Page 13 of Afterglow
Jay was driving when a drunk driver collided with the passenger side. My brother was lucky, only sustaining a mild concussion and broken collarbone, but Allison couldn’t be revived. I’ve told Jay repeatedly it wasn’t his fault but the scars are still there.
Our parents think he was doing extra training sessions before the new ice hockey season started but I knew he was lying his ass off. They know about Jayden’s guilt so my parents never say anything when he does return home for a few days over Christmas or birthdays.
The change of seasons hasn’t deterred the blistering sun, the heat settling on my skin. The walk from my apartment to the campus cafe is ten minutes, which if I look back on, has fuelled my caffeine addiction further.
In high school, I survived off at least three coffees per day. According to my psychologist, I have a caffeine dependency.
So, per Dr Gray’s advice, I’m trying to limit myself to one coffee a day.
This has been extremely hard. My job places me in proximity to coffee for most days of the week.So, I'm always testing my self-control. The second reason is my study load. Despite only being a few weeks into junior year, I’m staying up late to finish assigned class work.
Industrial Psychology is my enemy at the moment as my professor is such a fucking hardass. He is always handing out quizzes, assessments, or anything that makes students cry. Dr Wilson has been in the industry for over thirty years, so I respect him, but I know everyonehateshis class.
The aroma of bitter coffee beans, cinnamon and fresh pastries infuse my senses as I enter Strong Beans. My mouth waters whenever I walk into the cafe. It makes working here much harder as I restrain myself from eating every almond croissant in the display.
My brother, Jayden Allen sticks out like a sore thumb. His frame is larger than your average human at six foot and two inches. It’s no wonder he became an ice hockey player, the loose singlet Jay is wearing leaves nothing to your imagination.
Unfortunately, I would describe my brother as conventionally attractive—sun-kissed skin (of which I will forever be jealous), a mop of curly brown hair and slightly overgrown stubble.
“Hey, Jaz,” Jayden begins, trailing off.
His gaze narrows in on my face, sparking a bundle of nerves to form in my stomach. Jay can see straight through my brave smiles, always knowing when I've skipped sleep to keep studying.
“Have you beensleeping?”
“Yes,”
“You’re a terrible liar. And as your twin, I know when you are full of shit.”
I grind my teeth. “I’m fine. I had to finish an assessment last night and lost track of time. I told you I am getting everything under control this year.”
“So, you found a psychologist?”
“Yes, I did. She is amazing, I promise.”
The affirmations she has me doing are getting ridiculous, I mean today’s was:I strive for joy, not for perfection.Talk about feeling targeted, although facing my bad habits are a part of healing.
I clear my throat. “Anyway, enough about me. How is pre-season training going?” The ice hockey season doesn’t start until early October. Once the team is back from summer break, training begins.
“I’m exhausted and want to vomit after every practice. So, it’s great,”
Laughter bubbles in my chest. “You chose to put yourself through that pain,”
Definitely something I don’t miss about the sport. When we were younger, Jayden and I played on the same team, the Meadow Beach Jets. My brother and my childhood best friend, Willow Rogers, forced me into the sport. After receiving a knock to my head, I concluded ice hockey wasn’t for me.
The hits never stopped my best friend though. The rivalry between Jay and Willow has worsened over the past three years as she plays for a different university. It started when they both played in our local youth hockeyleagues. I was and still am the mediator. Willow is rough, feisty and not afraid to stand on anyone’s toes.
Our conversation continues, discussing plans for the semester. My phone catches the corner of my eye, the time a blaring reminder of my next lecture. Shit. It’s on the other side of campus too.
“I have to go. I have class in ten minutes. I’ll message you later,”
“Sounds good. Remember,” he trails off, waiting for a response.
I should roll my eyes at him. “To sleep. Yeah, I got it.”
Psychology of Physical Activityis one of my electives for the session. Pursuing sports psychology is difficult as there aren’t dedicated subjects to study. I have picked subjects from so many different departments to fulfil my course guidelines. It’s why Theodore and I had so many classes together over the past two years.
I push through the doors of lecture theatre three, my eyes searching the room for an empty spot. My instinct is to choose a seat that is towards the middle of the class as these chairs are in Professor Hart’s eye-line. Pulling out my laptop, I place it on the plastic bench connected to my armrest. Students continue to fill the room, and eventually, the professor enters.
