Saving 6: Boys of Tommen #3

FEBRUARY 14TH 2002

AOIFE

WITH MY HANDS FULL, and my phone ringing in my skirt pocket, I used my elbow to open the front door and then swiftly deposited my school bag, PE bag, and stack of post I’d collected on the floor, before reaching into my pocket for my phone.

“Yes, Casey, I’m home,” I mused, balancing my trusty Nokia 3310 between my shoulder and ear, as I stepped over the pile of crap I’d dropped in the hallway, kicked off my heels, and moved for the kitchen. “And no, before you ask, I haven’t opened my Valentine’s cards yet.”

“Well hurry up, bitch,” she groaned down the line. “And at least tell me who the huge teddy bear, holding the cute heart, is from?”

“You already know who it’s from.”

“Okay, are you opening them yet?”

“No, I’m going to make a sandwich.”

“Sandwich? What happened to your mam’s Thursday stew?”

“Dad took her away to that big fancy hotel in Kilkenny for the night, remember?”

“To screw?”

“No, to test the mattress,” I shot back sarcastically. “Obviously to screw.”

“Where’s that hot little nerd for the night?”

“He’s gone to Nana’s to tune the channels into her new television, and please don’t call my brother hot. I think I might puke.”

“He is a little ridey, Aoif, with that blond quiff and black-rimmed glasses—“

“No, he’s not.” I gagged. “He’s an irritant.”

“A sexy irritant,” she teased before adding, “Okay, let’s open your cards. I’ve opened all of mine and I’m bored.”

“Who’d you get this year?”

“The usual,” she sighed down the line. “Mack, Charlie, Dricko, and Alec from our year. Sticky-Dicky from sixth year, a couple of anonymous ones, and some kid called Tim from first year.”

“Aw, you got a baby first year. That’s so sweet,” I cooed mockingly. “And as for Richard Murphy—“

“Sticky-Dicky,” she interrupted me to correct.

“Calling him that only lets people know that you’ve touched his dick, Case.”

“His sticky dick.”

“Sticky from what; your lip-gloss?”

“Bitch.”

“Ha,” I cackled.

“By the way, he invited me to his debs in July, too.”

“Are you going to go?”

“Am I going to go to Sticky-Dicky’s debs with him? Obviously.”

I laughed. “You can borrow a dress from me.”

“Thanks bestie because I don’t have anything formal. Now open them.”

“Alright, alright.” Walking back out into the hallway, I grabbed my schoolbag and returned to the kitchen table to unzip it and then turn it upside down.

“How many did you get?”

“A few.”

“How many?”

Scanning the selection of cards on the table, I mentally tallied them all up and said, “I think there’s fourteen?”

“Fourteen!”

“No, sorry, I counted one twice. There’s thirteen.”

“Okay, I hate you.”

“Oh please,” I laughed. “You know this holiday is total bullshit.”

“Okay, so we know one of them is from Paul,” Casey said, morphing into a detective on the other side of the line. “Who are the rest from? Start opening.”

Ripping through more than a dozen envelopes, I stacked them neatly in front of me and put the phone back to my ear. “You ready?”

“Since yesterday.”

“Finny O’ Shea, Dermot Keane, and Luke Twomey from sixth year.”

“Hey, Luke is Sticky-Dicky’s friend.”

“Danny Collins and Trev Mulcahy from fifth year.”

“Trev Mulcahy?” she swooned down the line. “Lord Jesus, he’s a pretty one.”

“Okay… there’s one from fourth year.”

“Who?”

“Liam O Neill.”

“Oh, I’ve scored with him,” she informed me. “He has a tongue like a washing machine stuck on a fast spin cycle.”

“Nice mental image, Case.”

“Be glad you only have to imagine it.”

“Okay, no baby first years for me – no second years, either, which means the other cards are from lads in our year.”

“Ooh,” she squealed. “I’m intrigued.”

“Okay, so we’ve got… Rich, Keith, Mike, Jack, Ruairi, Alec—“

“That cheeky little shit,” Casey grumbled. “He gave me one, too. What does yours say?”

“To the girl with the best legs at school. Here’s a Valentine’s card. If you are reading this card, it means that you opened my folds, so it’s only fair that I get to open yours. From Alec.” I laughed. “Yours?”

“To the girl with the best tits at school. Please wear the white vest for PE next week. The visual of your bouncing tits has given me endless hours of joy. Feel free to flash a nipple. From Alec.”

“That sounds like Alec, alright,” I laughed. “Okay, so the last card’s the biggest one.”

“Paul?”

“Yep.”

“What did he say?”

My heart stopped when I opened the card, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

“Aoife?”

“Case, he’s after putting fifty euro in the card.”

“Are you serious?”

I stared at the note in my hand, feeling a swell of different emotions. “Why would anyone put money in a Valentine’s card?”

“Because he thinks he can buy a night of your company?” she laughed, but the joke hit a little too close to a nerve for me to laugh.

“I don’t want his money, Casey.”

“Give it to me,” she replied, not missing a beat. “I’m poor. I both need and want his money very much.”

“I’m pissed off.”

She sighed down the line. “You are sitting in front of a stack of cards from boys who adore you. There is nothing to be pissed off about.”

“But—“

“Do I need to come over there and slap some sense into you? Come on, Aoif. He probably put that in there because he’s panicking.”

“Panicking?”

“Yeah, babe. You two have been all over the place for months now, so the poor eejit is probably shitting pebbles in case you change your mind and run off with the Lothario of BCS.”

“Don’t.” I shivered. “That is never going to happen.”

“You really haven’t spoken to Joey since the fight?”

“I really haven’t, and I really have no desire to.”

“Well shit,” she said quietly. “You know, I really thought he might send you a card to break the ice between you guys.”

Yeah, me, too. “He’s not the type to give cards.”

“No,” she agreed. “But I thought that he would make an exception for you.”

“I don’t want his cards,” I replied flatly. “I don’t want anything from him.”

“What happened between you guys, Aoif?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah right.”

“Nothing happened, Case,” I deadpanned. “And nothing ever will. Besides, I’m this close to swearing off boys for life.”

She snorted down the line. “That’s because you haven’t found yourself a Sticky-Dicky yet.”

“Does yours have any brothers?”

“He has cows,” she laughed. “His family are farmers.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Okay, you need to get off the line. I’m going to go take a shower and grab something to eat.”

“Need to cool yourself down from all that Sticky-Dicky talk, huh? Fair enough, babe. Just don’t get too carried away in the shower. Otherwise, I’m going to have to rename you—“

“Bye, Casey,” I laughed, cutting her off before she could finish her sentence and destroy what was left of my innocence.

Leaving the cards on the kitchen table, I headed for the staircase, pulling off my school jumper, shirt, and tie as I went. Tossing them in the laundry hamper at the top of the landing, I reached behind my back, unzipped my skirt and shimmied it down my thighs before stepping out of it.

Grabbing a towel out of the hot-press, I strolled into the bathroom, still laughing to myself about Casey and Sticky-Dicky.

My laughter, however, quickly died in my throat when I came face to back with none other than Joey?

My blood ran cold at the sight of him kneeling over our toilet, with a line of white powder on the toilet lid, and a rolled-up fiver pressed to the inside of his nostril. In the blink of an eye, the powder disappeared up the makeshift funnel and into his nose.

“Oh my god,” I strangled out, words finally finding me. “What are you doing?”

I hadn’t spoken a single word to him since our fight two weeks ago. Too upset and hurt to deal with my feelings, I had avoided him like the plague, unable to go another round after he hit me with a knock-out blow to the heart.

With his elbows resting on the toilet lid, Joey dropped his head in his hands and muttered, “Fuck.”

“Are you serious?” I whisper-hissed, glancing back at the door, and suddenly feeling like the authorities were about to charge into my house and arrest the both of us. “You’re doing drugs in my house?”

“No.”

“Yes,” I argued. “I just caught you!”

“I know, I know.” Sniffing and twitching his nose, he muttered, “don’t worry.” Like it was no big deal that I had just witnessed him ingesting a class-a drug.

“Don’t worry?” I gaped at him. “Joey!”

“What?”

“You’re in my house?” I shook my head in confusion. “What the hell?” Blowing out a ragged breath, I closed the space between us and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at me. “What are you doing in my house and why did you bring drugs here?”

“Your dad asked me to stop by,” he mumbled, eyes unfocused. “Gave me a key. Said the shower motor wasn’t running.” He shrugged. “I fixed it.”

“You fixed it?” I choked out a growl. “You fixed it? I don’t give a shit about the shower motor, Joey. Why were you doing drugs?”

“You weren’t meant to see.”

“Clearly,” I hissed, forcing him to look at me when he tried to pull away. “Are you completely insane? What the hell are you doing getting yourself involved in this crap?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was that cocaine?”

“No.”

“Liar! Since when are you taking cocaine?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” I snapped. “Talk to me, dammit!”

“Why?” Jerking free of my hold, he stood up and quickly backed away. “The fuck has it got to do with you?”

“You brought cocaine into my house, Joey,” I repeated my earlier words, hoping that this time he would understand how wrong his behavior was. “Into my father’s house.” I pushed at his chest, trying to evoke a reaction out of him. “You remember my dad, don’t you? He’s the one who gave you that job at the garage. The one who trusted you to—”

“Get out of my face, Molloy,” he growled, trying and failing to sidestep me in his pointless bid to escape an interrogation. “I know I fucked up, okay?”

“Get out of your face? You’re lucky I’m not tearing strips out of your face, asshole,” I snapped, pushing at his chest, forcing him to back up until he was pressed up against my bathroom wall.

I kept my hand on his chest, feeling an abnormal amount of heat emanating from beneath his uniform.

“What the hell,” I muttered, reaching up and pressing my hand to his neck and then his cheek. “Jesus, Joey, you’re burning up.”

Panicked, I watched as his green irises disappeared right in front of me, overtaken by pupils so dark and dilated that it made him look like a completely different person. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay?” I stared at his ridiculously gorgeous face, feeling nothing but terror. “Joey, I just caught you snorting a line. I think it’s safe to say that you are absolutely not okay.”

“That was a mistake,” he was quick to say. “I shouldn’t have done that here.”

“No, you shouldn’t have done it at all,” I corrected, concern filling me at a rapid pace.

“It was a mistake.” A shudder racked through him. “Your father trusts me. I shouldn’t have…I let him down.” The more he spoke, the faster his words flew out of his mouth, and the looser his tone became. “It’s all good, though, Molloy.” He reached up and snatched up my hand that I was still cupping his chin with. “It’s a mistake. I, ah, I make a lot of those. I’m just so fucking tired sometimes and I, ah, well, it helps, ya know. Fuck it.”

He shook his head again but didn’t let go of my hand. “Joe?”

“I don’t know what I’m trying to say.” His entire frame pulsed with energy as he rolled his shoulders and looked around the room like it was the first time that he was seeing it. “I’ve a match over at the GAA pitch in an hour, it’s against St. Pats, they’ve a serious defense, and I haven’t slept in days.” he blew out a shaky breath, “I’m just so fucking tired and I needed something to give me a boost…but it won’t happen again. It won’t happen again.”

“Days?” I shook my head. “Why haven’t you slept in days?”

“Night feeds.”

“Night feeds?” What was he talking about? Was he rambling? Was this a side effect of taking cocaine? I had no clue. “Joe, are you with me?”

I could feel the tremors racking through his body.

They terrified me.

“Again, I’m, ah, I’m sorry about what you saw there. I don’t make a habit of, well, you know.” Shrugging, Joey suddenly dropped my hand like it had scalded him and shoved a hand through his blond hair before moving for the door. “It’s really not a big deal, though, so no worries, yeah? There’s not a bother on me.”

“Not a bother on you?” The boy had spoken more words to me in the past three minutes than he had in the past three years. He was clearly bothered. “You’re going to a match now? Like this?”

“Yeah, I sort of have to. Don’t really want to be playing, but its, ah, well, it’s not worth the hassle of trying to get out of.” Nodding vigorously, he yanked the bathroom door open. “Tell your father that I, ah, I sorted the shower. It’s running perfect again.” He turned back and gave me one final clipped nod. “I’ll be seeing ya, Molloy.”

As I watched him walk away, it took me a moment to get my bearings, and then a couple more to stop my head from spinning off my shoulders, as I registered what the hell I had just witnessed.

This was more than sharing a spliff and a flagon of cider with the boys on a Friday night.

This was cocaine.

It was serious.

Trouble.

Yeah, the boy was trouble with a capital T.

“Oh no, you don’t!“ Bolting out of the bathroom, I caught ahold of his hand before he could reach the staircase and quickly dragged him into my bedroom.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I warned, swiftly closing and then locking my door behind us. “You’re staying right here with me.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“Let me out.”

“No.”

All jittery and with his hands shaking at his sides, he reached for the key in my door. “Let me out of this fucking room, Molloy.”

“I said no.” Snatching up the key, I slipped it into my bra and glared up at him. “You’re staying with me.”

“I have a match.”

“I don’t care. Sit down.”

“I can’t sit down!” he snapped, running his hand through his hair, as he paced my bedroom floor. “I need to move.”

“Then move,” I agreed. “In here.”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, body trembling, as he closed the space between us, backing me up against my bedroom door. “Let me out.”

I shook my head, heart racing wildly. “No.”

“Stop fucking with me,” he ground out, chest heaving against mine, as the heat from his body scorched my skin.

He was fully clad in his school uniform, while all I had on was a pair of pink knickers and a black bra. I wasn’t even matching, dammit.

“I’m not fucking with you,” I growled. “I’m trying to help you.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Apparently, I do.”

“I’m fine,” he crooned, acting both irrational and erratic, as he placed his hands on my shoulders. “It’s all good.” His hands were trembling so much that I could feel the vibration right down to my toes. “Shh,” he coaxed, and then burst into a fit of laughter. “We’re grand, okay?”

He actually laughed at me.

Oh, yeah, he was definitely high.

“Fuck.” Laughing manically, he let his forehead smack against the wooden door frame right next to my head. “You’re killing my buzz, Molloy.”

He hit his head against the doorframe again, causing another pained laugh to escape him.

And then he did it again and again.

And again.

I debated calling Casey for help, before swiftly shutting that notion down, unwilling to get him into any more trouble.

Besides, it wasn’t fear for myself that I was feeling.

I wasn’t afraid of Joey.

No, I was afraid for him.

“Now, you listen here, asshole.” Snatching up his chin, I pulled his face down to mine, forcing him to look at me. “You are going to wait this out in my room, and you are going to do it without banging your head off any more doors.” With my hands on his shoulders, I walked him over to my bed and pushed him down. “You are going to sit down and take a breath.”

“I can’t sit down.”

“You can,” I argued, pushing him back down when he tried to stand.

“I need to move.”

“You need to do what you’re told.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Something’s wrong,” he groaned, shaking his head, as he reached a hand behind his head and yanked his jumper off. “I can’t breathe.”

“Joe.“

“I can’t fucking breathe,” he strangled out, chest heaving, as he sprang back up and tried to side-step me. “Let me go.”

“Yes, you can.” Pushing him down on my bed, I stepped between his bopping knees and pulled his chest flush against my belly. “Look at me.”

“I’m suffocating.”

“Joey?” Holding his face between my hands, I tipped his chin up and forced him to look at me. “Breathe.”

“Molloy –”

“Breathe, Joe,” I coaxed, feeling panicked now that he was panicking. “Just breathe, okay?”

Blowing out a frustrated breath, he attempted to inhale a deep breath, but stopped midway to say, “I can’t. I can’t. I need to move—“

“Shh.” Lowering myself down on his lap, I took his hands in mine and placed them on my waist. “Just breathe.” With my eyes on his, I inhaled deeply, held it there for a moment, and then slowly let it out. “Just like that.”

He never took his dark eyes off mine as his hands tightened on my hips, and he mirrored my actions, taking a deep breath and then slowly letting it out.

“Good,” I praised, settling my hands on his shoulders. “Again.”

Still trembling, Joey took another deep breath, held it there, and then slowly released.

“Just like that.” Threading my fingers through his sun-bleached hair, I stroked his cheek with more affection than was appropriate and continued to breathe in and out with him over and over again, never once taking my eyes off his.

The more he watched me, the harder I felt him grow beneath me.

From my perch on his lap, I could feel all of him straining against me, and I would be a liar if I said it didn’t make me ache.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I want us to get naked and fuck.”

Jesus.

“Well, that’s not happening,” I whispered, feeling my entire body tremble. “So, stop thinking about it.”

“I know it’s not.” Looser with his actions now that his mind was hazed, he pulled me closer to him, fingers kneading the fleshy part of my hips, as he slowly rocked his hips against me. “But we will.”

My breath hitched in my throat.

He nuzzled my breasts with his nose. “Not today.”

I released another shaky breath.

“But we will.”

Oh Jesus.

“Shh. Focus, Joe. Keep your breathing even,” I instructed, when I could do anything but.

Inhaling a deep breath, he leaned in close and buried his face in my chest. “I’m trying.”

“Good,’ I breathed, shivering. “Keep trying.”

Achingly aware that my bra was the only thing that separated his lips from my breasts, I hailed on every ounce of self-restraint I had to help me in this moment.

His voice was muffled, and his lips brushed against the piece of fabric that concealed my pebbled nipple, when he groaned, “I miss you.”

My heart thudded violently in my chest. “I miss you, too.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, nuzzling the outline of my nipple with his nose. “For feeding her your line.”

“It’s okay.” Knotting my fingers in his hair, I cradled his head against my chest and released a shaky breath. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Several minutes ticked by, but neither one of us moved.

Instead, I remained on his lap, holding both his head and my breath, while he focused intensely on his.

Slowly, the tremors racking his hands, racking his entire body, lessened, and I felt a mountain of relief flood my body.

Repressing a shiver, I reached down to feel his clammy forehead and found that temporary relief abandon me. “Joe, you’re burning up worse than before.”

“Hm?”

“You’re too hot.” Concerned, I let my hands trail to his damp neck, and even damper school shirt. “Holy crap, Joe, you’re drenched.”

“It’s grand,” he mumbled, still dutifully concentrating on his breathing. “It’ll pass.”

Yeah, I wasn’t so sure. “Hang on. I’ll open a window.”

I moved to climb off his lap, but he swiftly wrapped his arms around my body and pulled me back to him. “Don’t move.”

“Joe, you’re literally piping hot.” Panic began to set in when I watched a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his neck. “I could fry an egg on you. Seriously. I need to cool you down.”

“I don’t care.” He buried his face back in my chest and inhaled another deep breath. On the exhale, he whispered, “Don’t leave me.”

“Joe…”

“Please just stay.” He paused to release another slow breath, before continuing, “This is the only time it’s ever stopped. Please don’t break it.”

“This is the only time what’s ever stopped?” I croaked out, feeling my heart thunder wildly in my chest. “And don’t break what?”

“My head,” he mumbled, before adding, “The quiet.”

I don’t understand, I wanted to cry, but I held firm and remained calm.

“I promise I won’t leave you,” I told him, gently removing his tie from his neck. “I’ll stay right here. But I need to not be on your lap right now because my body is heating yours up.”

When he made no move to comply, I leaned back, causing his head to fall forward, and reached for the buttons on his shirt.

“Something’s wrong,” he groaned, hands slumping at his sides. “I don’t feel right.”

“How could you feel right after doing what you just did?” I argued, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and sliding the fabric off his shoulders, only to be greeted by the sight of dark purple bruising all over the left side of his chest, reaching all the way up to his collarbone. I sucked in a sharp breath at the sight. “Jesus, what happened?”

“Fight.”

Joey had a gorgeous chest; lean and strong, with light brown nipples and tightly carved abdominal muscles. His hips were narrow and sported those epic V-shaped sex lines that all the athletically gifted seemed to possess. A dusting of golden-brown hair trailed south from his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband of his grey school trousers.

And while his golden skin was littered with scars, I was certain that I had never seen anyone more perfect in my life.

“A fight?” Shivering, I gently placed the palm of my hand on the bruise that was covering his heart. “With who?”

“Some asshole.” Blowing out a pained breath, he covered my hand with his and whispered, “You should let me go.”

“I know I should.” With my heart hammering violently in my chest, I quickly clenched my eyes shut and willed my heart to just calm down. “But I can’t.”

“There’s something wrong,” he groaned then, shifting uncomfortably. “With my dick.”

“Is this your way of getting me to look at your dick?”

“No,” he groaned, slipping a hand into the waistband of his grey school trousers. “This is me telling you that there is something really wrong with my dick.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” He hissed out a pained breath and flopped back on my bed, groaning like he was in genuine pain. “Fuck.”

“Did you twist a nut?” I asked, deadly serious. “Because Kev did that once, and it’s actually really serious. If you don’t seek medical treatment, you can lose the whole testicle, Joe—“

“No,” he groaned, and then covered his face with his hands. “Fuck, it’s too much.”

“Okay, that’s it!” I threw my hands up in panic. “Take off your clothes and let me see.”

“Not a good idea.”

“Oh, just shut up and strip, dammit.” Concerned, I reached for the button on his school trousers, and snapped it open before undoing his fly. “Lift up your hips.”

“Molloy.“

“Lift up.”

“Fuck.” Shifting upwards, he hissed out another pained groan when I dragged his trousers down his hips. ”Oh Jesus Christ, don’t touch it –“

“I’m sorry!” Wincing, I carefully peeled the waistband of his black boxers over what had to be the biggest damn dick I’d ever seen. “What the fuck is that?”

Springing to attention like a front-line soldier, his fully erect penis bopped around mere inches from my face. “Why is it so—”

“I don’t know!” he bit out, pulling up on his elbows to glare at it like it was the enemy. “It won’t go the fuck down. I keep getting harder.”

“Is that supposed to happen?”

“No.”

“Then why—“

“I don’t fucking know, Molloy!”

“Okay, okay, why don’t we both just calm down!” I shouted, more to myself than him, as I stood in my bedroom, in my bra and knickers, with Joey Lynch’s dick glaring angrily up at me. “Jesus, that’s a big damn dick, Joe.”

“Shut up, Molloy,” he snapped. “Don’t fucking say that. It makes it worse.”

“Why don’t you…well, you know?” I shrugged. “Give it a pull? You know, see if it goes down?”

“Oh, my fucking god,” he growled, and then hissed out a pained breath. “I’m not wanking myself in here.”

“Obviously, you don’t have to do it with me in here,” I argued. “I can go downstairs and make us a sandwich or something.”

“A sandwich? Really, Molloy?”

“I don’t know,” I strangled out. “I haven’t eaten since lunch and you’re… and I’m… Look, I’m just trying to help, okay?”

“Get my phone.”

“Huh?”

“My phone,” he bit out. “Please. Pass it up to me.”

“Where is it?”

“Pocket.”

Scrambling to retrieve his phone, I managed to fish it out of his pocket without making eye contact with it.

“Got it,” I said, climbing onto the bed to kneel beside his slumped frame. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”