SKYFALL, Johnny Kavanagh

Walking away

Maeve's Point of View

Edel had gone upstairs after lunch, giving some excuse about calls she needed to make, though I knew better.
She was giving us space.
I didn't want it.

I didn't want space, and I sure as hell didn't want this conversation.

Johnny sat across from me in the living room, one arm slung lazily over the couch, his other hand tapping a pen against his knee.

His eyes had been on me all day.
Like if he looked hard enough, I'd crack.

I wouldn't.
Not today.
Not ever.

"We just need to finish the conclusion."

Johnny hesitated.
Too long.
Too obvious.

His mouth parted like he was about to say something else, something I didn't want to hear.
So, I cut him off before he could even start.

"Write or dictate?" My voice was cold. "Your choice."

He sighed and reached for his pen. "I'll write."

"Good."

I should have expected it when he interrupted, his voice lower now. "Maeve."

I kept my eyes on the notes. "Finish writing."

He didn't move.
Didn't pick up his pen.

His voice softened. "You don't have to–"

"I don't need anything." I said, the words sharp, final.
I didn't look at him.
I Couldn't.

"Let's just get this done."

We worked in silence after that.

When I finally sat back, stretching my arms over my head, I exhaled. "That's it. We're done."

"You can bring it to Mr. Sullivan Monday morning," I said, already pushing up off the couch.

Johnny frowned.

"I have to go." I grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. "Thanks for letting me crash here."

I started heading out the door before he could push.

Because the truth was, a small, desperate part of me wished he'd keep pushing.
Wished he'd force the words out of me.
Wished I could just let them spill into the open and not have to hold them inside anymore.

But that wasn't how this worked.
That wasn't how I worked.

So instead, I straightened my shoulders. "Tell your Ma I said thanks. And goodbye."

Johnny exhaled sharply. "Tell her yourself, she's right upstairs."

"I have a bus to catch."

"That's bullshit."

I flinched before I could stop myself.
It was barely noticeable, just a tiny flicker of movement, but Johnny caught it.
I saw the way his eyes flickered, the way his expression tightened even more.

"It's not bullshit. I actually do have a bus to catch."

"You could stay longer." He said, watching me carefully. "It's still early."

I shook my head. "No, it's late."

"It's not even three."

"Late enough."

"Maeve."

I turned toward the door, my fingers wrapping around the handle. "Drop it, Johnny."

His jaw clenched. "I can't."

"Well, you'll have to." I said simply, keeping my voice detached.

"Why?" His voice was sharp now. "Why do you want me to just pretend I didn't see?"

I didn't answer.
Because there was no answer I could give him.
No answer that wouldn't make this worse.

Johnny scoffed, stepping closer. "You're really going to walk out that door and act like I don't know what I saw?"

I inhaled slowly. "It's none of your business."

I turned, meeting his gaze head-on, and whatever he was about to say died in his throat.
I didn't know what he saw in my face.

Maybe he saw how exhausted I was.
Maybe he saw how desperate I was for him to let this go.

Because after a long, painful pause, he just said. "Fine."

The relief was immediate, but it was accompanied by something else – something sharp and bitter that left an ache in my chest.
I should be glad.
This was what I wanted.

"I'll see you Monday."

I turned back toward the door, pulling it open.
And then I hesitated.
Just for a second.
A second too long.

Because suddenly, the thoughts were creeping in.
Thoughts I couldn't afford to have.
What if I don't make it to Monday?

I swallowed hard.
I was so close.
Just a few more months.
A few more months, and I'd be free.

I just had to hold on.
Just had to keep going.
Just had to survive.
But what if?

No.

I shoved the thought down, burying it deep, where it couldn't hurt me.
I wasn't going to die in that house.
I wasn't going to leave Shannon and the boys behind.
I was going to make it.
I had to.

Johnny was still standing there, still watching me.
He looked worried.
Like he already knew I was slipping through his fingers.

And in that moment, I wanted so badly to turn around.
To tell him everything.

To say, I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this.
To say, I think I'm running out of time.
To say, Please. Help me.

But I didn't.
Because I couldn't.
So I just tightened my grip on my bag, turned back toward the street, and walked away.