Binding 13

If he realized the sacrifices I made, and the limits I pushed my body to, I doubt he'd feel the same way.

Then again, maybe he would.

He had such an issue with me that I reckoned nothing could sway him from his I-hate-Joh

Not that I gave a single fuck.

I had less than two years left in this school, and possibly a further one year with The Academy.

After that, I would be leaving Ballylaggin and all the begrudging Ronan McGarry's behind me.

Stretching my legs out, I gently rubbed down the area with my prescribed anti-inflammatory gel, biting down on my lip to stop myself from screaming in pain.

Clenching my eyes shut, I forced my hands to move over my thighs, performing the exercise my physio had instructed I do after every training session.

Once that was completed, and I was confident I wouldn’t pass out from the pain, I worked on my shoulders, elbows, and ankles, packing and strapping every old ache and injury like the dutiful apprentice I was.

Believe it or not, my body was in great condition.

The injuries I had sustained from playing rugby for the past eleven years, including a ruptured appendix and a million broken bones, were miniscule in comparison to the injuries some of the lads in The Academy were carrying.

It was a good thing for me considering I was on the cusp of a lucrative contract and a career in professional rugby.

In order to achieve that, I needed to be as close to perfect in every aspect of my life.

That meant performing on the pitch, maintaining optimal health both physically and mentally, and keeping my nose – and my dick – clean.

Protection was an impossible thing to forget with The Academy breathing down our necks, lecturing on how this was a pivotal time in our careers and how we were not, under any circumstances, to let a girl turn our heads or saddle us down with a baby.

Like fuck.

I'd rather cut my poorly functioning cock off before I let myself fall into that trapping.

Condoms and birth control were an absolute necessity.

I always carried one, I always wore one, and if the girl I was with wasn’t on the pill or the bar, of if I didn’t trust she was being honest with me, I always pulled out.

No risks.

No exceptions.

Not that it matters now, I thought to myself, as I stared down at my bruised balls.

Aside from remaining fatherless and STD free, I had to keep my marks up.

It was all about perception for the scouts and potential clubs, and they wanted what was perceived as perfection.

They wanted the best players from the best schools and the top universities in the country.

They wanted merits and silverware, both on the pitch and academically.

It was tiresome work, but I did the best I could.

Luckily, I was good at school.

I didn’t fucking like going very much, but I was good at it.

My classes were all honors subjects and I had always been A+ to A- average in all of them with the exception of Science, where I was a reluctant C student.

I just hated that fucking subject.

Man, it gave me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about periodic tables.

I didn’t care for it, and it was the one class I had always slept through.

It came as no surprise to my parents that when the time came for me to choose my leaving cert subjects this term, I had avoided the three science subjects like the plague.

No, they could keep their biology, chemistry, and physics for the hard-core braintards.

I would stick to business and accountancy.

An unlikely passion for a rugbyhead but it was right up my street.

I would get a standard degree in Business, play until well into my thirties, retire before my body completely gave up on me, and then pursue my masters.

See, I had it all pla

No room for change.

No room for girlfriends.

And no goddamn room for injuries.

My life choices and strict routine pissed my mother off to epic proportions.

I knew Mam didn’t like my lifestyle and she was always nagging me.

She said I was limited.

That I was missing out on so much of life.

She begged me to be a child.

The problem was, I hadn't been a child since I was ten.

When rugby took off for me, I left that shite behind, my childhood dreams of playing rugby morphing into a focused, hungry, driven obsession.

I had spent the past seven years in beast mode 24/7 and had the physical body shape and size to prove it.

My father was easier on me.

He mollified my mother and coaxed her to stop worrying so much – telling her that it could be worse. I could be going out getting stoned off my head after school or getting legless with the rest of my friends down the pub.

Instead of doing any of that, I trained.

I spent my days studying, my afternoons on the pitch, my evenings in the gym, and my weekends rotating between all three.

Jaysus, I couldn’t recall the last time I blew off the gym for a night out with the lads or ate a 99-ice-cream cone without worrying about wasteful calories and unbalanced macronutrients.

I ate clean, I trained hard, and I followed every order, suggestion, and demand given to me by my coaches and trainers.

It wasn’t an easy lifestyle to uphold, but it was the one I had chosen for myself.

I trusted my gut and pursued my dreams with relentless drive, taking comfort in the fact that I was almost there.

Until I made it – and I would make it – I would continue to make the sacrifices and remain focused, dedicated, and undistracted from bullshit, teenage drama.

It was for those exact reasons I was feeling so edgy.

A girl, a fucking female I'd known for no longer than two hours, had managed to do what no one else ever had; knock me off kilter.

Sha

I didn’t like that she was taking up valuable time in my head.

Time I didn’t have to spare or to give to anything – or anyone – other than rugby.

"She was already pulled out of Ballylaggin Community School for being verbally and physically attacked. And what happens on her first day at Tommen? This!"

"You assured me this kind of thing wouldn’t happen at this school and look what happened on her first day!"

"Sha