26. CAL
CAL
Gold Medals Don’t Cry
N umbness had become my blessing, maybe even my secret weapon. Without feeling anything, I could skate without noticing the dull, persistent throb in my ankle. Sleeping was no longer an act of surrender but a mechanical routine, thanks to the prescription that silenced my racing mind. Every minute of my life was accounted for, woven into a meticulously crafted schedule that replaced the chaos I usually called home.
My focus was laser-sharp: win this competition, make it to the Olympic qualifier. Anything outside that narrow orbit—my mother’s sharp words, Bea’s confused face—was tucked away, buried deep enough to forget.
Whenever stray thoughts started to creep in, I’d distract myself. Open a browser, reach for my vibrator—anything to burn off the tension. But it didn’t take long to realize that even that was a trap.
The first time, it only reminded me of what I was trying to forget. No toy could replicate him—the heat, the fire in my veins when he touched me. I cursed under my breath. Why didn’t they make vibrators with piercings?
I stopped the thought before it went too far. I couldn’t go down that rabbit hole. Not now. Not when I had to keep every cell of my body locked on the prize.
But when the tablets began their slow crawl through my system, the thoughts clawed their way to the surface, sharp and unrelenting. I stared up at the plain ceiling, I could almost see the words scrawled there, etched in jagged, unforgiving script:
You’re not good enough at skating.
She’s already forgotten you.
You’ll never be the son she wanted.
You’ll never be loved.
You are too much.
The carousel spun faster, each cruel thought blurring into the next as I sank deeper into the mattress. I couldn’t stop the words, couldn’t drown them out. They burned into me, branding me in the silence of the room.
Tears slipped free, quiet and unbidden, streaking hot against my skin. The pills dulled the edges, but not enough. They never did.
And then, like a shadow in the corner of my mind, came the darker thought: If I didn’t wake up, would anyone even care?
I clenched my fists against it, nails biting into my palms, anchoring me in the moment. I still had goals. I still had something to reach for.
I would get there first.
Whatever came after—that was a problem for another day.