I didn’t care if her mother didn’t want the money, she could burn it for all I cared, but I had to give it to them – to her.
Readjusting my school bag on my shoulder, I slid my hand into my pocket and retrieved my car keys, decision made to blow off the rest of the day and wait in the car for Gibsie.
Besides, there was no point in going to class right now.
I couldn’t concentrate on business ABQ's if I tried.
My head was too clouded with words of warning and images of sad, blue eyes.
Strolling down to the students' car park, I unlocked my car and dropped my shit into the back seat before collapsing inside.
Exhausted and sore, I pushed back the seat and adjusted the recliner so I could stretch my legs out.
The thought of driving with the pain currently burning its way up my thighs was an unwelcome thought, but it wasn’t my main concern right now.
We had a lot of boarders at Tommen, students coming from all over the country and some parts of Europe to study.
I lived half an hour from the school so I was one of the day-walkers.
Most of my friends were.
I knew Shannon was from Ballylaggin too, but I'd never laid eyes on her before that day.
It wasn’t a massive area, but it was big enough that our paths had never crossed before today – or maybe they had and I just didn’t remember her.
I wasn’t great with faces. I didn’t look at one long enough to commit it to memory. I didn’t care to. I had enough names and faces I needed to remember as it stood. Adding unnecessary names of strangers to that list seemed a pointless feat.
Until now.
Troubled.
That's what Dee called her.
But weren't all teenagers a little fucked up and troubled sometimes?
I was so consumed in my own thoughts that I didn’t notice the final bell ringing, forty-five minutes later, or the flood of students climbing into cars around me. It was only when the passenger door of my car flew open that I jerked back to the present.
"Hey," Gibsie acknowledged, dropping into the passenger seat beside me. "I see your heart's still set on sporting the semi-homeless look in here," he added, kicking a pile of shit away from his feet. Reaching around, he tossed his bag into the backseat. "It fucking stinks in here, man."
"You could always get plenty of fresh air walking," I grumbled, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Yeah, I was that fucking tired.
"Relax," Gibsie shot back and then snickered when he added, "no need to get so testy."
"Very funny, asshole," I deadpanned, my hand immediately moving to my dick. "Now you really can get out and walk."
"Here," he paused to dump a vanilla colored folder on my lap, "you can't make me walk after getting you this."
I stared down at the folder. "What's this?"
"A present," Gibsie replied, adjusting the visor.
"Homework?" I deadpanned. "Wow. Thanks so much."
"It's yer one Shannon's file," he corrected, rolling down the sleeves of his jumper. "No doubt your obsessive ass was looking for it."
Well, shite.
An unsettling surge of excitement coursed through me as I stared down at the folder in my hands.
My best friend knew me too well.
"When you didn’t come back to class after training, I figured you were out here sulking over her – or pining," he shrugged before adding, "Or whatever the fuck you'd call what you did in the locker room earlier."
"I don’t sulk."
He snorted.
"I don’t fucking sulk, asshole," I bit back. "Or pine. I wasn’t doing any of that shite. I was just –"
"Losing your head?" Gibsie filled in with a wolfish grin. "Don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us."
"Why would I be losing my head?" I demanded and then swiftly answered, "I wasn’t losing my goddamn anything!"
"My mistake." Gibsie held his hands up, but his tone assured me that he was far from sorry. "I must've read it wrong. Give me her file and I'll put it back."
He reached for the folder and I snatched it away. "What – no!"
Gibsie laughed but didn’t say anything else.
The knowing grin he gave me was enough of a response.
"How'd you manage to convince Dee to hand it over?" I asked, changing the subject.
"How'd you think?"
I repressed a shudder. "Jesus."
"It's not all bad." Gibsie smirked. "The woman sucks like a hoover, and the thrill of getting caught always makes for fun times."
I held a hand up. "Didn’t need to know that."
He snorted. "You already knew that."
"Yeah," I sighed heavily. "Well, I didn’t need to be reminded."
"Jesus," he muttered, pulling at the collar of his school shirt so he could get a good look at his neck in the small, rectangular mirror. "Always the neck."
Unsatisfied with that view, he twisted the rearview mirror to face him and groaned.
Turning to look at me, Gibsie said, "See the sacrifices I make for you?"
My eyes landed on the purplish bruise forming on his neck.
"Better be something worth reading in there," he grumbled.
Turning my attention back to the folder, I flicked it open to the first page and then tensed, eyes moving to his. "Did you read it?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because," he replied, digging around his pocket. "It's not my business." He pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. "I'm hanging for a smoke." He shoved the door open and stepped out, stopping to lean in and announce, "Orgasms make me crave nicotine," before closing the door and sparking up.
Shaking my head, I turned my attention to the file in my hands, riveted to every detail of information Shannon Lynch's confidential file revealed.
Pages upon pages of incidents and reports all neatly typed out on white paper, detailing every horrendous ordeal the girl had suffered in her old school – and there had been a lot.
Fourteen a4 pages of incidents.
Front and back.
A few pages in and I learned that Shannon had slipped from a solid C student at the beginning of first year to scraping D's and E's by the end of second year.
Attached to her less than stellar exam results were notes from her former teachers, praising her gentle nature and diligent and conscientious work ethic.
I didn’t need a note to explain the steady decline in her grades, I'd figured that out on page one.
She was the victim of bullying.
They cut her ponytail off when she was in first year. When she was thirteen. Their punishment for such a crime was a week's suspension. Seriously. A week off school for cutting a girl's fucking hair off.
Girls.
They were so goddamn sick and twisted.
How anyone could expect the girl to concentrate in a classroom setting as volatile as that was beyond me.
Seriously, what the hell was wrong with people?
What was the matter with that school and those teachers?
The fuck were her parents thinking leaving her there for two years?
The more I read, the sicker I felt in my stomach...
Incident in P.E resulting in a bloody nose.
Vomiting incident in the bathroom.
Incident in Woodwork with a glue gun.
Issue after school with third year girls.
Another vomiting incident in the bathroom.
Issue before school with fourth year girls.
Refusal to take part in overnight school bonding retreat. Were they fucking kidding?
Many, many more vomiting incidences.
Referral to educational psychologist.
Older brother lodges fourth complaint about the bullying. Older brother should have found some older female friends and had them kick the shite out of these mean girls.
Graffiti on bathroom walls.
Assault in the school yard, older brother suspended. Older brother must have sorted it himself.
Isolation reported by several teachers.
Serious physical assault by three older students, Gardaí called. No shit, Sherlock.
Older brother suspended again for intervening.
Removal from school at the request of mother. About fucking time.
School records requested by the principal at Tommen College.
Horrified didn’t being to describe my feelings when I was finished reading.
Pissed off didn’t quite fit the bill, either.
Disgusted, disturbed, and wholly enraged seemed a more accurate assessment of my feelings.
Jesus, it was like reading a goddamn police report of a domestic violence victim.