You need to stop loving him first…
“Aoife,” a familiar voice said, and I stiffened.
No, no, no, not now…
“Go away.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I said go away!”
Doing the complete opposite of what I wanted, Paul sank down on the footpath beside me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Sniffling, I reached up to wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’m fine.”
“Did he hurt you earlier?”
“No.” I sniffled again. “I hurt myself.”
“How?”
I gave my heart to the wrong person. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It clearly does.”
“Just leave it alone, okay?”
“Talk to me, Aoife.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“You don’t want to hear this, Paul.”
“Try me.”
“I like him, okay!” I heard myself choke out. “I like him.”
I felt Paul stiffen beside me. “Joey.”
Exhaling a ragged breath, I nodded once and then dropped my head in my hands, feeling a flurry of guilt and relief. “I’m really sorry.”
“Since when?”
Since day one. “I don’t know.”
“Were you with him?” he asked quietly.
I shook my head. “No.”
He eyed me uncertainly. “No?”
“No,” I confirmed, swallowing deeply. “No.”
He stared at me for a long moment before releasing a shaky breath. “At least that.”
“Yeah,” I croaked out. At least that.
“Do you still care about me?”
“Yes,” I replied honestly.
“Do you care about him?”
I didn’t answer his question.
I couldn’t.
I wasn’t that cruel.
“Do you like him more than you like me?”
“It’s different.”
“So, what are you telling me, Aoif?” His eyes searched mine and I was incredibly impressed with how calm he was remaining. It actually made this harder because he was being the sweet guy he was when we first met, which made me feel like the biggest dick in Ballylaggin. “Are you saying that you want to be with him?”
“No.” I shook my head. “That’s not going to happen.”
“I don’t understand.” His brows furrowed. “If you haven’t been with him and don’t plan on being with him then why?”
“I just needed to tell you, okay?” I wiped my cheek and exhaled shakily. “I needed to get it off my chest.”
Paul was quiet for a very long time before speaking again. “I need to tell you something.”
“Is it going to hurt?”
“It could.”
“As bad as what I just told you hurt?”
“Maybe a bit worse.”
Oh god. “Is it about those rumors?”
“Sort of.”
Exhaling a shaky breath, I nodded for him to continue.
“I, ah…” Exhaling a pained breath, he looked down at his feet and said, “I slept with someone.”
Well crap.
“You lost your virginity?” That hurt worse than I had expected it to. “To who?”
“A girl from Tommen.”
“So it was true.” My breath caught in my chest, and I forced myself to remain calm and show him the same decency that he had shown me. “What’s her name?”
“Bella.” He dropped his head in his hands and groaned, “Bella Wilkinson.”
“When?”
“After you broke up with me at Halloween.”
“How long after?” I asked, surprising myself with how level my tone was.
“Aoife.”
“How long, Paul?”
“Does it matter?”
“I gave you my truth.”
“That same night.”
“At the disco?”
He nodded once.
“Wow,” I breathed, shoulders sagging.
Well, that was just perfect.
Joey was fucking Danielle, Paul was fucking this Bella, meanwhile, I was fucking myself over.
Perfect.
“I’m sorry, Aoife,” he hurried to say. “It was a huge mistake. It meant nothing, and I honest to God felt like the worst piece of shit on the planet afterwards.”
“Was she blonde?”
“Huh?”
“Blonde,” I croaked out. “Was she blonde?”
“No,” he replied, tone gruff. “She had black hair.”
“At least that.”
“I’m so sorry, Aoif.”
“Yeah.” I dropped my head on his shoulder and sighed. “Me, too, Paul.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
I nodded.
“Why haven’t you?”
“Why haven’t I what?”
“You and him.” He cleared his throat. “We were off. You had the perfect opportunity to get him out of your system.”
“Get him out of my system?”
“You know what I mean.”
I turned to look at him but didn’t have an answer. “It’s not going to happen,” I offered instead, physically recoiling at the memory of hearing those godawful words coming out of Joey’s mouth. All mixed with the memory of seeing him with her that night. “I need to get over him.”
“Well, I don’t want things to be over between us,” he said, reaching over to take my hand in his. “I care a lot about you, Aoif.”
“I care about you, too,” I replied, feeling numb.
“This is just a bad patch,” he continued, lacing our fingers together. “We can come through it. We always do.”
“How?” I whispered. “How can we make this work?” And more importantly, why should we?
“I suppose by telling each other the truth,” he offered quietly. “Today was a good start.”
“I don’t know if I’m invested in this,” I admitted weakly. “My head is all over the place, Paul.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he replied, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”
No, it won’t.
VALENTINE’S DAY
FEBRUARY 14TH 2002
AOIFE
With my hands full, and my phone ringing in my skirt pocket, I used my elbow to open the front door and then swiftly deposited my school bag, PE bag, and stack of post I’d collected on the floor, before reaching into my pocket for my phone.
“Yes, Casey, I’m home,” I mused, balancing my trusty Nokia 3310 between my shoulder and ear, as I stepped over the pile of crap I’d dropped in the hallway, kicked off my heels, and moved for the kitchen. “And no, before you ask, I haven’t opened my Valentine’s cards yet.”
“Well hurry up, bitch,” she groaned down the line. “And at least tell me who the huge teddy bear, holding the cute heart, is from?”
“You already know who it’s from.”
“Okay, are you opening them yet?”
“No, I’m going to make a sandwich.”
“Sandwich? What happened to your mam’s Thursday stew?”
“Dad took her away to that big fancy hotel in Kilkenny for the night, remember?”
“To screw?”
“No, to test the mattress,” I shot back sarcastically. “Obviously to screw.”
“Where’s that hot little nerd for the night?”
“He’s gone to Nana’s to tune the channels into her new television, and please don’t call my brother hot. I think I might puke.”
“He is a little ridey, Aoif, with that blond quiff and black-rimmed glasses—“
“No, he’s not.” I gagged. “He’s an irritant.”
“A sexy irritant,” she teased before adding, “Okay, let’s open your cards. I’ve opened all of mine and I’m bored.”
“Who’d you get this year?”
“The usual,” she sighed down the line. “Mack, Charlie, Dricko, and Alec from our year. Sticky-Dicky from sixth year, a couple of anonymous ones, and some kid called Tim from first year.”
“Aw, you got a baby first year. That’s so sweet,” I cooed mockingly. “And as for Richard Murphy—“
“Sticky-Dicky,” she interrupted me to correct.
“Calling him that only lets people know that you’ve touched his dick, Case.”
“His sticky dick.”
“Sticky from what; your lip-gloss?”
“Bitch.”
“Ha,” I cackled.