Page 39 of The Other Side of Wild
“Do we have to do this right now, Mom?” It comes out all wrong. Like her very existence annoys me, like I’ve been fighting Goliath for days and finally let the exhaustion take over. I’d love nothing more than to drift into a catatonic state and forget any of this even happened.
The timeline is too close for comfort. There’s a possibility that she was with him while we were still together. My stomach sours, and I feel bile creep up my throat. It seems my sibling telepathy isn’t broken like the rest of me because Tate grabs the trash can and holds it by my face. I throw up everything in my stomach, which, thankfully, at this point, is just water. “Please don’t let her back in here.” I closed my eyes so they understood that was the end of the conversation, and they cleared out of the room.
My phone dings a while later. I look down and see that it's Hannah. I smile, but I don’t respond. I haven’t figured out what to say to her yet. Pulling up the video of her performance, I watched it four times before locking my phone and putting it down beside the bed. The doctor comes in with my MRI results; there’s a small tear in my rotator cuff. I won’t need surgery, but I’ll be out for six to eight weeks, depending on the intensity of therapy I can endure.
There’s no point arguing because the team doctor and Abby won’t let me see ice until they both clear me. Luckily, the season just started. If I’m cleared by the eight-week mark, I’ll still have around 4 months to play, not including playoffs.
I’m in this weird spot; my brain feels like it’s been given a couple of shots of novocaine. It’s numb, I’m numb. And right now, I think I like it that way. The culmination of betrayal by not only my ex but my best friend too, on top of the fact that she clearly wants something from me. It’s a dangerous cocktail, one that has me willingly sliding into the darkness, anything to not have to deal with the weight of it all. The pain pills they gave me might just be my new best friend at the moment.
Being home is weird; I was so drugged up that I don’t remember how I actually got here. But here I am. When I finally pull myself out of bed, my stomach moves me towards the kitchen. I stop short when I see my mom wiping down the already spotless island. I turn around and go back to my room, close the door, and turn the light off. There’s no point in pretending I’m in the mood to talk; they know I’m not.
I must have passed out because there was a knock on my door, and my body jerked at the sound. “Yeah?” The door pushes open; Dad comes in with food and the pain medicine the doctor gave me. I stare at it, debating on if I want to be numb or feel the pain today.
“You need to eat, Greyson. You aren’t going to heal without the proper nutrition.” Running my hand down my face, noting the growth in my beard, I motion toward the end of my bed. I know he’s right. I just don’t have the motivation to eat.
He sits down and gives me a look like he can see through me. It’s unnerving. “Do you have something to say, Dad?” It comes out snappier than I intended, and I recoil at its sharpness. This is such a weird sensation. I feel like someone has hijacked my body and stuck me on a shelf like the creepy Christmas elves, and I can’t do anything but watch. I see myself hurting my family in an attempt to keep myself safe, but it doesn’t feel like it’s me doing it. I hate it.
“I love you, Greyson. I just want you to be okay. I know this was a lot.” He doesn’t know half of it. But I get where he’s coming from.
“I’ll be alright, Dad. I just need some time.” Patting my thigh, he stands and walks towards the door. When his hand reaches the doorknob, he turns to me and pulls the imaginary pin that was holding the tidal wave of emotions back.
“Are you coming to the carnival with us tonight, or should we tell everyone you need to rest?” He must see the answer on my face because he gives me a sad smile and walks out.
His words barely register as the door clicksshut behind him. The carnival. I forgot about the carnival.How the hell did I forget about the carnival?
I can already picture the disappointment in her eyes when she realizes I’m not there. The tight smile she uses when she’s trying to hide how she’s really feeling. The little shrug she’d give to try to keep up the image of indifference. But, no. It’s Hannah; she’ll understand why I’m not, right? You don’t even have the balls to tell her you won’t be there.
My breath hitches, growing shallow and uneven. My world starts to tilt, intrusive thoughts winning out as I flip the tray full of food, sending it crashing to the floor. It’s a mess, but it’s nothing compared to the mess in my head. Looking down at the shattered bowl, bits of soup scattered over the floor and part of my walls–it’s like looking in a mirror.
This is who I am—broken and messy. I’m a freaking wreck.
My head finds my hand, and the fingers of my good arm dig into my scalp. My thoughts act as relentless waves, like a rip current pulling me deeper into the depths of the sea, not letting me come up for air.Why can’t I get up? Why can’t I send her a simple text as a heads up? It’s just a carnival, right?
Except it’s not. It’s her. It’s Hannah. She deserves better than this. Better than me.
She’s been texting me to check in, and I’ve been ignoring her. My phone burns a hole in my pocket; I haven’t looked at it today. Honestly, what the hell would I even say to her? “Sorry, I’m a pathetic excuse of a human. Sorry, I can’t pull myself out of bed, let alone face you, or anyone else for that matter.”
Damn it! The exhaustion pulls at me, all-consuming. I flop backward on the bed, wincing as my shoulder jostles a bit too much. I stare at the fan as my mind drifts further into darkness. The weight of failure sits heavy in my chest. She’s going to the carnival without me, as she should. She should laugh, be happy, and pour into those kids. She should forget about the guy who couldn’t show up when it really mattered. The guy too consumed with his own guilt that he can’t be there for her big night. The pain in my shoulder pales in comparison to the pain in my chest, the one connected to my faulty brain. What a freaking joke I am.
I’m tired. Too tired to fight. The darkness cuddles up like a lover in the night, pulling me closer. I don’t fight it. It’s easier this way, to give in. To let it have me.
Chapter 21 – Hannah
It’s carnival day. I haven’t heard from Greyson since before the game he got hurt in. Mr. Wilder called yesterday morning with an update. He had a small tear in his rotator cuff. He doesn’t need surgery, but he’ll be out for 6 to 8 weeks while he goes through physical therapy to strengthen it. Abby agreed that was the best game plan; she’d try to get him cleared at the 6-week mark but couldn’t promise it as she hadn’t seen the scans or talked to the team doctor yet. It also depends on how hard he wants to push himself.
He's resting, Hannah. He needs time to wrap his head around this. I tell myself as I get ready. My mind doesn’t want to let go of the notion that his silence means he decided I wasn’t enough to want around. It’s a slippery slope, one I’m teetering on the edge of. I know him, at least, I think I do. He’s taking the time he needs to wrap his head around what happened.
Or you were just a shiny new plaything, and now he’s decided he needs to be with someone he can settle down with.Inhaling, I hold my breath for three heartbeats and exhale for four. “I am kind.” I am strong.” “I am loved.” “I am worthy.” “I deserve happiness.” “I am more than a conqueror.” The hot tear that runs down my cheek tells me that what my head is telling me, my heart doesn’t quite believe. In fact, my heart feels like it shriveled up into a raisin. It’s sounding the alarm;he’s ignoring you just like your dad. He’s making you seek him out for attention, just like your dad.
Before I can jump into the abyss of a full-blown sob fest, there’s a knock on the door. “You may enter the lair.” Hoping to hide my feelings behind humor, no matter how bad the jokes might be.
My mom sticks her head in, eyebrows drawn low over her eyes. “The lair, huh?” A watery laugh leaves me, and she’s got me wrapped in her arms in .25 seconds.
“Mom! What are you doing here?” She runs her hands through my hair just like she did when I was a kid.
“You think I’d miss this and not come out here when you called me bawling yesterday?” Yeah, I did do that. I needed some motherly advice. Some advice that wasn’t tainted in my father’s voice. “You only chose that career path because you want to trap an athlete into being with you. It won’t work. You’re not worth the headache.”
I thought my acceptance letter to college was an answered prayer, but it turns out his failing heart was a more permanent one. Everyone in our small town loved him. “Oh my gosh, Dennis this and Dennis that. He’s so greaaaat.” I had to fight to keep a straight face every time I heard it. You don’t freaking know the monster Dennis was in the privacy of his own home.