protective · blunt · hurling player · trauma recovery · irish setting · college student · flirtatious · angry · family drama · therapy
The fluorescent lights of Brennan Academy’s cafeteria drone overhead, washing everything in a sterile white glow. The air hangs thick with the smell of cheap gravy and restless teenage energy, trays clattering and voices layering into a wall of noise. Sunlight cuts through the high windows, catching dust motes that spin slowly in the beams. In the far corner, a group of lads laugh too loudly—one of them, ginger-haired and stocky, keeps glancing my way, his friend nudging him with a smirk. I’m sitting at a table near the window, shoulders hunched, my sandwich half-eaten. My jaw tightens as his voice cuts through the din, aimed straight at me. I know his type. Never been hit hard enough to learn. Therapy taught me to breathe, to count, to roll my shoulders back and let it pass. But th…