Lost cause

Kian

The morning light streamed through the cracks in my curtains, sharp and unforgiving. My whole body ached, a dull throb radiating from every place Shane had gotten his hands on. My ribs burned when I moved, my head pounded with every shift. I knew before even looking that there'd be bruises—dark, ugly ones, the kind that took days to fade. But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was Mam.

I could still hear her quiet sobs from her room down the hall. She hadn't spoken much after last night. Not to me, not to him. Just locked herself away, nursing whatever new wounds he'd left—ones you couldn't see, the kind that settled deep in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

I sat up slowly, every movement stiff and sharp with pain. The clock on my bedside table read 7:03 AM. I was going to be late if I didn't get moving. Not that I cared much. School was the least of my worries.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as a sharp pain shot through my ribs. Pulling up my shirt, I glanced down at the deep purple bruises spreading across my skin.

Bastard really did a number on me this time.

Pushing myself to my feet, I moved slowly, careful not to breathe too deep. Every inhale felt like knives slicing through my side, but I gritted my teeth and ignored it. I'd had worse.

The house was eerily quiet when I stepped out of my room. No shouting, no broken glass crunching underfoot. Just silence.

Mam's door was still closed. I didn't knock. I knew she wouldn't answer.

Instead, I made my way downstairs, my steps careful, listening for any sign of him. The last thing I needed was to run into Da before I left.

The kitchen was a mess—chairs knocked over, an empty bottle of whiskey on the counter. The table was still tipped on its side from last night. He hadn't even bothered to fix it.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to ignore the rage bubbling in my chest. Dad would never change. He'd never be anything other than a violent, selfish bastard.

Grabbing a slice of stale bread from the counter, I shoved it in my mouth and reached for my schoolbag. As I turned to leave, I hesitated for a second.

Mam's door.

I knew she wouldn't open it. Knew she wouldn't even acknowledge I was leaving. But still...

I walked back upstairs and stood outside her room, my hand hovering over the doorknob.

"Mam," I called softly, my voice hoarse. No response.

I swallowed hard. "I'm heading to school."

Silence.

I waited a moment longer before sighing and stepping away. She just needs time, I told myself. She always comes around.

Pulling my hood up over my head, I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped out the door.

It was only when the cold morning air hit my face that I finally exhaled.

I was free. For now.

The walk to school was a quiet one. Elk's terrace was always a little dead in the mornings, the kind of place where nothing really happened unless you went looking for trouble. Normally, I'd take my time, maybe stop by the shop and grab a can of Red Bull or a pack of smokes, but today? I just wanted to get the hell out of my house.

My ribs ached with every step, but I kept moving, pulling my hood lower over my face as I passed by familiar streets, familiar faces. A few people nodded at me in greeting—old fellas outside the pub, some lads I knew from around—but I barely acknowledged them.

School wasn't exactly a safe haven, but at least my father wasn't there.

By the time I got to BCS, the yard was already packed. Lads messing about, girls huddled in groups, teachers trying to pretend they had any control over us. Same as always.

And then I saw her.

Mallory Lynch.

She was standing with her best friend, Serena, her blonde hair catching the weak morning sun, laughing at something. She always looked good, but today—today she looked different. Maybe it was the way she threw her head back when she laughed, or the way she had her arms folded, like she didn't have a care in the world.

She had no idea I was watching her.

Not that it mattered.

She hated me.

And she had every reason to.

I kept my head down and walked past, heading toward the entrance, ignoring the way my heart clenched a little.

I had bigger things to worry about.

Inside school, the noise was nearly unbearable—shouts, laughter, the screeching of chairs against the floor. Normal stuff. But after the morning I'd had, it felt like too much. My head was still pounding, and every breath sent a sharp pain through my ribs.

I made my way to my locker, keeping my hood up. If I was lucky, I could get through the day without anyone noticing anything was off.

"Kian," a voice called.

I knew it before I even turned.

Dean O'Connell.

One of the only people I could actually stand in this place.

He leaned against the lockers next to mine, his usual cocky smirk in place. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," I muttered, twisting the lock open.

He tilted his head, looking at me properly now. "Seriously, mate, you alright?"

"I'm grand."

Dean didn't believe me, but he let it go. That was the thing about him—he knew when to push and when to leave it. Instead, he changed the subject.

"Heard Lynchy told you to fuck off yesterday." He grinned. "Gutted, man. Really thought you had a shot there."

I rolled my eyes, shoving my bag into the locker. "Piss off, Dean."

He only laughed. "Hey, can't blame me for being entertained. You're proper obsessed with her."

I slammed my locker shut harder than necessary. "I'm not obsessed."

"Right. That's why you've been watching her like a lost puppy since first year."

I shoved him lightly. "I said, piss off."

He just grinned, but before he could wind me up any more, the bell rang.

"Later, lover boy," he teased, heading off.

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair.

This was going to be a long fucking day.

I wasn't surprised to see Rory Kavanagh hanging around the gates after school.

He had that restless look about him, shifting from foot to foot, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he was trying to look casual. But I knew better. He was waiting for me.

I adjusted my bag strap, nodding slightly as I approached. "What d'you want, Kavanagh?"

He scoffed, eyes flicking around like he didn't want anyone to see him here. "What do ya think?"

I smirked. "You got the cash?"

Rory rolled his eyes but pulled a wad of notes from his pocket, holding it just tight enough that I knew he was half-thinking about changing his mind. He wasn't like the others who bought off me—he hesitated. He still had a bit of guilt in him.

Didn't make a difference to me, though.

I took the cash, counting it quickly before pulling a little bag of weed from my inside pocket and handing it over.

"There," I muttered. "Now piss off before someone sees you."

Rory took it, stuffing it in his pocket like it burned to touch it. He hesitated again, staring at me for a second.

"You ever gonna stop this shit, Holland?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "Not my problem, Kavanagh."

Rory exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before stepping back. "Whatever, man."

Then he turned, shoving his hands back in his pockets as he walked off, head down.

I watched him go, smirking slightly.

Fucking hypocrite.

I watched Kavanagh disappear down the road, shaking my head. Hypocrite. He'd stand there, acting like he was better than me, like he wasn't just as bad for buying as I was for selling. But that was the thing about lads like him—they wanted to pretend they had some sort of moral high ground.

I wasn't stupid. I knew people looked at me and saw my da. Saw Shane Holland's son. The dealer. The troublemaker. The lad who was never gonna be anything more than his old man.

And maybe they were right.

I sighed, pulling out my phone and checking the time. I didn't have anywhere to be. Mam would either be passed out or drinking, and Da... well, he was never really gone, even when he wasn't in the house.

I thought about heading home, but the idea made my stomach turn. Instead, I lit a smoke and leaned against the school wall, letting the day settle over me.

I didn't know how long I stood there, staring at nothing, lost in thought.

Then I heard footsteps.

I glanced up, expecting another customer, but it wasn't.

It was Mallory.

And she was looking right at me, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

" 'Sup blondie, looking for something? Or someone?" I smirked.

Mallory rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Yeah, actually. AJ was supposed to pick me up, but he's late. Thought I'd come see what the local criminal was up to while I waited."

I chuckled, taking a drag of my smoke. "Flattered, really. But you should be careful hanging around lads like me. Bad for your reputation, Lynch."

She scoffed. "Please. My da already hates you. Doubt my reputation can get any worse for talking to you."

That stung a little, but I didn't let it show. Instead, I smirked, tilting my head. "That why you never give me the time of day? Don't wanna piss off Daddy Joe?"

Mallory narrowed her eyes. "I don't give you the time of day 'cause I know exactly what you are, Holland."

Her voice was sharp, but there was something else there too. Something almost... hesitant.

I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl in the air. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"A lost cause."

Ouch.

I laughed, but it was hollow. "Fair enough." I flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under my shoe. "But if I'm such a lost cause, what are you still doing here?"

Mallory hesitated. Just for a second. And that second was enough to tell me she wasn't as indifferent as she wanted to seem.

She opened her mouth to reply, but just then, a car horn blared from down the road.

AJ.

She glanced at me one last time before turning away, heading for her brother's car without another word.

I watched her go, something tight settling in my chest.

She thought I was a lost cause.

Maybe she was right.