Lovebirds

LOVESICK

Love feels like a tempest. Crashing waves against his insides, threatening to burst with one wrong turn, one wrong word spoken just as an afterthought.

He's been taking the long way to every class, avoiding the halls she frequents, thankful she knows him well enough to stay on her normal track so he might keep away. But that doesn't mean he doesn't see her. Her face, on the backs of his eyelids, printed in every script for every dream. It's impossible to escape her, like trying to forget a piece of himself. A phantom limb.

His friends try to talk to him as he goes about his day. Through every class, though the meeting with his guidance counselor, then the one with the dean—sending texts to ask if everything's okay. It's not, but not abnormal. It's just a broken heart.

They continue to worry and question as his focus slips during practice. Gliding thoughtlessly across the ice, from side to side, the fight gone out of his play. His teammates learn not to pass to him for fear of losing the scrimmage. When coach benches him, they all stop to exchange a glance, wondering what it is that could be wrong.

Why it is that the last three pictures from the vinceandspence Instagram have suddenly disappeared, a development Vincent is unaware of in this moment. They return to their game a second later.

Just another broken heart. Many of them have been there before. They'll all remind him later that nobody knows what the hell girls are thinking. How they're mysteries; the same half-truth they've all been circulating for the past four years, told to any guy whose heart has been broken by a girl.

But the thing is, he did know her. There were times when Vincent thought he could actually read her thoughts as they spelled out across her mind. Thought he could read her like an open book. All along he was skipping pages.

Just a breakup. It'll pass. He'll move on. Everyone does. It's human nature.

Yet,

They didn't break up. As she said: they were never truly together.

He was just someone to call when she needed some company; needed someone to hold her; needed a kiss. And he feels like an idiot for agreeing.

Pride and Prejudice: 'we are all fools in love.'

The sound of the puck sliding across the ice feels like a blanket in the chill. The chick of it hitting the blade of the stick like a reassuring pat on the back. Vincent leans his head against the plexiglass barrier behind him.

"I'm sorry coach," he says, watching for a reaction out of the corner of his eye.

Coach sighs; looks back at Vincent. "Life happens, Arthur," he states matter-of-factly. "Just promise me you won't be Atlas with all that world on your shoulders, 'kay?"

Vince smirks. He forgets sometimes that coach is also an English teacher. "'kay," he agrees.

Looking back out at the ice, "take today—take the rest of the week on the bench if you need to. Goodness knows Will needs the time out there." He readjusts his standing position; calls out a correction to Carter Grantham. "But if you're not back by next week, I'm getting the school psychologist involved. Sometimes it helps to keep moving; makes it harder for everything to sit."

Vince taps his head against the plexiglass, listening to it shake. "I know. I'll do my best, Coach."

"Good," is all he gets.

Coach turns back to the game; shouts another direction to re-immerse himself in the thrill of the play. So Vincent closes his eyes. And he listens to the sounds of familiarity.

Ssssshick-ka! Consistancy.

Ssh-ka! Warmth.

Sssh-kah! Home.