FINDING 12 | BOYS OF TOMMEN

overthinking it, right?

MAY 20TH 2001

"How about this one?" I asked, stepping out of the changing room and spinning around, hoping to catch his eye. There was something about this dress that made me feel good. It was light, playful—perfect for the heatwave that was coming, and in my favorite color: a soft yellow with white frills. It was a little above my knee, and for a moment, I felt... confident.

Connor barely looked up from his phone. His fingers continued tapping away, eyes glued to the screen. He was like this more often recently—distracted, disinterested. And when he did pay attention, he was just... ruder. A little colder. I tried to ignore it, telling myself it was just a rough patch. It was fine.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he glanced at me. "You look a little..." He paused, smirking before rubbing his jaw, dragging out his words like he was toying with me. "Big."

I felt my stomach drop. "Big?"

"Yeah... your stomach. It's nice, but..." His voice trailed off, almost dismissive, as he turned his attention back to his phone, like that was the end of the conversation.

I stood there, feeling exposed. I knew he didn't mean it, or at least, that's what I kept telling myself. He was just being honest, right? That's how Connor was—blunt, no sugarcoating. But lately, his "honesty" felt more like little digs. The kind that left a mark.

I looked down at the dress again. A moment ago, I loved how it fit, how the yellow complemented my skin, how it made me feel... pretty. Now, all I could focus on was the way it hugged my stomach. Something that hadn't even crossed my mind before his comment. It wasn't the first time lately that he'd said something like this, either. Little jabs here and there, about my appearance, about what I wore, about how I looked. He always laughed them off, like they were nothing. Maybe they were. Maybe I was just too sensitive.

But still... it hurt.

I forced a smile, hoping he wouldn't notice the way my chest tightened or how my eyes stung a little. "Maybe I'll try another one," I muttered, turning quickly back into the changing room before he could say anything else. Inside, I leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.

He hadn't always been like this. He used to compliment me, make me feel like I was the only person in the room. Now, there were moments where it felt like I was the problem. Like I wasn't doing enough, or being enough. But it was fine. We were fine. He still loved me. I knew he did, even if he had a weird way of showing it sometimes.

Right?
I was probably overthinking it.

——————————————————

We were at Biddies again, Connor's usual spot. I was huddled into his side as he chatted away with his mates from the other school, Tommen. They were all rugby lads—big, broad, the kind of guys you wouldn't want falling on you during a game. I had to stifle a laugh imagining it. You'd be crushed in seconds, no question.

I was sipping on my Coke, while Connor was already on his third pint. He occasionally rubbed my arm in what seemed like an affectionate gesture, but lately, it felt more like habit than anything else. His attention was completely on the lads.

There was a girl nearby who was getting under my skin. She was perched on one of the rugby boys' laps—tall guy, brunette, definitely from Dublin judging by his accent. She kept giggling and whispering into his ear, and it was irritating me more than I wanted to admit. I had no reason to be annoyed, really, but it was hard to ignore since she looked at me every bleedin' time.

"D'you want another drink?" Connor asked, standing up abruptly.

I glanced at my nearly full Coke. "No, I'm fine, thanks," I said with a smile, but he muttered, "Suit yourself," under his breath as he walked off.

It was almost time for me to leave anyway. I had to be home by 7 pm, and it was already 6:25. Not much time left.

"So," one of the lads spoke up from the table. "How'd you and Connor get together then?" He was blonde, and I'd seen him before—at Katie's house, our next-door neighbor and one of Aofie's close friends.

I smiled politely, keeping it short. "We met in school... I thought he was cute, and he asked me out on a date." I didn't want to go into more detail, especially not in front of them.

As I finished, I noticed the girl whispering something to the tall lad she was sitting on, and he narrowed his eyes, shaking his head like he was judging me. I felt a flicker of unease. What was that about?

"I like your bow—my Claire-bear would probably love that!" Another blonde lad, Hughie, piped up, scooting closer to me. He was looking at the pink bow in my hair, the one with my name embroidered on the side. It wasn't anything special, but it felt personal to me.

"Miss Blair," he said softly, touching the bow.

Before I could respond, the tall brunette interrupted. "Gibs! What've we said, lad? You can't just go 'round touching people, especially those you don't know. You'll end up in a Garda station soon enough." His tone was firm but lighthearted.

Gibs, the blonde, sheepishly backed off a bit before extending his hand. "Gerard Gibson, but they call me Gibsie," he grinned as I shook his hand. He gestured to Johnny, "That's Johnny or Cap as we call him," and then pointed to Hughie. "And that's Hughie."

"You're Katie's boyfriend, right?" I asked, recognizing him.

"Yeah, how do you know her?" Hughie asked, looking curious.

"We're neighbors, and she's a friend of my cousin's," I explained just as Connor returned, plonking a tray of drinks down on the table.

"Don't mind whatever these eejits have said," he chuckled, sliding back beside me and wrapping his arm around me. It was a familiar gesture, but his warmth felt distant. Like he wasn't really there with me.

I pulled out my phone to check the time—6:35 pm. I tapped Connor's arm, leaning in to whisper, "Hey... can we go? My aunt said I have to be back by 7, and it's already 6:35."

He didn't even turn to face me fully. "No one's stopping you. You can go," he said, casually setting down his pint.

I froze. He wasn't serious, was he? It was already dark outside. And I'm a teenage girl. Emphasis on girl.Was he really just going to let me walk home alone?

"Really?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, but feeling a bit panicked.

"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow," he said, not even bothering to look at me as he turned back to the lads, fully engrossed in their conversation.

I sighed, pushing myself up from the table. The weight of their eyes followed me as I made my way through the pub. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling inside me. I reached the door just as a tallish boy with black hair stepped through, wearing a white, slightly oversized shirt and joggers.

"Sorry," he said with a small smile, moving aside to let me pass.

"Thank you," I muttered, stepping out into the cool evening air. The door shut behind me with a soft click, and I stood there for a moment, feeling a mix of relief and something else—something heavier.