falling for 13 || Johnny Kavanagh

Whiskey Tantrums

G R A C E

The room was too quiet.

That was the first thing I noticed as I stepped through the front door, carefully closing it behind me. The eerie stillness of the house crawled under my skin, a sign that something was off. Usually, the house buzzed with noise—Joey's loud music blasting from upstairs, Shannon's chatter as she watched TV with Tadgh and Ollie, or the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. But tonight, there was just silence.

I paused in the hallway, my hand still on the door, straining to hear any sign of life. No TV, no footsteps. Nothing.

Maybe they were all out. Maybe I had the house to myself for once. But as I crept further inside, that gnawing feeling in my gut told me otherwise. Something was wrong. My pulse quickened as I reached the bottom of the stairs. A faint creak from above made me stop in my tracks.

He's home.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath. If he was up there, maybe I could slip past unnoticed. If I could just make it to my room—

But before I could take another step, his voice boomed down from the sitting room.

"Grace! Get yourself in here!"

My heart sank. The way he said my name, rough and slurred, told me everything I needed to know. He'd been drinking. I glanced down at myself—still in the short black dress I'd worn to the party, my makeup smeared after hours of dancing. My witch hat was crumpled in my bag, but I didn't need a mirror to know what I looked like. To him, I looked like trouble.

Reluctantly, I started up the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. My mind raced with excuses, explanations, anything to soften whatever storm was brewing in him.

I could see him standing in the doorway of the room, half-hidden in shadow. His eyes were bloodshot, his shirt unbuttoned and wrinkled. The stench of alcohol hit me before his words did.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded, his voice thick with anger. "Dressed like that? Parading yourself around like some whore?"

My breath caught in my throat. "I was just—"

"Don't give me that!" he roared, stepping closer. "You think I don't know what you're up to? Dressed like a slut, riding boys—" His words turned into a string of curses as his eyes roamed over me, disgust twisting his features.

I took a step back, instinctively pulling my arms around myself. "It's not what you think. I was just at—"

"Shut up!" His voice was louder now, filling the narrow hallway and echoing off the walls.

I froze, my heart pounding in my chest as he stormed closer. I could smell the whiskey on his breath now, a rancid mix of alcohol and cigarettes that turned my stomach. I knew this version of him too well—the one that lashed out with cruel words and heavy hands when the world didn't bend to his will. I'd seen him like this too many times before.

"You think you can just run around dressed like a little whore?" He spat the words, his face red with fury. "Is that what you're doing? Showing yourself off to every boy in town? Huh?"

"I wasn't—" I tried to explain, my voice trembling. "I was at a Halloween party. Everyone was dressed up. It was just for fun."

"For fun?" His hand shot out, grabbing my arm in a rough grip. "Dressed like that?" He looked me up and down with contempt, and my stomach twisted with shame under his gaze. "Don't you lie to me, Grace. I know exactly what you girls are up to, walking around in those short dresses You think you can just do whatever the hell you want?"