CHANGE- uswnt

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I was mad. The rage was eating me up from the inside out. My stomach was hurting, the feeling so similar to nausea or cramps but completely different and recognizable. Today, my anxiety beat me. And when it beats me, it doesn't ever stop throwing punches until I'm weak enough for my legs to shake and my head to throb.

I wasn't playing good. I had fucked up the passing patterns we had done, stayed in the middle of the rondo for atleast 5 minutes, my team had lost in the scrimmage. It was undeniably my fault. I hated feeling like an outlier.

I scramble onto the bus, head held low and my faces flush red. My AirPods were already in. Mallory sits next to me. "Tough day, bud?" She genuinely asked. She wasn't near me most of the day as she was working with the goalies for most of the practice. I shrug. "C'mon, just tell me how it went." She says with a glint of confusion in her eyes.

I shake my head, staring straight ahead, pretending I didn't hear her. My jaw is clenched so tight it aches, but I don't loosen it. If I do, I might say something I'll regret. Or worse, my voice might crack, and I refuse to let that happen. Not here. Not now.

Mal doesn't push, at least not right away. She just sits there, waiting, like she has all the time in the world. The silence between us stretches, thick and heavy, pressing down on my chest. My fingers dig into my sleeves, gripping the fabric like it's the only thing keeping me grounded.

After a minute, Mal exhales, long and slow. "You don't have to talk," she says finally, her voice quieter now. "But I can tell you're pissed."

No shit.

I swallow hard, still staring out the window. The city blurs past, but I don't really see it. My mind is still back on the field, replaying every mistake, every fumble, every moment I made a fool of myself. It's like a highlight reel of failure, looping over and over again until my stomach twists so tight I think I might be sick.

Mal shifts next to me. "I get it," she says, and something about the way she says it makes my throat burn. "I know what it's like to feel like you're the worst one out there. Like you're just waiting for someone to finally say it out loud."

My fingers twitch, my whole body stiffening. I hate that she's right. I hate that she can see straight through me like I'm an open book.

But I don't want to talk about it.

So I don't.

Instead, I sink further into my seat, pressing my forehead against the window, letting the cool glass soothe my overheated skin. I pretend I don't hear the concern in Mal's voice. I pretend I don't care. I pretend that maybe, if I stay quiet long enough, she'll just let it go.

Mal doesn't say anything else for a while. The bus rumbles beneath us, the low hum of conversation filling the space, but I tune it all out. My AirPods aren't even playing anything—I just need the illusion of distance, like I can cut myself off from everything that happened today.

But Mal isn't dumb. She knows I'm in my own head, and she's not going to let me stay there forever.

"You know," she says eventually, her tone casual, "if you keep staring out that window any harder, you might actually break the glass."

I don't laugh. I don't even smile. I just shift slightly, pulling my hoodie up over my hands, trying to shrink into myself.

Mal sighs. "Maddy."

I grit my teeth. "Can we not do this right now?"

Her eyebrows lift, but she doesn't look offended. Just... patient. Which somehow makes it worse.

"Fine," she says, leaning back. "We don't have to talk about it. But I hope you know that you're not fooling anyone."

I finally turn to look at her, and for the first time all day, I don't see teasing or amusement in her eyes. Just understanding. It makes something in my chest tighten.