falling for 13 || Johnny Kavanagh

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G R A C E

The house was quiet when I got home, but that eerie kind of quiet that told you something was brewing. I glanced at the clock, my mind still buzzing with the excitement of Johnny's rugby win earlier today. The way he'd run over, mud all over him, lifting me off the ground as he hugged me in front of everyone. That moment had made everything else fade away, but now reality was creeping back in.

I pushed open the front door cautiously. Shannon's school bag was tossed near the stairs, and I could hear the faint sounds of a video game coming from upstairs—Tadgh and Ollie, no doubt. Sean was probably with them, too. I was grateful they were out of sight.

But then, there was my father.

The smell hit me before I saw him. The stale stench of beer and whiskey clung to the air. He was slouched on the old armchair in the sitting room, his red face illuminated by the flickering light of the TV. His eyes, bloodshot and mean, snapped toward me the second I stepped into the room.

"Where the hell have you been?" His voice was a low growl, full of venom.

I swallowed, trying to keep my voice calm. "I went for food with Clara, Shannon said she'd tell you."

"Clara has an Audi now does she?." He slurred, pushing himself up from the chair.

"Her brother dropped me home" I replied, I was good at lying to my father, to everyone actually. "It's only half 8," I said quietly, keeping my voice measured. Any wrong move, any wrong word, and this would escalate.

"Smart mouth on you, Grace," he muttered, shaking his head like I was some kind of nuisance. He reached for the bottle on the table, half-empty. He took a long swig and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His movements were sluggish, but his anger was sharp. "Just like your mother."

The mention of my Mam annoyed me, I was nothing like her. She was weak in most ways, I wasn't.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice suddenly harder. His hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle, tightening.

My feet stayed glued to the floor. I didn't move, didn't say a word.

"I said come here!" he bellowed, stepping closer.

And then, it happened. In a swift, brutal motion, he hurled the bottle at me. I barely had time to react before it smashed against the wall beside my head, shards of glass raining down on me. The sound echoed in the small room, my breath caught in my throat as the liquid splattered across my hair and face. I stumbled back, my hand instinctively going to my forehead where a sharp pain throbbed. My fingers came away wet—blood mixed with whiskey.

"You useless little—" His words trailed off into incoherent mumbling as he turned back to the chair, falling into it with a loud grunt, already forgetting what he'd just done. His eyes drifted shut as his body slumped in the seat, passing out in a drunken stupor.

I stood there, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear anything else. My hands shook as I touched the cut on my temple, wincing at the sting. The blood trickled down slowly, mixing with the alcohol.

I didn't cry. I never did anymore. Crying wouldn't change anything.

Instead, I just breathed, trying to steady myself. I needed to get out of here, to clean up before Joey or Shannon saw me. Shannon would freak if she knew, and Joey... Joey would try to fight him. Again. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let them get hurt because of me.

I slipped out of the sitting room and made my way to the bathroom as quietly as possible. The light flickered above me as I locked the door and leaned over the sink, grabbing a towel to press against the cut.