Page 145 of Holding On

"You're not going to kiss me?" She smiles and kisses me again. "Is this some kind of game? Ethan plays hard to get?" She laughs a little. "If so, then I'm up for it. Does that mean I get to be in charge?"

Her hand goes over my bare chest, then down to the waistband of my shorts.

"Stop," I mutter.

I'm numb, my body not even reacting to what she's doing to me.

"What?" She leans back and looks at me.

"Stop touching me. I need you to leave."

She's quiet, studying my face, which I'm sure shows nothing. No expression. No emotion. Because that's how I feel right now. I've shut down. I feel nothing.

"Ethan, what's going on?"

"Leave. Please." I sound like a robot, my voice expressing the numbness I feel inside.

"Tell me what's wrong." Her voice is quiet, concerned.

I say nothing, my eyes focused on the wall behind her.

"Please say something," she says. "You're worrying me."

"It's nothing. I just need time to think." I pick her up off my lap and set her beside me. "Could you grab my crutches?"

She goes to get them and hands them to me. "What happened? Is it your leg?"

"I need to be alone right now. I'll call you later." I go into the bathroom.

She follows me. "So you're making me leave?" She's pissed. I can hear it in her voice, and when I turn to look at her, I see her standing there with her arms crossed. It reminds of when I first met her and kept pissing her off. I didn't mean to do that today but I can't talk to her right now.

"I'm sorry, but—"

"Sorry? That's all you have to say? You're not going to explain what's going on?"

I close my eyes and breathe, my head pounding. I used to never get headaches, but since the accident I get them all the time. But then I met Becca and they went away. Until now.

"You're not going to tell me what's wrong? You're just kicking me out?" When I don't answer, she turns to leave. "I can't believe this. I knew you'd do this. Everyone told me you would."

Do what? What is she talking about?

I can't worry about it. Not now. I'll talk to her later.

She leaves, slamming the door behind her. I return to the bed and lie there, my head throbbing, the accident replaying in my head in between images of me on the field, crowds cheering for me, money being rained down on me. It's not fair. Why did I survive and they didn't? Is it because I'm meant to play football? A stupid, meaningless game?

Hours later, I fall into a deep sleep and don't wake until morning.

"Get your ass up," I hear Jackson say.

I open my eyes and see him standing by my bed. I squint from the sun coming through the window. Jackson must've opened the blinds.

"Get out," I say, burying my head in a pillow to shield myself from the light.

"Coach wants us in the gym in a half hour." He yanks my sheet back. "So get your ass up."

"Practice hasn't even started," I mumble. "We're not required to be there."

"Yeah, but we said we would and I need to get on Coach's good side. He's already giving me shit about drinking."

---