I’ve Got Your Back
I’ve Got Your Back
Molly
brEATHING DOESN'T COME naturally again until I’m back in the locker room, standing under the warm spray of a shower.
I should’ve enjoyed it, but I couldn’t. Not when I was able to feel his eyes on me.
Everything would be perfect if it weren’t for the obvious.
If he weren’t here.
If he weren’t standing on the sidelines, a looming reminder of the past that I can’t escape, of the nightmare I can’t wake up from.
I can feel the water turning my skin pink as I scrub furiously at my arms, the places where his hands lingered too long during that congratulatory hug. My stomach revolts again, but there’s nothing left to purge.
Still, I spit into the drain, trying to erase the phantom taste of bile and all the memories rushing back in, a tidal wave of pain and fear that threatens to drown me all over again.
I hear the door opening, making my heart rate speed up. Please be Niall. Please. Please be Niall—
“Moll-y?”
Go away!
“Give me a minute!” I call out, my voice tight with a panic I can’t hide, hoping, begging, pleading with whatever higher power that might be looking over me for him not to come back here. For him not to trap me in this small, tiled stall. For me not to have to relive that nightmare all over again.
I shut off the water as fast as I can, wrapping myself in a towel. My hands shake so bad I can barely tuck it in. My clothes are draped nearby, and I go as fast as I can to step into my underwear and sweats, forcing my arms through sweater holes and moving out to the main locker room area.
He’s sitting on one of the benches, by my bag, holding my necklace—which I took off for the game.
“You know one of these little clasps is gold, yeah?” he asks, without turning around to look at me.
“It broke. Someone fixed it.”
“Hmm,” he says, pushing up on his knees to stand and turn around. Luckily he drops the necklace on my bag, so I don’t have to ask for it back, to have to touch him, to have his skin on mine. “You alone in here?”
“Of course I am,” I snap. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He laughs. “I don’t know what kind of dirty things you get up to, Molly.”
His words send shivers down my spine, a slimy trail of disgust that makes my stomach churn and flip. I want to go, to run for the door, to be free. But something keeps me frozen in place.
Fear.
“What did you tell him?” Ross finally asks, like the words are annoying for him to have weighing on him and he needs to heave them off his shoulders. Onto me.
Just another thing for him to burden me with.
Another thing he wants me to carry.
I force my face to stay neutral. “Tell who what?”
“Don’t play coy. That Irish kid was looking at me like I kicked his dog.”
“Maybe you did,” I shrug, pretending that my hands aren’t shaking, that my heart isn’t pounding in my chest, that I’m not terrified. I reach for my necklace, my fingers fumbling with the clasp as I fasten it around my neck.
Ross sighs, rolling his eyes. “We both know I didn’t do anything wrong, Molly.”
“You didn’t?”
“No,” he says, so calmly, like he actually believes it. “So I don't know what kind of lies you think you're gonna tell your new boyfriend here, but I'm telling you right now—if you do, I'll make sure you never kick a ball again.”
I swallow hard, knowing he means it. All the old, familiar threats are swimming around in my mind, taunting me. Reminding why I had to stay silent in the first place. Reminding me of the power he holds, the power to destroy my dreams, to ruin my life, with just a few words.
No one's gonna believe you over him.
“You think I don't have friends in high places?” he continues, stepping closer. “You think I don't have pull with every scout, every coach, every fucking federation in this sport?”
I take a step back, trying to get away from him, but he grabs my wrist. Terror shoots through me.
“Let go,” I whisper but it comes out weak.
Weak, weak, that’s all I am. Too weak to speak up, too weak to fight back.
“Or what?” he taunts. “You'll tell on me?”
“Hey, Molly, are you in here—oh, hey, who are you?” Finn is poking his head through the door, and I've never been so happy to see his face, or anyone's really, in my life. I could just cry with relief.
“Just visiting my old player, aren’t I, Mol? I don't think you're supposed to be in here, son,” Ross says, his voice smooth and charming. He lets me go, trailing his fingers down my arm as he does.
Finn—who normally looks like he wouldn't hurt a fly, always a mask of easy-going cheerfullness—steps fully into the locker room, crossing his arms. “Neither are you, sir... Look, Molly, I need your help. I can't find my insulin pen.”
I know for a fact Finn always keeps his insulin in a bright orange case attached to his gear bag so he won’t lose it—but I nod along, grabbing my bag and darting for the door. Ross doesn't stop me, but I hear him call after me, “Happy early birthday, Molly.”
Finn flanks me out the door, having to jog to keep up with me as I burst out the Girls Changing Room Building. My lungs are burning, blood rushing in my ears.
I don’t stop. I don’t slow down. I just run, trying to outrun the memories, trying to outrun the fear, trying to outrun him.
“What the fuck was that?” Finn asks me, keeping his voice hushed. I shake my head, pressing my lips together tightly as I feel tears welling up behind my eyes.
Finn stops me in my tracks, grabbing my shoulders and turning me around to face him. His usual jovial expression is gone, replaced now by something fiercer. “Molly. Talk to me.”
“I need... I need Niall. I want to go home,” I choke out around the hard lump in my throat.
I hate crying in front of anybody. It’s the worst thing in the world. I've already cried in front of Niall far too often, even though I know he would say he doesn’t mind. It’s still not something I particularly like doing. But it’s also not something I seem to be able to control.
It makes me feel weaker.
But now I'm crying in front of Finn Marshall—who's not really my friend, just my boyfriend’s friend, and my teammate. I might see him almost every day but I don't really know him. Our first one on one, nobody else around interaction is me bawling my eyes out.
Finn nods—because of course he just accepts it and understands—and pulls me into a quick hug, only slightly awkward hug. “Alright. Let’s get you to him.”
I nod into his shoulder, sniffling, the tears streaming freely down my face.
Finn pulls back, grabbing my hand and tugging me towards the bus. “Come on.”
We jog across the field and straight to the bus where Niall is already standing at the bottom step, scanning the crowd. His eyes land on me and widen when he sees my face.
He’s moving before I can even process it, striding towards me and eating up the distance, hands already outstretched. “Mol—”
I crash into him, burying my face in his chest. His arms wrap around me instantly, his fingers tangling in my damp hair. Just his familiar presence acts as a soothing balm on my panicked heart.
“He was in the locker room,” I whisper against his shirt. “He—he—”
Niall’s grip tightens. “I'm telling O'Shea. This ends now.”
I shake my head violently, though my hands are gripping tightly onto his shirt. “No. Please. Please don’t, Niall. You promised not to tell anyone.”
Finn shifts uncomfortably beside us, reminding me he’s here to witness my breakdown. Just like Joey and JJ earlier. They’re all gonna know I’m broken. That I’m a mess. “I can give you two a minute—”
“Stay,” Niall says firmly, still holding me. “I'm gonna need you to hold me back. Tell me what happened, Molly.”