34 | I Will Try To Fix You
I Will Try To Fix You
Niall
I'M NO SHERLOCK Holmes, but I’m usually pretty quick at figuring out what I did wrong.
I’m a simple lad, known for destructive impulses. But I could not for the life of me figure out what had made Molly Lockhart go so stone-cold on me all of a sudden.
I’d ask Claire, but I don’t want to raise concern or make her think there’s a problem.
And I’m not exactly keen on the idea of spilling out my girl problems to my baby sister.
And I’d ask one of the lads to try to figure it out for me—but Fitzy will say he doesn’t want to get involved, give me sound advice I won’t want to carry out, and the other two gobshites are too, well, gobshite-like.
It’s almost like I’ve looked into a fun-house mirror that reversed our roles from last month—because instead of me ignoring her, Molly was ignoring me.
But we’d worked all that out? Apologies were made? And no crazy kisses have happened since—at least not between us. Was there some other lad? Should I be publicly staking my claim to her, like this is the fifteen-hundreds or something?
Something tells me she wouldn’t appreciate that very much.
It’s only been two days of this behavior, but it’s really, really eating at me.
I’ve still picked her up on Blackenridge every morning as usual, and dropped her home in the afternoons.
But she barely spoke to me—she mostly focused on JJ and Claire, spending her rides turned to the backseat.
And when I’ve dropped Jay and my sister off at our estate, she spends our car rides alone to her house with her nose in her phone.
I’ve just about had a bellyful of it.
“Mate,” JJ nudges me, snapping me out of my brooding train of thought. I’m seated at our normal table (the girls’ have gotten their table back, at least one half of it, compromised to share with Stephen Rafferty and his friends at the other end of the table) with my chin resting on my hands.
“Lad,” I say casually, as if this is just how I normally sit during lunch—not touching one bite of food and staring off at (seemingly, if you’re a blind fool) nothing. Just in the general direction of someone.
“Are ya trying to burn a hole in the glass, or what?” JJ looks at me, and then towards the window behind the girls’ table as if my lost marbles were somewhere in that general direction. “The window’s done nothing to you, Nialler.”
I don’t tear my eyes away from the girls’ table. Fitzy and Finn (seated across from JJ and I), turn to look over their shoulders almost comically in sync, and shake their heads as if in mourning.
“Hopeless, lad,” Finn sighs. Says him, Mr. Loverboy.
“I think it’s sweet,” Fitzy shrugs, and you might think he was being sarcastic if you didn’t know the lad.
“Creepy, maybe.”
“Jealous Chloe Holland has a different lunch block?” JJ pipes up.
“Wind yer neck in, lad.”
“I’m going over there,” I say suddenly, grabbing my plastic tray and standing up. All three of them look at me like I’m a loon.
“Not it,” I hear Finn and Fitzy say at the same time, followed by JJ groaning and I know he’s following me without having to look back. It was one of our childhood rules—no one can do something crazy alone.
“Niall, Nialler, don’t be a plank, you’ll only make it—why hello, ladies,” JJ turns his whisper into a flirty lilt, dropping down in the empty seat next to my sister.
The girls and Rafferty’s lads all have book bags piled in the middle to separate their sides of the table. “Claire-Bear, how’s yer lunch?”
I steal a chair and force myself right next to Molly—though I have to squeeze against the corner of the table, which I don’t really mind. But by the look on her face, she definitely does.
If she’s mad at me, I don’t have a problem groveling some more or leaving her alone. But it’s not fair to leave me in the dark. It’s not fair to not even let me try to fix things.
Claire is busy talking to JJ, but Niamh, Marissa and even shy Rory Towney are looking at me like I’ve grown two heads as I rearrange the bread loafs on my tray.
“Mols,” I say, waiting till she looks at me. “Finally got that necklace fixed—sorry it took so long.”
I’m not sorry. It was done yesterday, I was waiting for her to ask about it. But since she hasn’t now I’m using it as a trojan horse of sorts.
Maybe not the best analogy but I don’t have a better one.
I dug it out of my trousers pocket, and held out my closed fist to her. Molly’s movements were sloth-like as she held out her open palm for me to drop it in. Naturally, I deliberately set it down in her open-faced hand so that our skin touches.
Claire is finally looking at me now too, with JJ. He’s the only one who doesn’t seem confused—he just looks like he wishes he had some popcorn.
“You came to give her a necklace?” Claire asks, looking at Molly.
“He fixed it,” she mumbles, though I barely hear her and I’m not sure any of them do.
I look around at all the confused faces like I can’t imagine why they would possibly be put-off by my sudden presence. “What? Can’t a lad sit with his sister and her lovely friends?”
Claire leans across Molly in her chair, feeling the back of her hand to my forehead. “Y’alright, Niall?”
“I’m grand, Claire-Bear.”
Molly goes back to reading the book she’s had open in front of her, ignoring my presence. I noticed she shoved the necklace in the pocket of her school-bag by her feet, instead of putting it back on.
Maybe I should have messed with it so it would break again and she would need me to—okay, I’m getting a bit psycho desperate here.
“What’re ya reading then?” I ask, nudging her elbow with mine and trying to steer my thoughts to a more normal track.
She glances at me for a fraction of a second—a flash of blue that feels like a bucket of ice water—before looking back at the page. “A book.”
“Ah,” I nod. “Informative. So does the hero win the girl in the end, or is it one of those miserable ones?”
Silence.
“Hopefully not a cliffhanger. Hate those.”
Okay, so this topic is getting me NOWHERE. I will try again. “O’Shea thinks you’re doing well in my position. You know I don’t mind switching things around every now and then when I’m back to playing—you know, if you wanna keep it, or take turns or whatever.”
She just shrugs, the dismissive movement stinging more than a slap to the face would’ve. It’s killing me not to stand up and scream TELL ME WHAT I DID WRONG SO I CAN FIX IT.
You know, maybe I should try that just to say I did.
By the time the lunch bell rang, I’d gotten nowhere closer to the girl who’d stayed with my drunk arse until I fell asleep or who’d made me feel worth a second chance.
Molly was out of her seat before the bell’s sound even had time to fate, grabbing her book and her bag, and nearly knocking her chair over in her haste to flee the canteen.
“Hold that.” I shove my tray at JJ, rushing after her.
“For the love of—!”
Molly’s fast—I know that, of course, from sharing the pitch with her.
I’m right on her heels, trailing her through the crowded hallways, dodging first-years and side-stepping groups of girls crowded in the hall.
She turns a sharp corner, heading toward the Art Wing, and I follow her into the corridor.
There’s no lockers in this hall, just paint-decorated walls, and it’s empty save for the two of us.
“Molly!” I call, jogging now to close the gap between us as she speed walks. “Molly, will you stop for a second? I’m fixing to talk to you!”
She spins around so fast her caramel coloured hair—all loose and wavy today, parted down the center—whips across her face. “Stop following me, Niall! Just leave it alone!”
I don’t let her speed-walk away again. I try to be gentle about it, but I grab her wrist to spin her back around to me. “What the hell is your problem? You’ve been acting like I’ve got the plague for the last two days.”
She yanks her arm away, and I feel a sharp twinge of guilt as she rubs at her wrist. “I don’t have a problem. You’re the one with the problem, Niall.”
“A problem? Me? You’re the one ignoring me for no reason. How am I the one with the problem?”
“Where should I start Niall—the drinking problem, or the lying problem?”
I feel all the blood from my face drain down to my feet and my fingertips, my body turning numb. “What?”
“Don’t play the gormless idiot, it doesn’t suit you.”
I shake my head, swallowing the bile climbing up my throat. “I’m not playing at anything, Molly.”
“There you go again, lying!” She reaches up with her sleeve and wipes under her nose and blinks a couple of times. “I know, okay? The other day, JJ’s cup? He gave me the wrong one and I got a big, ol’ tasteful of your afternoon drink, Niall Blue.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I thought JJ had stolen my cup out of the car later that night. I’d been waiting for him to say something about it since, and hoping maybe he’d just poured it out.
This was way worse than JJ knowing.
“That’s not what you think, it was just—”
“Just that day, right?” she says, her eyes glossy. “Just a one time thing. But you know what, Niall, I find that really, really hard to believe.”
I swallow hard, not knowing what to say. I don’t have a defense that isn’t a lie. Everything is wrapped up in one big lie. I knew thinking this was ever gonna work out between us was just plain stupid. It’s falling apart before anything’s even started.
“Are you drunk right now?” she whispers.
“Not drunk,” I shake my head. I wasn’t, only buzzed if anything. So what if I put a nip of vodka in my coffee this morning? So what if I’d done it yesterday and every morning before that? I wasn’t drunk.
I hardly got drunk anymore—not unless I kept drinking till I passed out, like at the party the other night.
“But you’ve drunk alcohol today?”
I don’t answer, which is answer enough.
“Do you understand how fucked up that is? You could get in so much trouble—you could hurt somebody! You’re driving me and Claire and JJ to and from school, and you’re fucking plastered—”
“You’re not my keeper, Molly,” I snap, the shame seeping out defensively. “You’re not my boss, or my mam, and you’re certainly not my girlfriend.”
“So fuck me for caring, right?”
“I didn’t say that!” I don’t know what I was saying. Every mask I’ve carefully put on every day was falling apart because of this girl who was able to see right through the facade.
She wipes her nose again—she was crying, I realize. I haven't seen Molly cry before, and I don't want to see it ever again. I don't want it to be because of me ever again.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I say after taking a deep breath, crowding her against the colourful wall, but leaving her room to get away if she wants to. “That was mean. I’m—I’m mean. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t really cover all the bases, Niall,” she says, reaching up to wipe her eyes again but I beat her to it. My thumbs gently brush the tears away, careful not to ruin her mascara. It must be one of those waterproof brands, because it’s holding up fairly well.
“I know,” I whisper.
“Nobody else knows? About...” I shake my head ‘no.’
“Just you. ‘Cause you’re too smart for your own good,” I say, continuing to stroke her cheeks.
“I just care,” she swallows, like the words are hard to get out. “I care about you, Niall. I don’t want you to...to be hurting alone, you know?”
“I know. I get it. I care too, ya know?” I lean in closer, my breath fanning against her lips. “You don’t have the first clue just how much I care. Whenever you’re around, it... it feels like I can breathe.”
Her expression is quizzical. “Isn’t the expression ‘I can’t breathe’ or something?”
“I dunno. Maybe that’s true for everyone else. But Molly Lockhart—you’re my fresh air.”
I already planned on kissing her—or trying to—but she pulls down on the collar of my jumper until her lips are on mine. I make a surprised sound, before pinning my body against hers and wrapping my arms around her waist.
I could lift her up against the painted walls, but she's wearing a skirt and that might be a bit too much for a school hallway. Still, my mouth moves against hers, searching for all the oxygen her presence promises. Her lips are soft—so soft—and warm. I can taste the salt of her tears still on them, and I swear I’ll never do anything to make her cry again.
I could almost think I'm in heaven.
“MR. BLUE!”
We spring apart like we’ve been electrocuted. At the far end of the hallway stood Mr. Walding, the Deputy Principal. His arms are folded across his chest and a stern expression is set into his facial features.
Could this day possibly be any more of a rollercoaster?
I very carefully glance at Molly, who’s staying as still as I am. Like he’s a T-Rex and will go away if he doesn’t sense anymore movement.
No such luck.
“A very touching display of... artistic expression,” Mr. Walding says dryly. “I believe the bell rang ten minutes ago. And unless the Art Wing has recently been made the designated ‘shifting’ zone, I believe we have a problem.”
He gestures for us to come closer. “Let’s all take a little stroll to Principal Lynch’s office, shall we? I’m sure he’d be fascinated to hear about this particular extracurricular activity.”