‘What do you mean you’re not telling me?’ Gibsie demanded, letting the ball spin from his hands. It was Sunday evening and we were down the pitch, attempting to throw a ball around. Well, I was attempting to throw the ball. Gibs was doing his best Inspector bleeding Gadget impression, trying to milk information about my night with Shannon.
‘Exactly what I said.’ Ignoring the burn in my lower half, I extended my arms and jumped to catch his piss-poor throw. ‘I’m not fucking telling you.’
‘We can talk about it,’ Gibsie called back, arms out to catch the ball. ‘You’re allowed to tell your best friend.’
‘I’m not talking about her.’
‘Holding things in isn’t good for a person.’
‘What do you want me to say?’ I snapped, flinging the ball back at him.
‘I want you –’ words breaking off, he caught the ball with a loud ooof, and then tossed it on the grass before continuing, ‘to tell me what you got up to in your room.’ He waggled his brows. ‘When you snuck Little Shannon in there.’
‘Jesus.’ Giving up on having a normal conversation, I grabbed my water bottle off the grass and headed for the carpark. ‘I’m calling it a day.’
‘Already?’
‘I’m tired.’
‘Because you were up late bumping uglies with your girlfriend?’ Gibsie teased, falling into step beside me. ‘Ah, yes, that can take it out of a fella.’ Bumping shoulders with me, he said, ‘So, what are we talking here? Full-on penetration or just some heavy petting? Or the slip and slide? The old rub and bump. The ‘just a little more’. The ‘we’ll stop here, except we never do’?’ His eyes lit up. ‘Holy shit, did you go bareback?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Sex,’ he replied simply.
‘We didn’t have sex,’ I muttered, pulling my keys out of my pocket. ‘It’s not like that.’
‘Not like that?’ Gibsie shot back, disbelieving. ‘Don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining.’
‘Gibs,’ I snapped, flustered. ‘It’s not, okay? I’m not doing that with her.’ Pressing the button on my key fob, I unlocked my car and moved for the driver’s side. ‘It’s too soon.’
‘Did Shannon say that?’
‘I said that,’ I growled, yanking the door open and climbing in. ‘Me, Gibs. I’m saying it’s too soon.’
‘But you were tempted, weren’t ya?’ he asked, dropping into the passenger seat beside me. ‘No one’s that much of a saint.’
I debated turning on the stereo to drown out his voice. That’s what I should have done. Instead, I heard myself say, ‘I wanted to.’ Sighing heavily, I added, ‘Badly.’
‘But?’
‘But she’s not ready,’ I strangled out, furious with myself for talking about this. ‘And I’m not bleeding ready.’
‘Lad, you’ve had sex before,’ Gibsie replied, frowning. ‘I know it’s been a while, but you weren’t reborn a virgin when you came out of surgery.’
‘It’s different with her.’
‘How?’
‘Feelings, Gibs,’ I bit out. ‘Huge fucking feelings.’
‘Ugh.’ He shuddered. ‘Sounds awful.’
‘It’s all more with her,’ I explained, knees bopping restlessly. Drumming my fingers against the steering wheel, I thought about what I wanted to say, tried to find a tactful way to phrase it, then said to hell with it and came right out with, ‘I’m losing control over my life. She walked in and tossed everything on its ass. I’m literally scrambling, trying to put everything back together and piece out a new plan. I don’t know how to handle her, and I’m scared of pushing her too far, too fast, and fucking it all up. I think she thinks I don’t want her that way, which is fucking insanity because you’ve seen her. Jesus, who wouldn’t want her? But that’s the problem. I don’t just want her. I want to keep her. And what if I hurt her? She’s so small, Gibs. And she’s only sixteen. And her Ma’s threatening me. I feel like if I put one foot wrong here, it’s over, and I’m so fucking scared of screwing this up, Gibs. I don’t want to wreck it. I can barely breathe when I’m around her. Everything goes all hazy and feelings…fucking feelings just flood me!’ I blew out a breath, feeling relieved to have it off my chest. ‘I’m completely fucked, aren’t I?’
‘I think so,’ Gibsie agreed.
‘Yeah.’ I sighed. ‘I think so, too.’
‘Your mind is a scary place to be,’ he mused, scratching his chin. ‘Can you not overthink everything?’ He tilted his head to one-side, studying my face with a peculiar expression etched on his own. ‘Seriously, can’t you just turn that big sponge of a brain off and just relax?’
‘No.’ I shrugged helplessly. ‘This is how I’m wired.’
‘Well then –’ He tapped his temple. ‘There’s a lot to be said for having a simple mind.’
‘You are simple,’ I muttered dejectedly. ‘And I’m simple for listening to you.’
‘Do you still have those condoms?’ he asked then.
I glared at him. ‘Did you not hear a word of what I just said?’
‘I heard you,’ he replied calmly. ‘Now answer the question.’
‘No,’ I muttered, shoulders sagging. ‘I panicked when they fell out on top of her in Claire’s room so I just threw them in her bin.’
‘What a waste,’ Gibsie whimpered, biting on his fist. ‘Ugh – right, so you need to go to the chemist. Pronto.’
I gaped at him. ‘But I just told you–’
‘I know you what you told me,’ he cut me off with a wave of his hand, ‘And I’m telling you that the road to fatherhood is paved with good intentions.’
‘It’s ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions’, Gibs.’
‘Considering pussy is one of the leading factors in a man’s admission to hell, I’d say both statements are fairly on point, lad.’
‘What?’
‘Just buy a packet of condoms. Put one in your wallet. Even if you don’t use it, it’s there.’
‘I don’t want to tempt myself.’
‘And that’s your first mistake,’ he told me. ‘It’s not the condom in your wallet that will lead you into temptation. It’ll be the naked girl sprawled out beneath you.’ Waggling his brows, he added, ‘The one that floods you with all the feelings,’ in a teasing tone.
Jesus, he was making sense.
How the hell was he making sense?
‘Better safe than sorry, lad,’ he added with a shrug.
‘You’re right,’ I choked out.
He winked. ‘I know.’
‘Would you step back, Gibs,’ I growled, bristling with tension, as I stood in the condom aisle at the chemist. He was hovering so close to my back that I could feel his chin resting on my shoulder. ‘You’re breathing down my bleeding neck!’
‘Why do they do that?’ he asked, unperturbed. Stepping around me, he reached down and picked up a rectangular, pink box from the bottom shelf. ‘Why would they put pregnancy tests next to condoms?’
‘No clue.’ I shrugged. ‘But they do it everywhere.’
‘Well, it doesn’t exactly scream out that they have confidence in their product, does it?’ he continued, waving the test around aimlessly. ‘It’s like ‘hey, wrap up your dick, buy some lube, hell, even throw in a cock ring for a bit of craic, and have a great fucking time, but just in case it fails, you know where to come back to confirm the end of your life.” He rolled his eyes. ‘I think it’s a terrible marketing idea.’
‘It’s not a marketing idea, lad,’ I muttered wearily. ‘It’s for convenience.’
‘And here’s more of it,’ he grumbled, grabbing a box of ovulation test strips off the top shelf. ‘Are we preventing babies, confirming babies, or planning babies?’ His voice rose with his outrage. ‘Which is it? All three? What the fuck, Johnny?’
‘We are preventing babies,’ I growled, snatching up a twelve pack of extra safe condoms. ‘The rest of that shite isn’t for us, so put the tests down and walk away, ya bollox!’
‘I should make a suggestion,’ he huffed. ‘On how not to traumatize their male customers.’
‘You do that, Gibs,’ I replied wearily, condoms in hand. Heading for the front of the store, I side-stepped a woman with a litter of young children swarming her legs. ‘I’m sure they’ll listen.’
‘I hope so,’ Gibsie grumbled, falling into step alongside me.
‘Hello, Jonathon,’ the woman said. ‘Hello, Gerard.’
I swung back to face her and inwardly groaned when recognition dawned on me.
Jesus Christ, why me?
‘How’s it going, Miss,’ I muttered, discreetly moving the box of condoms behind my back.
‘Yeah, hey, Miss Moore,’ Gibsie purred in that tone of voice he used for flirting, causing me to repress a shudder. He had a fucking thing for the older women. ‘You’re looking your usual lovely self.’
‘Well, thank you, Gerard,’ our guidance counsellor replied. ‘Fancy meeting you two boys in the chemist on a Sunday evening.’ She smiled up at us. ‘I presumed you’d both be running around a field somewhere with a soccer ball.’
‘A rugby ball,’ I correctly quietly. ‘And we were. We just had to –’
‘We’re on a condom run,’ Gibsie blurted out – much to my horror. And then he went a step further and gestured to her five small kids. ‘Something your husband obviously doesn’t buy very often.’
‘Lad,’ I hissed, mortified. ‘I’m sorry about him, Miss,’ I hurried to say, feeling my face burn. ‘He doesn’t have a filter.’
‘I’m well aware,’ Miss Moore replied, thankfully smiling. ‘Well, I’ll let you two go about your business, and I’ll see you both at school tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, see you at school.’ Cringing, I grabbed the back of Gibsie’s neck, stepped around a couple of identical red-haired girls, and hauled him towards the checkout. ‘Come on, you fucker,’ I hissed in his ear. ‘Before you do any more damage.’
‘Oh, and boys?’ Miss Moore called after us.
‘Yeah?’
‘If you ever need someone to talk to…’ Frowning, she gestured to the pregnancy test Gibs was still holding before continuing, ‘My door is always open.’
‘Uh, that’s okay.’ I laughed nervously and elbowed Gibsie in the ribs. ‘We’re good.’
‘The fuck, lad?’ Gibsie groaned, rubbing his side.
‘Put it down,’ I hissed, still smiling like a maniac at our teacher.
‘Oh, we’re not pregnant,’ Gibsie laughed, awareness finally dawning on him. With a carefree shrug, he tossed the test into a basket of makeup samples beside him. ‘Oh shit, I’m sorry –’ Digging it back out, he held it out to our teacher. ‘Did you want them?’
Ugh.
‘Jesus Christ.’ Rubbing my jaw with my hand, I turned around and walked away, stalking up to the checkout with only one goal in sight; pay and get as far away from that lunatic as possible.
‘Good afternoon,’ the middle-aged pharmacist chirped when I dropped the condoms on the counter in front of her.
‘Yeah,’ I muttered, cringing when I heard Gibsie talking animatedly to Miss Moore from a few feet behind me. ‘Can I get a bag please?’
‘Are you sure you need a bag?’ she asked, ringing the condoms through her till. ‘It’s an extra fifteen cents.’
‘I’ll pay,’ I ground out. ‘Just give me the bag please.’
‘Okie-dokie,’ she replied, handing me a plastic carrier bag. ‘That’ll be €13.14 please.’
‘Thanks.’ Pulling out my wallet, I handed her a twenty and swiped up the box.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked after about a minute and a half of a struggle.
‘Nothing.’
I couldn’t open the plastic bag.
I couldn’t fucking open it!
My hands were sweating, fucking perspiring, which was ridiculous because I had bought condoms before – frequently. Granted, it had been a while since I made the necessary rubber run, but still…
Six long fucking months.
Oh Jesus, I hoped this wasn’t going to be a new thing for me.
Was I losing my touch?
I couldn’t find the fucking opening of a plastic bag.
Fuck.
Was this going to happen to me with everything?
‘Do you want a hand with that?’ she asked for the third bleeding time.
‘I can do it myself, lady,’ I snapped, flustered, and more than likely frightening the poor pharmacist. ‘I can do it,’ I repeated in a calmer voice. ‘I’m just out of practice.’
‘Out of practice shopping?’ she asked, frowning.
‘With a lot of bleeding things,’ I muttered under my breath before finally opening the bag. ‘See!’ I grinned, victorious, as I held the twelve pack in one hand and the tricky fucking carrier bag open with the other. ‘I can do this.’
‘Yes, you can,’ the pharmacist replied, giving me an encouraging thumbs up.
Jesus…
