Claimed - a Portwright Book
  • Reads 474
  • Votes 1
  • Parts 12
  • Time 4h 2m
  • Reads 474
  • Votes 1
  • Parts 12
  • Time 4h 2m
Ongoing, First published Jan 09, 2020
Sophie
I was never interested in boys. Not like Alice, not like my sister, not like the other girls at school. I'd tried a couple of girls, but found that wasn't for me either. I was happy in my books. I figured love and sex was something I'd get around to one day, like the idea of children or my PhD thesis subject; it was something for future Sophie. I just had to get through the next two months lead up to my sister's perfect summer wedding, then it was off to uni.
But, then there was him.

Declan
Ten years I'd been a Martin Boy, working my way up, proving my worth. I'd won all the fights I'd been given, I followed orders blindly, I did what needed doing. My tenacity and loyalty had earned me the moniker 'CúMhartain'; I was the Cú, Paddy Martin's Hound, and I was a good guard dog. No one got to a Martin with me around. I had my place and I knew who and what I was.
But, then there was her.

*WIP - first draft, unedited, mostly stream of consciousness. Could use the feedback - not sure how good it is, plus it needs a serious sensitivity read from anyone Irish as I let my imagination run away with me.*
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DIABOLIC SERIES 3 All my life I've lost my breath. It would happen over the simplest things, if I stretched too high to catch a ball, lifted something for too long, if I sneezed, if I talked. Other times I would loose my breath because I had a panic attack, or was yelling or being yelled at, if I was exerting myself on a physical level. Having the wind knocked out of me is a familiar feeling. But I didn't truly know what it felt like to loose the air in my lungs, loose the feeling that has kept my alive my entire life. I didn't loose it when I fell in love, I didn't loose it when I found out one drunken night with the girl I love would mean a baby, I didn't loose it when I found out that I'd actually be a father. No, I lost that when she told me that she doesn't love me. When she spit in my face how much she can't stand me, how I've ruined her life, that she doesn't want me in any aspect. I'm not her 'type' whatever that means, seeing as she quite willingly had sex with me. Her saying this made this ugly, lonely and depressing thought hit my diaphragm. Violet Thompson is carrying my child. And she despises me for it. The way I came to this conclusion was simple, Nonnie- -that's what I call her, since her middle name's Noel and I wanted something to call her that if I shouted it in the middle of a crowd, only she would turn to and know it's me- -told me that all she wants is someone there. A father for her baby, a physical presence. Not a mind, personality. Not a person. A body. A shell. I've been a dead man walking. And I was that shell, was just a body... until I found him.