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I broke the fucking girl.
I was going to get a suspension for losing my temper and a warrant put out for my arrest.
I was a cunt.
“I’m sorry,” I continued to tell her, glaring daggers at every nosy bastard who decided to stop and gawk at us as we walked at a snail’s pace.
She was in my jersey and it fell around her like a dress.
I was freezing my tits off beside her in nothing but a pair of training shorts, socks, and studded football boots. Oh, and the pink fucking schoolbag slung on my back.
They could look all they wanted; my only concern was getting this girl’s head checked out.
“I’m seriously fucking sorry.”
“Stop saying sorry,” she moaned, clutching her head.
“Right, sorry,” I muttered, feeling her lean her weight on me. “But I am sorry. Just so you’re clear.”
“Nothing’s clear,” she croaked out, stiffening against my touch. “The ground’s spinning.”
“Ah Christ, don’t say that,” I strangled out, tightening my arm around her rigid frame. “Please don’t fucking say that.”
“Why’d you do that?” she whimpered, so frail and small and covered in shite.
“I’m an asshole,” I informed her, shifting her pink schoolbag back onto my back as I tucked her in closer. “I fuck up a lot.”
“Did you do it on purpose?”
“What?” Her words threw me enough to cause me to halt. “No.” Twisting my body so I could look down at her face, I frowned and said, “I would never do that to you.”
“You promise?”
“Yeah,” I grunted, hitching her up with my arm and melding her body to my side. “I promise.”
It was January.
It was wet.
It was cold.
And for some strange, disconcerting reason, I was burning the fuck up on the inside.
My words, for whatever reason, seemed to ease the tension inside this girl because she released a huge sigh, loosened her rigid frame, and allowed me to take her entire weight.
4Face-Planting
JOHNNY
With a great deal of effort and a surprising show of otherwise absent self-control, I managed to respect her wishes and walk her to the office—when all I wanted to do was scoop her up in my arms and run for help.
I was panicked and worrying, and the more she groaned or sagged against me, the higher my anxiety grew.
However, having spent the last ten minutes outside the principal’s office, listening to Mr. Twomey rant and rave, I was all out of that precious patience.
Why wasn’t he taking her off me?
Why the fuck was I still standing outside his office holding up a half-comatose girl?
