Anastasia

2 - Mercy

  Roman.

  "I don't know if I drank too much or what but I could've sworn I saw a girl all beaten up at your party last night."

I clutch my head, hang it between my knees, and focus on my breathing. I drank way too much if my memories serve as a testament. On top of that, Coach put us through some down right insane drills to celebrate our win last night. His motto is train, train, train. Lose, train hard. Win, train even harder. 

I don't know where he learnt this approach from but I'm holding up a big fuck you to whoever taught my coach. 

"Clearly didn't drink enough if you still remember that," Jordan snorts, ever the life of the party. I always wonder how he's happy and chirpy with a hangover. 

I can almost feel the alcohol churning in my stomach, solidifying the idea I drank too much last night. Toby slams his locker shut and I jerk. I would glare at him if I could narrow my eyes without setting my brain on fire. 

"But you would be correct, that was my sister."

"You don't have a sister," I huff in amusement. In the year I've known him, we've been attached at the hip. I would know if he had a sister. He continues to look at me with his ever present smile and my head rears back. "You have a sister?"

"Yup."

"No."

"Had one my whole life," he nods. This is unbelievable. I'm half considering Jordan's still drunk, spewing lies but he's completely relaxed over the fact he's had a sister this whole time and didn't care to share this information. 

I was always under the impression it was just Jordan living in his house. That would explain the dolled up bathroom that smelt like a candle shop. I assumed Jordan had a knack for interior design. 

"How do I not know you have a sister?"

"I don't know, everyone else does. Your attendance is semi crap. Hers is super crap. You've probably never crossed paths."

"You guys all knew he had a sister?" I ask the team, watching in shock as they all nod. 

"To be fair, half of us had never seen her. I thought Jordan was chatting shit so he didn't seem like a lonely bastard but I saw her last night," Wyatt chimes in.

"I am glad I did. Have you seen her? She's⏤"

"Don't finish that fucking sentence," Jordan snaps, throwing the sweaty shirt he's trained in at Toby. The smell wafts through the air and I hold back my gag. Toby's eyes bulge like he's remembered Jordan's here. 

"I was going to say beautiful. Just like you Jord."

I roll my eyes at Toby. I ask the next question that's been burning on my tongue, partially so a fight doesn't break out in the locker rooms. For the most part our team gets along well. We bond over our love for hockey and keep our issues off the ice. It's only when certain individuals decide to get into a 'who's dick is bigger' competition do we run into issues. Or mention people's sisters clearly. 

That's why we have the three fights a year rule. We blow off our steam and become the best of buds immediately after. We are not wasting one of our fights on an idiotic comment by someone even more idiotic this early on in the year. 

"Have you got any other secret siblings you've been hiding?"

"Just the one."

I nod, still reeling in shock. I know everything there is to know about him. He never stops talking. I could tell you his top five deepest fears off the top of my head and the boy is scared of most things. How did I miss a secret sister in his constant blabber?

The thoughts pushed to the side as bile burns my throat. My head lulls to the side as the need to throw up becomes alarming. "Oh shit, pass me a bucket."

  "Are you sure you're alright? I can bring some more pepto-bismol upstairs. Yeah, that's a good idea and I'll get some more bin bags in case you throw up again."

"For the love of God I'm fine! Please leave me alone," I exclaim, wondering whether I should smother mine or Jordan's face with a pillow. Since I threw up in the locker room he's got the worst case of mama bear. I'm positive he would've carried me out the building if I let him. 

He took me back to my house and has been looking after me ever since. I would appreciate the efforts if he wasn't such a big asshat. 

"Hello," he clicks his finger in my face. "I am trying to remedy your sickness. Nurse you back to health."

"You're not nursing shit. Now leave me alone."

"So unappreciative," he huffs, forcing his hand on my forehead. 

"Touch me again and I'm claiming sexual harassment."

"Maybe I should check your temperature anally."

"No! God no! Go away Jordan."

"Eat your toast Roman," he says in a soothing tone. He holds the plate of food he made for me to my face. It drives me nuts. I feel like screaming. He's become extremely intolerable the last half an hour. I can't take it anymore. 

"Leave me alone," I groan, stuffing my face in my pillow. I've decided I will suffocate myself. It'll be a mercy killing. 

Then he's touching me, again. Holding the buttered toast to my face and I grit my teeth. 

"Jordan," I warn. Maybe I can kill both of us. 

"Eat. Your. Toast."

I sigh, snatching the dry toast out of his hands and ripping off a piece. I start to enjoy the silence when his hands come to the bottom of my shirt. I smack his hands away, shielding my torso with my arms, feeling oddly exposed. 

"Jord! What the hell do you think you are doing now?"

"You felt hot. You need to lower your temperature," he tuts. A disapproving frown fits his face like I'm the one not willing to compromise. He won't leave me the fuck alone. 

"Get the hell out."

"Honestly, you're so overdramatic Roman."

"Stop touching me unconsensually! Now get out."

"Fine," he huffs but I spot the tweak in his lips. Asshole knows what he's doing. He whistles, taking small steps toward the door. 

"I have a key by the way," he mentions, pulling a silver key out of his pocket that I'm confident unlocks my front door. He swings it around his finger, humming a tune under his breath. 

"How the fuck do you have a key?"

He laughs happily, ignoring me. How is this guy my best friend? "Get well soon babes."

"Whatever," I grunt, shoving my duvet down. It's too hot I can feel the heat radiating off me. Sweat starts to bullet down my spine.

Maybe Jordan was right.