Just like toilet paper.
It had been five days. I should stop checking for a possible reply. But my fingers still moved on their own accord, and before I could curb the urge, I was staring at the last drunken-like messages Callan sent to me, just like I had done a million times already.
I scrolled down to the ones I sent over the last few days that still hadn’t gotten a reply.
I was already aware of this lack of replies, but still, the hot coil of pain and embarrassment wrapped around my ribs again, making it hard to breathe.
How could I have been so carried away, forgetting I was always meant to dream only? How deeply did I sleep that I dreamt of a man like Callan Raskov being mine?
The corners of my eyes itched, and my nose flared gently as something heavy suddenly lodged into my throat. I wanted to cry. For the first time, I felt like shedding a tear because someone I liked may not have felt the same. But my fingers clenched around the railing of the terrace instead, nails digging into the cool metal.
“Don’t cry,” I murmured to myself. “Big girls don’t cry.”
Big girls don’t cry.
I looked down at the football field, watching the players go in and out of their locker room, preparing for another game. Lochborne’s Vanguard was listed for the Nationals. So they had been training non-stop, even skipping classes.
They would rather die than to lose to The Red Comets–the very competitive team from our rival school.
The captain of Red Comets, Ivan McCormick, was signed by Cetlic, one of Scotland’s popular football clubs last year. The co-captain was also rumoured to be playing for Tottenham Hotspur soon. Yes, in the real sense, Vanguard had no reason going head to head with them. But if there was one quality Vanguard had, it was resilience. ‘Professionalism doesn’t equal victory,’was what Kenzo told me the last time I asked if they were sure of this win.
Soft laughter and chatter drifted across the field, invading my thoughts. I stared at them, all vibrant and energetic. They looked so happy and free.
But here I was, a canvas of despair. I didn’t even know what freedom looked like even if it was painted for me.
I was so jealous of them, frustrated, even. I felt like I wanted to…die.
Callan wasn’t there. He would have replied to the countless“Are you there?”that I had sent. He wouldn’t have switched off the only one out of all his phones whose number I had.
Maybe he realised I was just a nuisance. Mother did say no man would ever pick me, not when I was broken and carried this darkness inside me. He said they would run the moment they caught a glimpse of my black blood. Maybe Callan found out and ran.
I looked down at the field again. It was at least 25 feet tall. If I jumped now, made sure I angled myself in a way where my head would make the biggest impact, my skull would crack, blood would flow to my brain…I would die.
I didn’t know much about physics. How do I jump in a way that my head would hit the ground first? I wanted to die, but I didn’t want my last memory to be a prolonged, excruciating pain. I wanted to die a quick, fleeting, in-a-blink-of-an-eye, death
I clenched the railing tighter. Felt the pressure building on my arm. I could swear I felt my legs lifting off the floor. But the sudden shouts across the field distracted me.
It was a normal thing to hear football players shouting. So I wanted to ignore it at first, but the movement below me felt off.
The boys that were littered across the field just now–with some doing warm ups and a few passing balls to while away time–were suddenly all rushing to the locker room in numbers. The current of the noise rose, and anxiety wove into my body.
I hadn’t spotted Kenzo since I came up. I had thought he was taking his sweet time to change into his jersey.
Thinking of Kenzo being in the middle of whatever was happening there made my stomach sink. I leaned off the railing immediately, my feet flying off the ground as I headed for the exit of the terrace. I took the stairs two at a time, three if I wasn’t miscalculating.
The bell for the first period after lunch break went off, but it echoed like it was coming from inside a glass. I ignored it, dashing straight for the locker room.
And there, I found that crowds were gathering. And they were either just too amused to intervene on what was happening, or too scared to make a move.
I didn’t care. All I could think about was that my friend could be stuck helplessly in the middle of what could be happening there. So I pushed through them, muttering, ‘excuseme,’to anyone on my path.
Finally exiting the crowd, I found two figures tangled, one throwing punches, the other trying to escape the punches but failing miserably.
It took me all of a heartbeat to finally recognise the one throwing punches and the one receiving the punches.
My breath punched out of me.
“K-kenzo?” My voice vanished under the sound of fist cracking someone’s jaw. I tried to move, but my legs suddenly felt too heavy.
