falling for 13 || Johnny Kavanagh

I've Fucked It

J O H N N Y

The air in the dressing room was thick with the scent of sweat, a familiar smell that usually brought a sense of camaraderie and victory. Today, however, the atmosphere was heavy with concern. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a white glow over everything, and the muted sounds of the post-match chatter filtered in from the hallway. I sat on the bench, a crutch rested beside me, a reminder of how quickly everything had changed. My heart raced, not from the adrenaline of the match but from the overwhelming fear of what had just happened. I'd been tackled hard, and for a moment, the world had gone dark.

The shower had been a welcome relief, washing away the grime of the game, but it had also given me too much time to think. I could still see the worried faces of my teammates as they gathered around me, the sound of their voices echoing in my ears. But the one face I needed to see the most was Grace's. As if summoned by my thoughts, the door creaked open, and Grace stepped inside. She was a burst of brightness in the dim room, her long hair falling loosely around her shoulders, her cheeks flushed from concern. The moment our eyes met, I felt a rush of warmth that momentarily pushed away the anxiety gnawing at my insides.

"Johnny," she said softly, her voice laced with worry. She crossed the room quickly, and before I knew it, she was sitting beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"One of those pricks tore me with his boot" I grumbled, I wouldn't have been in this mess if that hadn't happened, and if I'd just rested for that bit longer.

"Tore you?" she choked out, a horrified look on her face.

I leaned back, resting my head against the tiled wall. "I know I hate when people say I'm a Dublin scum, but they really are Dublin scum's, Gracie."

That made her smile a little, and somehow I felt that bit better. "Are they sending you to the hospital?" she asked, "For tests?"

I nodded, "Its protocol given the circumstances apparently." I sighed, "Fucking eejits." Seriously, they were bleeding gobshites. I was fine.

"How bad is it, Johnny?" she finally asked, I had been waiting for that question.

My gaze snapped to hers, "I'm alright, Grace."
Lies, lies, lies. But I wasn't going to worry her, not when she had athletics trials to represent Ireland in a week.

"It's okay" she promised, holding my hand in hers. "You'll be grand." I fucking hope so.

"I think it's bad, Gracie" I confessed, dropping my head down to her shoulder. "I've never been in so much pain, ever."

She put her hand on the back of my head, her fingers running through my hair as she put her other hand on my back. "I know" she whispered, "Have they given you anything for the pain?"

I exhaled a ragged breath, "Yeah a shot of a muscle relaxant or something."

"Is it helping?" she asked, I lifted my head from her shoulder, shaking it too. Nothing would help.
Her hand reached up, turning my chin, giving her better sight of the massive bruise I was supporting on my cheek, along with the cut above my eyebrow. "This is a perfect example of why athletics is better" she said, trying to make me smile, and of course it was working.

"I think I'll stick to rugby" I said, the corners of my mouth turning up. "Wouldn't want to hurt your feelings when I keep beating you."