𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡

|𝟷𝟾|

Leia Welsh

I'm an absolute disaster.

I glance down at my foot, the scars covering my skin a painful reminder of the accident that left me broken. My vision is blurred, not just from the tears streaming down my cheeks, but from the overwhelming emotions swirling inside me.

The urge to scream and cry is like a physical ache in my chest, but I swallow it down, not wanting to alarm Ari.

I can't bear to look at my scarred foot any longer. I can't stand the sight of my own weakness. With trembling hands, I reach for my phone and send a quick text to Coach Johnson, telling him that I won't be making it to practice today.

I imagine they'll be relieved to have a break from my presence, my negativity.

"Leia, I'm heading to class now," Ari's voice echoes through the dorm, a stark reminder of the normalcy that I can no longer grasp.

I don't respond, just listen as the door clicks shut behind

her. I let out a pathetic sob and bury my face in my knees, The tears keep flowing, hot and salty against my skin.

My body is shaking so violently that I can feel each tremor reverberating through me.

I try to stifle my sobs, but they come out in choked gasps that echo off the walls of the bathroom. I feel like a broken record, stuck on repeat, playing the same sad song over and over again. I want my mom.

"Leia?" Miranda's voice is filled with concern as she sees me crying. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don't bother to wipe away the tears.

"Come inside," she says, her voice soft and soothing as she wraps an arm around me and guides me into the warmth of the living room.

Jorge is sitting in the rocking chair, his face filled with worry as he stands up at the sight of my tear-streaked face. "I'll kill them," he declares, his voice filled with anger as he strides over to the cabinet and fumbles with the lock.

He reaches inside and pulls out his shotgun, causing me to crack a smile through my tears, before bursting into more tears. Jorge, with his shotgun at the ready, ready to take on whoever has upset me. Miranda, with her gentle touch and soothing words. And me, the tear-stained mess in the middle of it all, finding humor in the chaos.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Miranda asks, her fingers gently running through my hair as I rest my head in her lap.

I let out a heavy sigh before responding. "I was at a stupid hockey party—"

"Which asshole was it?" I can see the anger flash in Miranda's eyes as Jorge cocks the gun, but a sharp glare from her stops him in his tracks and he reluctantly puts the weapon away.

"What happened next?"

"They found the damn video of me. I knew it existed, but I never saw it, and seeing myself like that...it made me sick." I trail off, my tears drying up as Miranda continues to stroke my head in a comforting manner.

"It's completely normal to feel that way, honey. You've been through so much already, but you have to keep pushing forward." Miranda's words, though simple, somehow manage to ease the turmoil swirling inside me.

"Now that you're all patched up and looking less like a zombie, care to explain why this lunatic lady was spreading rumors about you coaching a hockey team?" Jorge slouches back into his creaky old rocking chair, a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes.

His auburn hair is now styled back with gel and he's wearing his usual shirt with sweats combo, he's skinny so it's not really a surprise when I see his ribcage through his shirt.