We were being watched again. But now it had more to do with me being hated than him being the local celebrity. Panicked, I dropped my gaze to the glass bottle clasped between my hands.
Breathe, Shannon. Just breathe…
“You’re a lying, little whore,” Ciara snarled as she pinned me to the wall behind the school and glared down at me. “You were looking at him.”
Knowing it was safer to say nothing, I kept my mouth shut and mentally prepared myself for the beating I knew I would receive.
“Answer me, bitch!” she snarled, slamming my shoulders into the concrete, causing the air to expel from my lungs in a loud pained groan.
Several of the girls standing around us laughed and sneered when a whimper tore from my throat.
I was already aching in more ways than any of these girls could comprehend—my father’s latest whiskey tantrum the cause of my pain—and they were enjoying my obvious discomfort.
It wasn’t anything new to me.
I was used to being laughed at. I was used to being the punching bag.
And I hated myself for accepting it.
When Ciara shoved me into the wall again, I forced myself to swallow down the sob that was threatening to erupt from my throat, forcing the words, “I didn’t look at your boyfriend,” out instead. “He looked at me.”
That was the truth.
Her boyfriend had a horrible habit of staring at me.
My explanation earned me a slap across the face and a fistful of my hair to be yanked so roughly that I staggered forward, feeling weak and powerless.
