Post Olympic

crush

bonjour and welcome to chapter 51, where I assure you, you'll want to murder me after this. Sorry not sorry. Also yeah, I'm posting like 8 hours early, shush

OKAY UPDATE: they're in the playoffs, yeah yeah, dope as hell. it's first round of playoffs

PLAYOFFS: 16 teams compete in four rounds of playoffs. Sixteen to eight, eight to four, four to two. 

Oooh, vocab: Kronwalled: obliterated via check

MUSIC: The Good Parts - Andy Grammer

-rabid

******************

We avoid each other.

We don't even make eye contact.

Nothing.

Never.

It's completely my fault. I've been avoiding him because I don't know what I'm going to say either. He makes me more nervous now than he ever has.

I've been numb-ish for eight weeks. It's like I'm staring at my life through frosted glass. It's blurry at the edges, I know what's going on, but any emotions just don't make any sense to me. I feel worthless all the time. Worthless, stupid, annoying. I don't think I've done anything but coach in three weeks. I don't even think I've even slept. Sleeping means dreaming. Dreaming means unrest. I'm sick of this. I'm so sick of it.

"Game time." Hadley hops up onto the bench next to me.

"Game time." I agree. We're in the playoffs now, and this is history in the making. The news has been going wild, the team that never wins is winning. The kid that never fights is fighting. The guy that never scores is scoring. We're playing Boston in the first round, I guess that's okay. 

Yeti Rex lights it up ten minutes in. One goal up and we're rolling.

The first break is wild. We run them through their ups and downs and then throw them back out there.

They're fire through the whole second period, back and forth they're incredible. Our ten fans at the beginning of the season has increased to fifteen.

Ireland hits the top of the net at the end of the second and we're up two.

It's incredible. They're playing like I need them to. They've become the salsa.

That is until the third period. They're playing amazing still, but something is off.

I see it. Fenrir is getting loose. He's like a firework about to go off. A bomb. He's got almost 100 points on the season, he just wants a few more. He's playing for the tomato not the salsa.

"Get Von Albrecht off the ice." I poke Hadley. "He's getting weird."

"He's fine."

"He's going to do something stupid."

"Have faith, just a bit longer."

But I was right. He's not where he should be, he's needling for a pass from Yeti, and he's hanging too close to the goal. He's playing to score, not to help his team. He's playing with ego.

He's about to get Kronwalled. He's about to get absolutely obliterated.

"SAUERKRAUT!" I holler. Hadley is yelling too. I don't think he knows. It happens so slowly. Each tiny movement pushing a knife further into me. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD.

It's meaningless. The word flies around my head.

FENRIR IS DEAD. FENRIR IS DEAD. FENRIR IS DEAD. FENRIR IS DEAD.

DEAD.

DEAD.

DEAD.

DEAD.

He was thrown, against the boards.

Ruthless.

I watched his body crush like a can.

I watched the guy I'd grown to love crumple to the ice.

I watched a skate blade dig into his stomach.

I watched him scream.

And now I'm next to him, next to Jorgen, next to Hadley.

And now I'm watching blood spill onto the ice, red blood.

Red like the eyes.

Too red.

I reach out to him, his helmet knocked off, his hair is full of snow. He looks old, ancient. I set my fingers on his cheek, warm, he's still warm.

"Fen," I mumble, his eyes drift up to mine. His seashore eyes. Eyes I won't see again. Deep eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

If only I wasn't so stupid, I could've kept him. I could've had him before he left.