Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

BROTHER

JOHNNY

Save me, Johnny.

He's going to hurt me.

Find me.

Help me.

Save me.

I jolted awake, drenched in sweat, heart thundering in my chest, breathing erratically. Bloody fucking hell. It'd been three fucking days stuck in this bloody hospital bed, and I was on the verge of losing it. Every muscle ached, and I wanted to scream, but all I could do was lay there, feeling like a caged animal. The only thing I wanted was to get out of this hellhole and go home.

But home wasn't just Cork anymore.

Home was her.

Tara.

She was my home now.

In those three days, I'd been haunted by strange, vivid dreams, but one dream kept playing over and over in my head like a twisted, broken record. It was always the same—a little blonde girl. She looked so much like Aiden, around his age too, but her eyes... they were the saddest, deepest green I'd ever seen. She wore a white dress, torn and stained with blood, and each time I saw her, my gut wrenched like it was being ripped apart.

I kept trying to get to her, desperate to reach her, but every fucking time, something invisible held me back. No matter how hard I pushed or fought, it was like there was a wall between us, and I couldn't break through. It was maddening. And every single time, I'd ask her the same questions, trying to figure out what was wrong, but she'd only ever say the same words.

He's going to hurt me, Johnny.

Find me.

Help me.

Save me.

The worst part? I didn't even know her name. At first, I thought it might be linked to Aiden's dream—the one where I begged him to save his mam from the teddy bear—but it didn't make any sense. Aiden's mam was a grown woman, not a little blonde girl. I tried to shake it off, but the dreams wouldn't leave me alone.

Teddy bear.

That word echoed in my head, over and over again. It wouldn't stop. It was like it had burned itself into my brain, clawing at the back of my mind. I was losing it. And it wasn't the painkillers or the cocktail of drugs they had me pumped full of. No, this was different. Deeper. Something inside my heart was screaming that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Every time I thought about it, it felt like an invisible hand was squeezing my throat, choking the life out of me.

The only bit of relief in this whole nightmare was that Gibsie had been around. He'd been flirting with the nurses, cracking bad jokes, and sneaking in burgers because hospital food was shite. But at least he was here.

Speak of the devil.

"Johnny, how's your dick, lad?" Gibsie waltzed into the room, a wide grin plastered across his face, carrying something wrapped in brown paper under his arm. He looked pleased with himself, like the cat that got the cream. "Brought you a present."

I raised a suspicious eyebrow. "It's not condoms, is it?"

"Nah, ya bollox. It's a blow-up doll," he deadpanned, dropping into the chair next to my bed. "Jesus, Johnny, do you want your girlfriend to rip your newly recovered balls off or what?"

"Why my balls and not yours?"

"Hate the game, not the player, man," he shot back with a smirk, pushing the package into my lap. "Now, open it."