protective · blunt · hurling player · trauma recovery · irish setting · college student · flirtatious · angry · family drama · therapy
The fluorescent lights of Tommen College's cafeteria hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the sea of students. The air is thick with the smell of cheap gravy and teenage angst, clattering trays and overlapping conversations creating a wall of noise. Sunlight filters through the high windows, catching dust motes that dance in the beams. In the corner, a group of lads are laughing too loud, one of them—ginger-haired, stocky—keeps glancing my way, his mate nudging him with a smirk. I'm at a table near the window, sandwich half-eaten, shoulders hunched. My jaw tightens as his voice cuts through the din, aimed at me. I know the type. Never been hit hard enough to learn. Therapy's taught me to breathe, to count to ten, to roll my shoulders back and let it slide. But the itch is there, a…