Ireland Luv

Chapter 8

One night was all it took to toss all my focus back into my schoolwork and away from the tattooed-covered musician in the room next door. Killian wasn't at the bar the following night, or the day after, I was convinced that he had made it a simple decision for me; he had done me a favor by ignoring me. As much as I knew it was for the best, I couldn't stop the hurt in my chest.

I knew he was still in the room and attempting to hide any noise he was making. When I'd enter my room, the TV would stop, or his guitar would stop strumming. When I would begin my shower, that's when I'd hear his door open to leave. Killian was now literally hiding from absolutely everyone, and it included me.

Today, the third day of being alone with nothing to focus on other than school, I feel myself become angrier than hurt. I feel led on; I feel gullible; I feel stupid, and mostly I feel crazy because no matter how hard I try, I can't get him out of my head.

I arrived at the bar early, a mere minute after Henry had unlocked the doors and swung the cheap sign in the glass door from 'Sorry, we're closed' to 'Open'. Even though I had free rein at a barstool, I choose the couch where Killian and I had shared our moment. I didn't bring notes today, just my phone and ear buds. The place has become my second home in Ireland, and I'm comfortable enough in the bar to kick off my sandals and curl my legs beneath myself to settle in for the day. Henry—obviously aware that I've been missing my partner in crime the last few days—brings me endless Sprites and swaps them out every so often with a beer. God bless him. He even tried giving me a smile to cheer me up.

After only a few hours, patrons fill the spot, making my couch prime real estate. I know I should give up the spot for people who plan to spend more money than me, but part of me feels like I'm avoiding my room so that my neighbor can have his coveted alone time without fearing me hearing. I'm also down to only two songs choices for the opening credits. Part of me doesn't want to pick the song just yet, because then I'll just go back to thinking of someone else.

It's due tomorrow, Emma. I press repeat on the screen and shut my eyes, listening to the catchy hook for probably the tenth time since sitting down. Just pick the damn song and be done with this.

Frustrated, I do Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, hovering my thumb over the two songs. This is really stupid because I know which I want, and I'm stalling. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe is literally a lyric in the song I know I'm about to choose, which is why the silly game came to mind.

When my thumb is left hovering over the song I don't care for, I abandon the game and delete it from my playlist.

That's it. I'm done. It's chosen.

I have finally picked the song I knew I was going with all along for the damn opening credits and yank the buds from my ears. I sigh heavily, covering my sleep-deprived eyes with my palms. If the song is picked, why do I still feel heaviness in my chest from anxiety?

"Here."

My stomach twirls at the sound of that familiar voice and I take a moment to tell myself to stop reacting, unwilling to uncover my eyes for fear that I will again and somehow he will know. I don't want his attention to sway me into having feelings for him. Maybe he will just go away if I don't look at him.

"Emma," the couch dips as he joins me on the seat, "take it."

Disobeying myself, I free my stony glare to first see a beer being held out to me and then the guy holding it. My head hurts at the sight of him, my stomach flutters—which I ignore—and my blood turns hot. He thinks that he can just act like he didn't ignore me for days? That after claiming to want to impress me and then kissing me and deciding he was no longer interested, I'm just supposed to act like nothing happened?