Chapter 5 #2
I can’t move. I’m stuck. This is the worst part. This hopelessness is spreading throughout my body, cutting me to pieces, ruthlessly taking me apart, and destroying whatever’s left.
I could have helped. I could have helped if my body hadn’t failed. The thought fills every inch of my head until I think it’s going to burst. But it doesn’t, and everything starts to grow even louder. I can’t handle it, but I don’t have any choice.
I COULD HAVE HELPED.
But I didn’t because I couldn’t move. Because I was too weak. Because I ruin lives.
It’s my fault, everything’s my fault, and I’ve got to relive that over and over. The smells are so present that I just want to escape, but I can’t because I’m stuck. Everything’s so loud I just want to put the world on mute. And the pain is worse than anything I’ve ever felt.
The moment lasts a cold, dark eternity. By the time the images start to fade and a large anatomy poster begins to take shape in front of me, my body is bathed in sweat. It’s blurry, moving here and there, half there and half gone, nothing completely real.
My skull is pulsating. Only vaguely do I perceive that Mike’s a few feet away from me, rubbing his chest with his fingers and staring at me.
“You punched me,” he says, but his words just fly past.
I vomit onto the floor, a gray-brown sticky puddle that looks like my life.
My body is so slack that it’s hard to sit, so I pull up my legs and move into the fetal position.
I feel really ugly, really pitiful. Breathing slowly, I turn my head and press my nose into the table paper just to smell something other than smoke and blood, guilt and hate.
The paper grows damp. Maybe it’s my sweat. Maybe it’s tears. No idea.
A few minutes go by before I hear Mike offering me a cup of water.
Somehow that brings me to my senses. My limbs are as heavy as lead as I sit up, and I feel feverish.
It takes so much effort that I have to pant, and using my voice takes all the strength I can muster.
And I say the exact same thing I said to the five therapists who came before Mike.
“I’m stopping treatment. We don’t need to make any more appointments. I’m…” I wipe my nose. “I’m sorry.”
Mike frowns. “Wyatt…”
He doesn’t get any farther because before he can even form the next syllable, I’m past him and out the door.
Ten seconds. I give myself ten seconds to lean back, focus my eyes on the ceiling, and catch my breath through rattling teeth.
Then I kick the door backward and leave the training center with the bitter thought that I’m going to have to get used to the idea that I may never get back out on the ice and play hockey again.
It’s the second worst thought I’ve ever had. The second worst I’ve ever had to admit.
The worst was when I realized that Aria had left me and would not be coming back.
But now she is back, though she’s not with me because I fucked things up big time. And there’s no getting around that.
I take the bus back downtown and think about what to do. About what my future is going to look like. Is there any kind of professional field I’m actually interested in? I’ve never actually thought about it. Things were always clear. NHL hockey. Period.
Maybe I could study sports medicine, like Aria. And if we ever get along again, at some point we could open an office together and…
Yeah, right. As if. We’re not going to get along. She’s done with me. Aria Moore loved me with every fiber of her heart, but now that’s over. Things change, Wyatt. Deal with it.
I’ve almost made it to the bell tower when I see Camila. I’m so confused that I stop in my tracks.
It’s eleven in the morning. My sister should be at school, explaining to old Clearwater what vectors are and all that shit.
I watch her for a moment to see which way she’ll go.
When it’s clear that she’s heading for the designer stores, I move in behind her and follow her all the way to Dolce it might be my heart. Which is why I say something I shouldn’t and that I immediately regret as soon as the words leave my mouth.
“Mom and Dad would be disappointed in you.”
Camila gasps. Her shoulders jerk like I’ve hit her. Well, I guess I did, not physically, but emotionally, and that’s worse because now there’s a huge crater in my chest constantly reminding me of it.
The little bag dangles weakly in her tiny hand, and suddenly I feel such immense pity for her that I want to cry. Here’s my little sister with something that she bought and that she was happy about until I came and ruined it.
Just like I always do.
The skin around Camila’s eyes flushes. Her chin trembles. I want to hug her, but before I can, she says the worst thing she could. And I deserve it, even worse, in fact.
“I understand why Aria left you. I understand her, and, maldito, thank God she did, Wyatt. Thank God. If she’d stayed with you, she’d have gone to shit.
Because you make everyone go to shit. And you know what?
If Aria ever spoke to you again, it would just be to say that you turn everyone and everything to shit. ”
Then she turns and leaves.
I lose myself in the crowd of people walking past. I’m not gone, and yet I’m not really here, either. And in this strange state of limbo, I finally stop thinking about helping myself and start thinking about what I can do to bring a smile back to my sister’s face instead.