The Turnover - Luke Hughes

Chapter 10

Winter 2023 - January

Luke woke up, staring at the ceiling above him. He reached an arm over to the table beside his bed and checked his phone.

11:32am.

Everything in his body hurt, he didn't even want to move, but he got up anyway. He rolled out of bed, popping his knees and searching on his bedroom floor for a pair of shorts to put on. Luke found a gray pair of sweat shorts and pulled them on, walking into the bathroom adjacent to his room.

He quickly hopped in the shower and washed off. He stepped out onto the bath mat, drying his mess of brown curls on his head, then the rest of his body. He wrapped the towel around his waist, standing at the bathroom vanity to brush his teeth. Luke brought his hands up to his forehead, attempting to soothe the dull ache that resided there. He walked back into his bedroom, hearing the distant voice of Ethan, his roommate, talking on the phone to someone in the living room.

Luke had practice later today. God, he hated practices on Sunday. And this hangover was not helping his situation. He opened his dresser drawer, pulling out a "Go Blue" hoodie and a pair of black joggers. He got dressed and went to open his door, but his hand stopped right before he grabbed the knob.

Then it hit him.

Like a fucking train, it hit him.

He pulled his hand back from the door knob, not being able to breathe. Luke grabbed his chest.

He remembered every bit of it. Everything that happened. He had gotten plastered and crashed Ana's birthday party. She didn't want him there. He didn't want her dancing with Luca. He said horrible things to her. He fucking kissed her. He said he hated her. He was jealous. He was angry and hurting. He said things he would have never said to her, if his life depended on it.

But he did. He said all of those things.

Luke's blood pounded in his ears. His heart thudded in his chest. His hands shook. His vision disfigured, as if he were looking through frosted glass. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. The room swayed, so he sat down and put his head between his knees. Luke took deep breaths.

Anxiety. Luke knew it well. Just breathe, he told himself. That's what his mother always told him. Just breathe. That's what Ana always told him. But the walls were closing in, and he was suffocating. He felt sick to his stomach.

How was he supposed to breathe? It's as if there was no air left. His mother and Ana didn't know what they were talking about. Luke tried to stand up, but when he did, he felt sharp pains in his chest. His vision tunneled and he collapsed onto his bed, sobbing. He tried to tell himself it was just a dream. That he was being stupid. But that only made it worse.

He felt like he was going to die. And he hated himself for it. For everything.

After several minutes of agony, his heart finally slowed, and he was able to catch his breath. He loosened his grip he had on his sheets, relaxing his once-tense body. He felt nothing but regret and despair for what happened last night.

His panic attacks had been bad since he and Ana broke up. She was his lifeline when he had them, always there to bring him back. Ana and his mom were the only ones who knew. Thus, managing them on his own had been difficult.

He slowly got up from his bed once again, walking into his bathroom. He gripped the edge of the counter, then splashed cold water on his face.

Luke collected himself, reminding himself to keep breathing. He checked his phone, knowing he had to get going soon for practice. He grabbed his hockey bag and other gear, finished getting dressed and left his bedroom to meet Ethan in the living room. He exchanged casual conversation with Ethan before heading out the door to drive to the rink.