SKYFALL, Johnny Kavanagh

Nine days

Johnny's Point of View

More than one week.

Nine days.

Two hundred and sixteen fucking hours since she walked out that door and left me standing there like an idiot.
And I hadn't heard a single word from her since.

Nothing.
Not a text.
Not a call.
Not even a sign that she was still breathing.

It was driving me insane.

Every part of me itched to do something, to find her, to show up at her house and force her to look me in the eye and say something – anything – to explain what the fuck had happened.

But I couldn't.
Because I knew exactly what she'd do.

She'd shut me out.
She'd throw up those walls of hers, the ones she thought were impenetrable.

And I would have to stand there and pretend like I wasn't losing my fucking mind.

So I waited.

I told myself I was being patient.
That she'd come back when she was ready.
That she just needed space.

But the longer the silence stretched, the harder it got to believe my own bullshit.

I didn't do patience.
Not when it came to her.

Not when every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was the look on her face when she told me she was falling in love with me.

Like it was a tragedy.
Like it was something that would ruin her.
Like it was something she hated.

I had spent the entire week trying to wrap my head around it, and every single time, I came back to the same fucking question.

Why?

I thought about going to Joey.
But that would've been a fucking disaster.

Because if I asked Joey what was going on, if I even hinted at the fact that Maeve had been shutting me out, he would've just told me to let it go.

To give her space.
To wait.
And I couldn't wait.

Not when my entire body was wired with this constant, gnawing fucking need to see her.

To make sure she was okay.
But I couldn't do that if she didn't let me in.

So, I spent the week pretending.

Pretending like I was fine.
Pretending like I wasn't checking my phone every ten minutes.
Pretending like every time Gibsie brought her up, I wasn't fighting the urge to snap.
Pretending like it wasn't eating me alive that she had completely shut me out.

I went to training.
I followed my routine.
I did all the things I was supposed to do, because if I stopped moving, I would lose my fucking mind.

And still, she didn't call.
Didn't text.
Didn't show up.

And by the time Monday morning rolled around, I wasn't sure what the fuck I was going to do if she didn't walk through those school doors.

But then she did.
She did.
And fuck.

She looked tired.

Not just exhausted – drained.
Like the life had been sucked right out of her.

And it made me feel sick.

I sat in my seat, barely listening to whatever Gibsie was going on about, watching her from across the room, waiting for her to look at me.

But she didn't.
Not once.

She sat down.
She unpacked her bag.
And she ignored me.

Like I wasn't even there.
Like I wasn't right fucking here, waiting for her to see me.

I clenched my jaw, my hands curling into fists under the desk.

Nine days.
Nine fucking days.

And now she was acting like I didn't exist.
Like we hadn't kissed.
Like she hadn't told me she was in love with me.
Like I hadn't spent every single second of the past nine days thinking about her.

Fine.

She wanted to play this game?
I'd play.
But I wasn't fucking losing.