"What do you get?"
"You just wanted an excuse to hit me."
My brow furrows with confusion. "Saige…you don't really think I want to hit you, do you?"
"I mean…" She shrugs. "Yeah, I kind of do. It's not like it would be the first time."
"That's not really why I do that. It's not like I want to beat you up or something. And if I did, well…you're the size of a flea, so I guess I would have done it by now, right?"
"Is that supposed to comfort me?" she asks as she skates toward the goal.
"Yeah, doesn't it? If I were going to physically hurt you, it would have already happened. You've certainly fucking asked for it."
"I haven't asked for shit!"
"You want to know why I do the things I do to you? It's because it makes my dick hard."
"Jesus, Elias…" She shakes her head. "Insidefuckingthoughts. I told you to keep that shit to yourself."
I shake my head. "Whatever."
But then I freeze. Because she's fucking lying.
If she remembersinside thoughts, then she remembers everything else that happened that night. She remembers kissing me. And she's faking it.
It pisses me off.
I think she realizes her mistake because she quickly starts talking about something else, likely to distract me.
"When was the last time you played?"
"I haven't even been on skates since the accident, Saige," I tell her. "Nothing made me want to. Except for you. I wanted to do it with you—not because I want to hit you. I just want to be with you."
"Elias—"
"Don't tell me it's an inside thought. Are you ready?"
She nods. "I guess so."
I skate around for a while, just trying to get used to handling the puck again while I try to calm the fuck down a little. But rage always served me well in sports, and it seems to be serving me well now.
There isn't much to get used to. It's like riding a bike. I feel at home on the ice. I feel sharp.
I feel like a version of myself who's almost impossible to stomach now. Ah, well. Moment of truth, I guess.
I skate the puck to the center of the ice, pull back, and swing hard, sending the puck flying toward Saige and the net. She steps aside and lets it hit dead-center.
And I feel…nothing. I'm fine. Just like Saige said I was.
But I only hit it once. What would happen if I did that same motion two hundred or three hundred times? A thousand fucking times?
Even if your arm fell off, it would be worth it, the voice in my head says.
It sounds a lot like me.
"You have to at least try to block it," I tell her.
"I told you I wasn't the person for this job. How does your shoulder feel?"
