Lacrosse

22- Faces and Replaces

Kendall

It's halftime and I realize that I haven't even been watching. Sure, my eyes have been on the field, but they haven't been watching. They've just been staring. They've been looking for something to distract me from my thoughts, giving up after realizing that it is futile.

My eyes wander down to the team, huddled around Coach Scott, discussing strategy. That's when I see Josh, staring up at me, his eyes crystal clear puddles of blue. I try to smile at him, but it's no use. The corners of my mouth droop back down in to a frown only a millisecond after faking upwards. He notices and I can see the concern clouding his eyes. Then he reaches his fingers to his eyes, forms his hands in to a heart, and points at me.

I love you.

I repeat the hand signals back to him, and in that moment what has happened to me today drifts away as if it is a cloud in the sky. One second it's there, once second it's gone. But then I realize that it is still there, just it has changed forms. It's the same cloud, you just didn't see it for a second because it moved.

They do their cheer and run on to the field, Josh crouching down on the center line of the field to take the face off, only to stand back upright.

"What's going on?" Destiny asks from next to me, tying her pin-straight red hair into a ponytail at the top of her head.

"I don't know," I reply, looking at what is happening on the field.

Then he does it.

Josh picks his stick up in his hands and whacks at the Pittsburgh Hills player's head. A synchronized ooh goes through the stands.

And then Josh is on top of him, yanking the other player's helmet off of his head and punching his face. Other players around them begin to attack one another, punching each other's helmets and putting their match in a headlock.

"What just happened?" Rachel questions, a look of utter shock crossing her face.

"Josh never fights," Destiny murmurs.

She's right. Josh never fights unless one thing happens- somebody talks about me.
And somehow I figure it all out in this very moment. I figure out the origin of the aggression. That's the guy. That's the Pittsburgh Hills player that attacked me in the equipment room before the game started, and he said something about it to Josh. It's the only explanation.

A few rows in front of me, a group of guys start throwing drinks in each other's faces, leading to spitting and, finally, punching. More of these scuffles begin break out across the bleachers between the two team's fans.

I look back on the field, where many of the minor fights have broken up. But not Josh's. He's still on top of my attacker, beating him up. Until Andrew pulls him off, dragging him over to the bench. I hear shouting between Josh and I assume Scott, but what they're saying I cannot comprehend.

Josh suddenly storms out of the gate, walking off the field and towards the parking lot.

"I've got to go," I mutter, standing up, grabbing my bag from my feet, and taking the stairs leading down the bleachers two at a time.

By the time I reach the pavement the bleachers stand on, Josh is nearly to the parking lot. I begin to run, my bag whacking my legs and my sandals slapping my heels as I go.

"Josh!" I yell. I'm almost to where he is standing, stopped, just staring at the parking lot. "Josh!"

He hears my call and turns around, his face distorted in anger, but softening upon seeing me.

I keep running, finally reaching him, and stop about a foot in front of him. The thought of our bodies touching each other in any way sends goosebumps across my body, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing up.

"It was him," I say quietly, "wasn't it?"

Josh simply nods his head, turning to look away from me. I can see the cuts in his cheekbones from this angle, not too deep, but deep enough that blood has dripped from it. His lip is cut on this side, blood already dried in the opening.

"I was going to kill him. I wanted to. I had my hands around his throat and I was strangling him. I could see his face turn purple and I didn't care. It was like something had possessed me. I didn't care about anything but seeing him suffer," he explains. He turns toward the building that contains the concession stand, bathrooms, and abandoned equipment room on the other side, and punches it. His hand connects with the concrete and pain crosses his face, but disappears after just a moment, and he punches the wall again.

And again.

And again.

"I wanted to kill him for what he said. For what he did. I think I would have too if Andrew hasn't stopped me."

"It's a good thing Andrew stopped you then," I say. "Whoever that guy is isn't worth you spending your life in prison for."

"What are we going to do? I can't even hold your hand without you thinking about what he did. How are we going to explain why we don't touch each other anymore to the people at school without telling them what happened? What are you going to tell you parents when they ask you what happened when they were gone?" Josh asks, and I truly don't know how to answer. It all just seems like such a long time from now that we'll have to deal with that, but it's not. I haven't even thought about what I'm going to tell people. What I'm going to tell my parents. I guess I'll just stick to my sick story, but explaining what's going to happen to my relationship with Josh is different. It's all going to be different. The thought of touching him makes me think of the hands, running up and down my body.

But I'm not going to let it stop me, stop us. He can't take away Josh from me. He can't take away our love. I won't let him. I refuse to let him have that satisfaction.

It takes all the will power in my body to do it, but I do. Somehow, I manage to stand up on my tip toes and press my lips to Josh's. Somehow, I fight the strength to wrap my arms around his waist. Somehow, I find a way to fight back the urge to run away when his hands cup my face.

But it needs to happen, and it does.

And as it does, the images from what I could see of my rape are erased. They get darker and darker, fading away in to a distant memory. I forget the feeling of the other boy's lips on mine and replace it with the familiar feeling of Josh's. I forget the feeling go the other boy's hands on me and replace it with the familiar feeling of Josh's.

Until the whole thing seems like nothing more than a distant nightmare from my childhood, when it was really only a mere hour or so ago.