Not exactly.
Something closer to shame.
Because I had him first.
Or almost.
I had the spark.
The history.
The thing he still looked at me with.
And what did I do with it?
I told him to leave me alone.
I chose silence.
Distance.
Control.
And then I stood back while another girl—a smarter girl, maybe, or just braver walked right into the space I vacated and saidmine.
I hate her for it.
I hate myself more.
The curtain moves again. A shadow shifting.
I step back fast this time and nearly bump into the trainer’s rolling stool.
“Need help?”
I jump.
The trainer at the desk is looking at me over the rims of her glasses.
I force my face into something neutral.
“No. I got it.”
My voice sounds normal.
I hate that too.
I walk out of the training room with the ice sleeve draped over my shoulder like that’s all I came for.
The hallway outside is cool and bright and full of students moving through their day like nobody’s life just cracked open behind a blue curtain.
I keep walking.
Past the cardio room.
Past the hydro tubs.
Past the glass wall where men’s basketball is running half-court sets.
