Heal the Heart

16.

Arya and I rarely fought. I could count the number of times we did in all the years we'd known each other on one hand. Not counting the wrestling matches, football tackles, and who got the last slice of pizza shoves.

Maybe it was because Arya wasn't built for arguments. Nothing ever got him angry or motivated enough to stick to his ground and fight for his side of things. In cricket, most of us knew his strategies and plans were sound and if anyone ever had a problem... Arya'd convince them otherwise before an argument even presented itself.

That was why everyone loved him.

Calm. Collected. Charming. Never lost his cool. Funny. Caring.

And that was why every time we had a fight, it made me feel like shit. Like I was the one who wasn't worthy of him. Especially when all he did was stand there and accept every insult and rude remark I threw at him.

We were in Bloem. It was the day before our semi-finals against West Indies, and Arya was so fucking sure the match would be ours that he had decided to ditch curfew—again—and go out "cruising". I had warned him not to. Not to take the risk. Not when we had our match first thing in the morning.

He had paid no heed. He showed me his charming smile, said, You need to chill out a little, side-stepped and left.

I could've gone behind him. With him. See where he went. Experience what he experienced. But when the mere thought of being with anyone other than him even grazed my mind, I wanted to hurl my guts out. There wasn't anyone like him. He was the one I wanted to spend forever with. I loved Arya. I loved him so damn much, it destroyed me to see him walk out our shared hotel room door every time. How could I ever find a guy that captivating? That loving? And that wonderful? How could I find someone who would play cricket with me anytime of the day, watch movies together on mute and make up our own dialogues, and smile every time I rested my head on his chest?

When he could go out night after night with different men, why couldn't I? Why did I drown in guilt when he didn't? Why did it hurt so much to see him with someone else when he repeatedly said he loved me and only me?

Tears spilled over, racing down my temples. How many tears had I shed because of him? Did he not notice? Or did he ignore it? Arya was a master at ignoring things that didn't fit his idea of a perfect life.

Sadness soon gave way to anger when an hour passed. Ten pm. Eleven. Twelve.

Where was he?

We had a match in just a couple of hours, and the captain was out getting his rocks off. Setting such admirable precedents for all generations to come.

He had stumbled into our room at quarter to one. Disheveled and disoriented. The heavy stench of alcohol hung about him like a thunderous cloud.

My fists opened and closed. He didn't care about me? Fine. He enjoyed fucking me over? Okay. But the team didn't deserve this. They didn't deserve a captain who couldn't care less about them when the qualifiers were so near. My vision blurred when I shoved him.

He stumbled back, arms flapping to maintain his balance. "Wha—"

I had him against the door, my forearm pressed against his chest. "Have you lost it?"

"Neil—"

"We have a fucking match in less than seven hours and you come back drunk!"

"I'm not—"

"Do you even care about anyone other than yourself?"

His head hung low. Thick, brown curls that I loved so much covered those huge, owl eyes which always seemed to sparkle. Right then, I wanted nothing more than to yank him up by his hair so he could look me in the eye and see the damage he'd caused.