Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

FUCK IT UP, JOHNNY

JOHNNY

Tara had been ignoring me all week, and it wasn't by accident. How did I know? Easy. Shannon had let it slip that Tara's phone wasn't broken or lost— something I had desperately clung to as a possibility in the beginning. No, this was intentional. Tara was ignoring me, dodging my texts and calls like I was the plague.

At first, I figured it was because I'd left her standing there in the café with her brothers and her nanny. But then, she didn't show up at the Academy, and the pit in my stomach grew. I sent her a few more messages, half expecting her to come back with some snarky reply, but I got nothing.

I even waited for her at our usual spot in the morning, ready to go running, but she never showed. The place where we used to grab our coffee—empty. No sign of her. No texts, no calls, nothing. By midweek, I was climbing the bloody walls. It was like my world had shifted, and I was stuck on the outside looking in. I hated not hearing from her. It was like a part of me had gone quiet, a voice I desperately needed to hear. And to make matters worse, Shannon was keeping her mouth shut too, refusing to give me any clue as to what was going on.

I started obsessing over our past conversations, scrolling through every chat, racking my brain, trying to pinpoint anything that could've upset her. But there was nothing. Nothing obvious, anyway. I kept texting her, calling her, waiting for some kind of response, but it was like shouting into the void. I even drove by her house a few times, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but I never saw her.

One night, in a moment of pure panic and sheer stupidity, I sent her a text asking if she was breaking up with me. As soon as I hit send, I regretted it. Bloody hell, I didn't even know if we were officially together. We hadn't even labeled what we were, hadn't defined anything, and here I was jumping the gun. I quickly followed up with an apology, telling her I still fancied her just as much, that my feelings hadn't changed one bit. But, once again, I got nothing. Not a single word.

Christ, I missed her.

Without her, I felt hollow, like a part of me had been yanked out and left to rot.

I couldn't function properly.

Everything felt off.

My breathing felt wrong, shallow, like I couldn't get enough air.

My chest ached with this dull, persistent throb that wouldn't go away.

I felt dizzy without her.

I felt lost without her.

I'd been so focused on her introducing me into her world, her routine, that I hadn't even realized she'd managed to work herself into mine. And now, without her, everything felt wrong. Empty.

I missed her.

I missed seeing her—each time my eyes caught sight of her, it felt like my heart skipped a beat. It was almost as if it had a mind of its own, racing ahead of me, unable to keep up with the rush of emotions she stirred within me. Every glance at her was like seeing her for the first time again, and it never lost that thrill, that electric jolt that made everything around us blur.

I missed hearing her voice—whether she was reading something aloud, scolding me for some gobshite thing I did, tossing an insult my way with that playful edge, or speaking to me in that husky, quiet tone that only I got to hear. Jaysus, that voice of hers could melt anyone's resolve. It had this power over me, like it could sway me from any argument or pull me from any dark place.

I missed the way she smiled—that little curve of her lips that could brighten even the darkest of days. It was pure magic, that smile of hers. The kind that made the world seem less heavy, like she could take away all the weight with just that one expression. It wasn't just a smile; it was a promise that things would be alright.