I was sitting on the bench, staring at my cleats, lost in thought. Patrick’s footsteps came up next to me. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat down quietly. I was hoping he’d let it go—whatever he thought was wrong with me. But Patrick was always the type to notice when things weren’t right, and he wasn’t going anywhere.
“You seem kinda... off,” Patrick finally said, keeping his voice low. “Is everything okay?”
I shrugged, not wanting to get into it. “Yeah. Just tired, I guess.”
He kept looking at me, waiting like he knew there was more. I could tell he wasn’t going to let this slide so easily.
“You don’t have to act fine all the time,” he said. “Even the strongest people go through stuff.”
I took a deep breath, feeling this tightness in my chest. “I’m good, really. It’s... just some old stuff that’s bothering me.” I wasn’t sure how to explain it without sounding like a mess.
Patrick reached out, giving my shoulder a quick, supportive squeeze. But then he put his hand on my leg, and suddenly, I felt this rush of panic.
A flashback hit me, like a wave that I didn’t see coming. I remembered the camp—those cold walls, the yelling, people grabbing me, pushing me down, telling me to sit still, to behave. I could feel my heart race, like I was back there, trapped. My breathing got heavy, and I could barely think straight.
“Harrison?” Patrick’s voice pulled me back, sounding worried. His hand was off my leg the second he noticed my reaction. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
I shook my head, trying to calm myself. “It’s not you, Patrick. It’s... me. Sometimes... stuff from the past just sneaks up on me.”
He looked at me with this serious, concerned expression. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I’m here if you need to talk. Or even if you just want someone to sit with you. No questions asked.”
It was hard to admit, but it actually made me feel a bit better. “Thanks,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded. “Anytime, man.”
We just sat there in silence after that.
