7
AGE 16
Idon’t sleep, but I stay under the covers, contemplating everything Ma just said. I know I got lucky. As much as my parents piss me off at times, they are seriously good people, and for the most part, I’ve been happy. It’s not their fault there’s something lacking inside me. I don’t know how to explain it without making them feel guilty or like they’re responsible because they’re not. I’m just dysfunctional. A patchwork of jagged pieces with a hole where the core should be. It’s part of the reason why I don’t speak about this shit. There’s always this hollow ache inside me, like I’m missing a vital part of me. Even at times when I’m super happy, it’s still there—a constant gnawing ache inside. I don’t know what it means or if it’s fixable, but as long as it exists, I don’t feel whole.
The door creaks open, and I twist around, widening my eyes when I see Kelly Rogers creeping into my room. I sit up and stare at her as she grins and skips across the carpeted floor towards me. “What the fuck, Kelly?”
“Hey, Dillon. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Everyone’s so worried at school.” She plonks her skinny arse onmy bed like it’s commonplace to just steal into someone’s house without invitation.
I have no idea why she is here unless she’s trying to use me to get to my sister or Cillian. Ash hates her guts because she’s always following Cill around like a puppy dog, and she’s been a bitch to my sister. She has a rep for going after other girls’ guys and for stirring up shit any chance she gets.
“How did you get up here?” There’s no way Ma would’ve let her upstairs. Girls are not allowed in my room, and I have no problem complying with that rule. I take them to the play barn or the band outbuilding to fuck them instead.
“The front door was unlocked, and your ma was busy in the kitchen, so I just snuck up here.” She giggles, and the sound is like rusted nails scraping over my skin.
“You need to leave, Kelly.”
“Not before I’ve given you your present.”
In a lightning-fast move, she peels back my duvet, grabs the waistband of my tracksuit bottoms, and tugs them down to my thighs.
News flash—I’m not wearing boxers.
“Kelly, no.” I swat her hand away as she moves to grab my dick.
“Let me blow you, Dil. You must be bored out of your mind, and it’ll distract you from the pain.”
“I wouldn’t let you touch me if you were the last girl on the planet,” I snap, pulling my bottoms back up and covering my very flaccid dick. Nothing about this girl turns me on, and trust me when I say that means a lot because it doesn’t take much to get me hard. “In case my words or my soft cock is too subtle for you, both of us have zero interest in getting with you. I’d rather ask Jamie to blow me than let your vile lips anywhere near my dick, so fuck off and don’t ever fucking come back.”
“There’s no need to be so mean.” Her hands ball into fists as she stands. “You’re an ungrateful dickhead, and I was only being charitable because you’re injured. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t touch your disease-ridden cock,” she lies.
“Yeah, whatever. Get the fuck out.”
She shoves her middle finger up at me before stomping out of my room, slamming my door after her.
Good fucking riddance.
The next day, Ro tells me she burst into his room, dropped to her knees, and gave him his first blowjob before leaving. Manipulative little bitch. I laughed my arse off when Ro told me how he panicked when he started coming in her mouth, so he pulled out mid-flow showering her face with cum and getting some in her eye. She left his room bitching him out and cursing all O’Donoghue men.
It was karma at its finest, and it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving girl. Ro wasn’t aware of the bad blood between Ash and Kelly, and now he feels bad. I told him to forget about it and steer clear of her if she tries anything again.
Ro and I agreed Ash doesn’t need to know and we’ll keep it a secret to the grave.
“I’m freezing my bollox off, mate,” I tell Conor, rubbing my hands together to keep warm and wishing I’d brought extra blankets. Deciding to head to Killiney Hill for a songwriting session in the middle of November was a ridiculous decision. It was my idea because I like coming up here to think, and I thought it might get our creative juices flowing. We came up late in the day, after the families and kids were gone, and our only forethought was to bring a couple of torches, beer, and weed.Next time, I’m bringing sleeping bags, food, and a tent. “Do you think your grandpa could come get us earlier?”
He shakes his head. “He doesn’t get off work until nine.” Wind-tossed strands of his long, straggly dark hair curtain his face. “Have another toke.” He passes the joint back to me.
I swear that’s Conor’s answer to everything.
I’ve got the worst case of blue balls.Have a toke.
I can’t write this fucking essay.Have a toke.
Cill and Ash’s relationship drama is doing my head in.Have a toke.
But maybe he’s on to something. He’s constantly spaced out, but he’s a fucking dynamite bass guitarist and a decent songwriter. We work well together as songwriting partners, and we’ve already written enough for one album. Together, we come up with the harmony, and I’m usually the one to add the lyrics, though Conor jumps in when I’m stuck, and his input is always spot-on.
“God knows what kind of shite we’re writing,” I say as I accept the weed and take a long puff.
