Ian
Ileave another voicemail message. It’s the fourth one, but he’s still not picking up. I can understand him not answering Ryan’s calls, even though I was hoping that hearing his voice would make him reason, but he’s not answering me either.God Nick! How much of a dick are you?
Before putting away my cell phone, I check for new messages. I left her my number. She said she had erased it from her memory and from her phone book.
I made note of that too.
She wasn’t too convinced, but in the end, she took it down. Obviously, she hasn’t written, called. Nothing.
It’s better this way. One less problem to think about. I’ve got enough on my mind these days.
Better this way, I repeat through clenched teeth.
I stayed with her for as long as I could before realising in her eyes that she needed me to leave: and then I granted her wish. I would have stayed longer, talked about things, tried to understand, but she didn’t feel the same.
I have to confess that, as a first meeting, it didn’t go too badly.
Actually, it was a complete disaster.
The truth is that I didn’t want to leave her, a part of me felt that if I did, I wouldn’t see her again. And maybe that would have been a good thing, stopping everything before I self-destructed, but it would appear we’ve gone past that point, and I know where it leads.
Because I’ve already seen this play out, and I know how it ends.
She’ll disappear just as suddenly as she appeared a year ago. I’ll make her run away because I won’t be able to keep her here. And I’ll be left alone again, drowning in a sea of regret, unspoken words, and suffocating sighs.
She’ll take everything with her. She’ll slide under my skin, she’ll suck my blood dry and she’ll leave me for dead on the sand, and the tide will wash up my empty, useless body.
That’s what I’ve been, and what I still am.
That’s what she’s done to me.
I ask myself what the hell is going on, what has happened to her life. I can’t help but wondering why I wasn’t there. Why I have denied myself of her. Why I stood back when all I should have done was ask her to stay.
Two simple words:Please stay.
It’s not so hard.
“Hey, Ian.” John sticks his head out. “Coach is looking for you.”
I head back to the gym where the team is going through their morning workout. I walk through the room where the guys are lifting weights, dividing into groups with their trainers, who push them to their limits. As I approach the coach’s office, he gestures me inside.
I sit down in front of him as he finishes up a phone call, drumming his fingers nervously on the desk. When he hangs up, he sighs heavily, before looking at me with a serious expression.
“Well, kid,” he says, resting his back on the seat and folding his hands. “Is there something you want to talk to me about?”
I look at him doubtfully. “We’re ready, just like always.”
“I’m not talking about the team.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re distracted. You’re tired. It’s clear that your head is somewhere else.”
“I didn’t sleep very well last night, but I’m still focused on what needs to be done.”
“And that’s why you got tackled three times today?”
I shrug. “It was just practice,” I justify, miserably.
