I look at him and grin. “I’m fine.”
I’m not.
In fact, I am on the opposite spectrum, because I’m so panicked that it’s affecting my game, and that never happens.
***
That evening, I lay on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. Technically, I’m scrolling, but at this point, I would be lying if I said that, because I couldn’t tell you anything about the videos I watched in the past hour.
That’s kind of the point ofdoomscrolling,though.
Tilly walks in and sits on the couch, forcing me to get up.
“No, no. Lay back down.”
I look where she’s pointing, then I look back at her in displeasure.
“Lie. Down.” This time, I lie my head down on her lap because I have been through a fair share of Tilly being mad, and I am not in the mood for that version right now.
She runs her fingers through my hair while I just look at her.
She sighs, “Can we talk?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones in the apartment right now, because Matt is on a run with Yana,somehow, and Zara is on a painting walk.
She looks at me disappointed, and it makes my chest ache. I hate that look on her.
Tilly is the kind of person who isalwayssmiling. Her eyes are always shining with mischief, and she has a bounce in her steps. When that smile leaves her face, she is not herself. It’s almost like an alter ego.
I hate that alter ego with my whole being.
I would do anything to get that smile back in place.
It hurts even more that I’m the reason it’s gone.
She takes a deep breath before she starts. “You’ve been acting weird lately. I don’t know why, Luca, but it almost feels like you’re pulling away.”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Just tired.”
She momentarily stops her hands, then continues running her fingers through my hair.
I know I’m making everything worse, but I lost control over my mind long ago.
“You always say that when you’re not fine.”
I look away, but I can feel her eyes on me, and I look back at her. She searches my eyes like she’s looking for the version of me that jokes around and annoys her just for fun.
She won’t find him.
“You’ve been off practice, you barely talk to anyone, and–” she hesitates. “I keep thinking I did something wrong.
Crap.
I sit up and take her face in my hand, guilt burning in my throat. “No, T. You didn’t.” I look at her, making sure she hears every word. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then what is it?” she says quietly. “You can tell me, Luca. You always do.”
