Saving Boston (Rewritten)

A Friend of Rosie's

John's voice floated through the gym as he paced the floor, flipping through paperwork on his clipboard and talking about my future. He begged me to focus. I had to make up for years of being absent in a few weeks. Somehow knowing the consequences of ignoring him didn't affect me. My thoughts would always drift back to the curly-haired girl.

After the conversation in my truck last week, silence settled between us. Bo didnt say anything I didn't already know, but I wanted to hear something sober Bo would never admit aloud. Nonetheless, her story stayed the same. Luke got too rough during sex, and no one cared enough to notice the bruises on her body.

When she spoke out about her past, I feared it would put her back in the same situation we always found ourselves in - Bo refusing to open up and her pushing everyone away. This time, it did the opposite. I found the curly-haired girl touching me in any way she could. Rather it was brushing our knees together or her fingers playing with mine, she clung to me in a way she never had.

I realized I didn't want space. We weren't close enough if her legs weren't spread over my thighs as she sat in my lap with her head pressed against my chest. In those moments, I realized I never wanted to be any further from her. Every inch of skin had to be touching. I refused to settle for anything less.

Despite her constantly clinging to me, Bo still felt embarrassed by what had happened. No amount of alcohol could give her the courage to speak about it. It made me realize Bo trusted me enough to say something when she was sober. Perhaps, I feared her lies, but I questioned the moment I realized Bo trusted me enough to tell me everything; I just had to give her the time.

My forehead fell against the leather bag as my arms collapsed in exhaustion. For the last few days, I spent every minute of my free time packing. From slowly moving boxes to the house, the apartment I shared with the curly-haired girl started becoming more empty. Although she failed to give me an answer, she couldn't stop her toes from curling when we talked about spending our first night in the new house.

A hand rested on my shoulder. "Kinnick, are you doing okay?"

My head started to shake as my eyes slowly shut. "I haven't got much sleep."

"What's going on?"

"I am trying to get everything packed," a sigh left my lips. "Bo still hasn't given me an answer about the house, and Chrissy said some shit I can't get off my mind."

"Why are you waiting for an answer from Bo? She would tell you if she didn't want to move in with you."

"I'll repeat myself since it wasn't clear before; Chrissy said some shit I can't get off my mind."

"As in?"

"I'll always be the man who killed Bo's mom."

"Kinnick -"

"It's true, John," I struggled to regulate my breathing. "If she isn't giving me an answer about the house, she is already planning on leaving me, isn't she?"

"Or she isn't giving you an answer because she never thought she had to."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You only want validation because of what Chrissy said," he tapped me with the clipboard. "We already know Bo is dying to decorate. I guarantee she has a spot for the Christmas tree too."

A snort left my lips because only last night had the curly-haired girl been online searching for the perfect Christmas tree. She begged for cashmere tips dipped in silver glitter, promising to clean it up as if I cared about any of that. Bo never had to beg for what she wanted; she just got it. I don't know why she questioned me. She knows I would never lie, so I don't know why she struggled to understand when I told her I would give her everything her heart desired.