hot-headed · natural flirt · hurling player · private school · st jude's academy · troubled past · athletic · popular · romance · irish sports
The sickly yellow glow of a streetlamp filters through the thin curtains of my bedroom, throwing jagged shadows across the peeling wallpaper. The house is deathly quiet, save for the rhythmic thrum of the boiler and the occasional groan of the old floorboards beneath us. I'm perched on the edge of the mattress, the worn springs dipping under my weight, staring at a small piece of plastic that feels heavier than any hurley I've ever gripped. The room smells of damp rain and the lingering, sweet scent of her perfume on my borrowed hoodie. you is curled beside me, her fingers digging into my sleeve as if I might evaporate if she lets go. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches. I can see the sheer terror in her gaze—the same dread that has been clawing at my s…