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HE COULDN'T REMEMBER much.
People had been talking around him, Reo was sure there was noise, but none of the words stuck. He had arrived at the rink and went through all the motions, falling perhaps two or three times before simply standing still as he looked at nothing. Nothing mattered much because nothing made a difference; he was still as bad as he feared.
Ego said something, and Reo didn't notice he wasn't breathing until his only reply came out choked. He couldn't remember what day it was, only that it was somewhere at the beginning of the week, and that he hadn't made it. He asked for permission to go to the bathroom, locked himself inside a cubicle, and couldn't remember how long it's been since.
He hadn't made it. No emails, no invitations, no messages. He slid onto the floor and pressed his palm against his heart. It wasn't hammering, not with the panic it should've had, and maybe that was the worst sign because it showed that even physically, Reo couldn't process this failure like he used to.
Something within him was broken and wrong. Reo pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered why his frustration hadn't filled his eyes with tears yet.
Life has accelerated for the past few months like a snowball. Small issues grew into the big dark cloud that threatened to eclipse his good days until it finally happened: Sadness and stress became permanent. This was it. The trainwreck stopped, the snowball crushed him; life was now a routine without an end or finishing line.
It felt like a new standard. Some days could be worse, and when Reo thought he had finally become numb, he would burst out crying for no particular reason.
Some days could be worse but no days were better.
And he couldn't stop. The more miserable he felt the more convinced he was that he couldn't quit, or else it would've been all for nothing. Nothing, again. He couldn't have given half his soul to the devil for no rewards.
Reo rested his head against the wall. The Prix assignments have been published, but he didn't get any. It always made sense that he wouldn't get invited, but he's only ever come to accept it this past week, after sending the stupid essay his dad forced him to write.
Life kept moving and Reo kept holding on. He would keep holding on since he had nothing but his pride to prove them wrong. That pride, however, that stubbornness didn't mean he was in denial. He knew he wasn't good enough.
Inadequate, average, useless...
He had been so in his head, that the sudden knock on the cubicle's door almost made him jump out of his skin. A wary voice came from the other side, "Hey, are you okay kiddo?"
