Breaking the Ice

twenty-four

When she caught me hugging the toilet the next morning when I should have been in my second block, my mom just let me stay home. I knew she could smell the liquor in the bowl, but she said nothing except that my dad had dropped Alex off at school on his way to work.

The day felt void, like I wasn't really there. Then the day after that felt that way, too. My friends asked worried questions about the bags under my eyes and where I had been yesterday, but I just brushed them off and said that finals were stressing me out and the party had left me hungover. Neither of which were a lie, but neither a complete truth either.

"You look like shit," Jason told me between classes, leaning back on his locker. His hands were stacked with textbooks and papers, and stationary was woven between his fingers. "Is it about Sunday night? You looked really out of it. Is everything—?"

"I'm fine. I don't want to talk about it," I murmured, looking into my locker. The spines of my soft books were creased and well-worn, staring back at me.

Jason hesitated. "Luke... did someone put something in your drink?"

"No, I just drank too much."

A deep breath. "Listen, you were saying some things. Did something happen? Did someone try to—"

I slammed my locker shut, looked right at him. Jase's light eyes narrowed as he clutched his books closer.

"Luke, you called me—"

"I'm fine, nothing happened." I snapped. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Do you want to copy my calc homework?"

All of a sudden, his eyes got soft and knowing. "Yeah. Okay."

After that, I'd tried to do better at screwing my head back on right, but I don't think I'd done that good of a job. I kept spacing out, bumping into things, forgetting my textbooks and homework assignments. During those days, my phone was full of chatter and noise and complaints about the start of finals—but devoid of the only messages I kept looking out for. Whether it's because I wanted them to come in or because of the sinking dread of seeing his name pop up, I wasn't sure. I was getting antsy. It got so bad that during Thursday's practice, Coach Choi felt compelled to pull me aside.

"Are you alright? You haven't been playing your best, Luke," he told me, leaning over the side of the rink. My knees hurt from a gnarly collision with the ice. "Is everything okay at home?"

I spat out my mouthguard. "I'm fine. Just stressed from school, is all."

Coach narrowed his eyes. "If something does happen, please don't hesitate to reach out." His hand came and clapped my shoulder. "I'm here for you, Luke."

I nodded, thanked him, and returned to help run the drills on the ice. Before practice, I'd talked to him about Thomas: mostly disciplinary actions that would likely have to be taken because of his misbehavior. He hadn't technically broken any rules, but we decided it'd be best to suspend him until further notice, especially after I confessed some of the other less-than-pleasant things he'd done. Coach told me he'd do the talking and had seemingly followed through. I'd seen Tom coming into practice, but thankfully never on the rink.

Of course, for the punches I'd confessed to, I didn't get off scot-free either. I ended up having to stay back and clean the rinks after games and practices until winter break—although I thought it was Coach's way of letting me off easy since it was something I'd probably do anyways.

I didn't think I was doing a good job processing everything. I was confused, had been confused, and hadn't gotten any answers before I got more questions. I wasn't sure who Beau was anymore: I couldn't deduce his intentions or his honesty. And then I couldn't deduce what that attempt at sex had been, whether it was an attack stemming from anger or a desperate act of defense... or both. What I understood less was if I wanted it, whether I was a victim for accepting it or a perpetrator for encouraging it or someone's—whose?—hero for stopping it.