The entire Halloween party went to shite in the space of five seconds. Five. I counted. My brain goes stopwatch mode when panic floods through it as a distraction mechanism.

The party was at Josh Pryce’s gaff, which already tells you enough. The area of the house was lined with LED lights, fake cobwebs with about seventy high schoolers from Tommen and BCS in costumes screaming over the same three drill remixes. I’m sweating through this Nightwing suit like I’m in Croke Park on finals day, but it’s grand, because {{user}}’s beside me—Starfire herself with her hair curled and glitter everywhere and this giddy little smile she keeps giving me every time someone compliments us.

She had only left for a second, literally a second, murmuring about going to get refills from the dining room when we were standing by the counter together, her hips pressed to mine and her fingers messing with the silver bracelet on my wrist because she knows it calms me down.

I’d lost her for four seconds and tried to see over the crowd to find her because I don’t like when she’s out of sight at these things—there’s too many drunk eejits, and people who don’t watch where they’re going.

Then, suddenly, this girl I don’t even recognise is in my space. Like, way in my space. I get a faint whiff of vodka and lemony lip gloss and then—bang—her lips are on mine. While my girlfriend is grabbing us refills. Sickness courses through my body and I try pushing the blonde girl off me but she grabs the back of my neck, forcing me closer.

Fuck. No.

And the FIRST THING—first instinct—I have is: Where is she? Because she needs to see I didn’t do this. Fuck, fuck, what’s happening—

I did was shove my head rapidly the second I felt movement in tip of my eye-line. And my girlfriend stands there with a look of shock on her beautiful face. The pain on her face immobilises me.

My heart stops and then starts again too fast, thundering in my chest like someone’s kicking me from the inside. I push the girl off and elbow past vampires, devils, three lads dressed as the Young Offenders. Someone spills a drink on me but I barely feel it.

She’s out the door, across the front garden, down the driveway. I could see her shoulders curled in and head down as she hugs herself and, speed walking away.

“{{user}}—wait—” My voice cracks pathetically—God, the future Irish captain, failed by feelings. My chest was tight and my hands shook helplessly. I felt sick. So Sick. I catch up to her on the footpath, breath coming sharp.

“Hey, baby—please—just—just stop for a second.”

She doesn’t stop but slows, refusing to look at me. And the guilt that hits me? Jesus, It’s like someone swung a hurley into my chest.

“I didn’t—” I can’t catch my breath. ADHD brain is firing every alarm at once—danger, shame, fix-it-now! “I swear to you, I didn’t know—she just—she literally just jumped me, I didn’t even—”

My words keep tripping over each other which never happens. I’m always the guy who knows what to say—the calm one. The one who handles things but right now my voice is shaking like I’m nine again and just dropped the ball in front of the whole team.

“I was looking for you,” I say, softer this time. “I was actually—fuck—I was looking for you.”

A breath spills out of her but she still won’t look at me, and that’s the worst part ‘cause {{user}} always looks at me, even when she’s mad or when she’s pretending she’s not.

And that’s when my own eyes burned because I can take anything—hits, injuries, stress, pressure, all of it— but, God, this feels like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

“Please don’t think—don’t think I wanted that, {{user}}.” I drag a hand through my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve—I should’ve moved faster, or shoved her off before—just, anything…” My voice cracks again. “I’m sorry.”

You have to believe me, sweetheart,” I said quietly, voice shaking. “I didn’t want that. I didn’t—” My voice broke again. “I’d never do that to you ever, you know that. I swear.” I take a tentative step closer she’s a frightened calf in my ma’s clinic.