[COMPLETED BUT WONT LET ME PRESS THE COMPLETED BUTTON AHAHHA]
Aurora Lockheart was once the sunshine girl-bright, kind, and full of life. But one night changed everything, leaving her a shadow of who she used to be.
A year later, just as she's be...
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"It's your fault."
"It's your fault."
"You started it."
"No, you started it."
"You threw the first punch."
"Because you overstepped."
"I was just having a laugh."
"You were insulting my girl."
"Gibs, I swear, if you don't pack that 'intended' crap in—"
"Gibson. Callaghan. Biggs!" Coach Mulcahy's voice tore through the heated exchange like a whip, halting the argument between us. "If you've got time to talk, you're not working hard enough!"
"When do we get to stop, Coach?" Pierce wheezed from further down the line, face contorted in agony as he held the plank position. "My body's giving up."
Serves you right.
"We're all suffering, you eejit," Murph, another teammate, growled from somewhere on my left. "But some of us deserve it more."
"Pain?" Coach barked out a laugh that was anything but amused. "I'll show you pain, you little shites."
Pain was an understatement. Twenty-five minutes holding a plank was a special kind of torture. Hell, I would've preferred cleaning out the barracks to this.
"Please, Coach," someone else groaned. "School finished over an hour ago."
"And I'll keep you here all bloody night if you don't shut your traps and focus!"
"I hate you all," Feely grumbled from up the line.
"Jesus, I can't do this anymore," Robbie Mac gasped before collapsing on the grass. "I'm done, Coach. My arms are gone."
"Back in the plank position!" Coach's whistle shrieked through the air as he marched up and down the line, shoving anyone who slacked off with the heel of his boot. "I want you lot eating grass until you're puking it back up, ye lazy gobshites!"
Five more agonizing minutes ticked by before the piercing sound of that dreaded whistle brought us temporary relief.
"On your feet!" Coach shouted. "Shake it off, and then give me two hundred suicides."
A chorus of groans rippled through the team.
"Ah, Jesus, Coach!"
"I've got homework!"
"I've got a job after this!"
"Three hundred suicides it is!" Coach's face lit up with sadistic pleasure. "And if any of you are still breathing by the end, we'll top it off with some technical drills!"
I shot a glare at Johnny as we lined up. "Move your legs, Gibs."
