SKYFALL, Johnny Kavanagh

Calvin Klein cologne

Maeve's Point of View

I shifted in my seat, letting my gaze drift over the crowd.
The smell of alcohol was stronger now—spilled beer, sharp tequila, fruity vodka mixers.
It clung to the air, to the clothes of people as they walked past, to their breath when they spoke.

Teddy always smelled like that.
No matter how much he showered, how much perfume he put, it always lingered.
Even in the short times he was sober, the smell never fully left.

It was rotten and strong, just like him.

Stop.

He couldn't hurt me here.

I exhaled slowly.
You're okay.
You're not at the house.
He's not here.

But as I tried to calm down a lad passed by holding a shot of whiskey and the smell hit me like a truck.
Fuck.

Bile foamed in my mouth and I got up.

Johnny's eyes flicked to me immediately. "Maeve?"

I didn't respond.
Couldn't.

My stomach twisted violently, my breath caught in my throat.
My breath came out in short, ragged gasps as I stumbled forward, pushing through the first door I could find—thankfully, a bathroom.

Then my knees hit the floor and the club sandwich I ate for lunch made its reappearance in a glorious fashion.
Great, I'm basically turning into Shannon.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to shove the memories back, but they came anyway.

Teddy's breath on my face, the reek of alcohol clinging to him like a second skin.
His hands – always too rough, always taking, always hurting.
The way he laughed when I flinched, when I tried to escape.
The way he–

I gagged again, tears stinging my eyes as I forced myself to breathe, to focus on the cool tiles beneath my knees, the porcelain against my palms.

A sharp knock on the door made me flinch.

"Maeve?"

"Go away, Niamh." I spoke quietly. "I'm fine."

"The fact that you mistook my voice for Niamh's says otherwise."

"Just go away." I sighed.

"Open the door." The voice I was now lucid enough to recognise as Johnny's spoke.
When I didn't make any attempt to get up – I couldn't even if I wanted to – the handle turned and I groaned.

I barely had time to wipe my mouth before the door swung open and Johnny came in.

"Jesus Maeve." He crouched to my level. "You're so pale."

"No shit. I just threw up my lunch." I rebuked before promptly gagging again.

"You should have told me you were feeling sick." He spoke against me as he took the hair band I had on my wrist and used it to tie my hair. "I could have given you something for the nausea."

"It took me by surprise." I admitted. "I'm thinking the chicken didn't agree with me."
Johnny didn't seem convinced.
His gaze flickered between my face and the toilet, his expression shifting from confusion to concern.

"You're shaking."

I cursed internally and tried to steady my hands, pressing them against my thighs. "It's nothing. Just—too much sugar, probably."

Johnny let out a slow exhale, his jaw tightening. He didn't believe me.
I hadn't even noticed him tracing circles along my back until his hand stilled and then moved to my neck. "What's this?"