Chapter 10
I sob into Curtis' neck, my entire body shaking violently. If he didn't have his arms wrapped so tightly around me, I would have collapsed by now. It feels so nice to have him holding me like this, but at the same time, I'm terrified; I know that everything is going to change as soon as we're in private.
I hear voices, and my already throbbing head starts to ache even more. Panicking, I break out of Curtis' embrace and escape outside, the cold air stinging my wet face. It's bad enough that one person saw me breaking down; I don't need any of my other teammates seeing me like this.
I hear the door open again, and in an instant, Curtis is beside me again. "No," he tells me, "you aren't leaving yet." He reaches for my hand, and he's clearly upset when I pull it away.
"Please," I beg him, my voice breaking over the word, "I didn't mean to ruin the game, Curtis..."
"Andy," he said, staring worriedly at me, "It's okay. It's
January; it isn't a big deal." Hesitantly, he moves closer to me. I'm torn, because I know that I deserve what is coming--I need it. As his hand slides to the small of my back, I give in; I don't want to fight with him over this. I just want to get it over with.
"Just...please don't hurt me," I plead, my throat aching from the tears, and then collapse against him.
His eyes cloud for a moment, and then he leads me to his car. He starts the engine to get it warm before finally looking at me. His eyes are wide, and the greenish light from the dashboard is reflecting on the tears forming along his lower lashes. "Hurt you? Why would I hurt you?"
I sniffle, "I...I don't know," I lie. Johan hates when I lie, so
I add quietly, "Because I deserve it."
His hand, warm and reassuring despite the way it's trembling, wraps around my cold and clammy fingers. "Over that? It was just a mistake," he whispers, voice gravelly. His thumb rubs circles over my skin, and I feel the tears staring up again. He doesn't understand.
I need him to be mad. As much as I don't want it, I need him to curse at me and to tell me that I ruined things. I need the punishment; it’s as vital as any other part of my training. If he doesn't hit me, he should at least be frustrated with me, annoyed that I gave Colorado the win. My body starts to shake again, and a cold sweat breaks out and trickles down my back. I can feel myself starting to slip into withdrawal; it's like a craving that I can't satisfy. Why doesn't he see that?
"Please, Curtis. Tell me I fucked this up. The loss was my fault, I know it was," I tell him, my voice desperate and hoarse. "I stole a point that we should've had. I was wrong, Curtis. Tell me that. Please," I beg him.
Tears are glistening in his eyes now, and a blink later, they're rolling down his cheeks. He looks scared. Scared. Not angry. Not annoyed. Not violent.
"Say something," a voice too harsh to be my own says, "tell me how bad I am. Tell me what I did wrong. How can I get better if you don't tell me what I can do to get better? Curtis...please..."
"What did they do to you?" he asks, not really wanting an answer. He pulls me into his arms, and I'm too weak to plead anymore. He's crying too, pressing damp kisses to my forehead and whispering my name.
"Who did this to you?" he finally asks, after I've stopped sobbing, moving from desperation into numbness.
He doesn't understand it; he thinks Johan was trying to hurt me. He doesn't know it was to help me get better. I shake my head, knowing I can't say anything about it. He'll take it wrong. I'll get Johan in trouble.
He sighs and presses a kiss to the top of my head. "It'll be okay, Andy," he breathes, and I give in to his warmth. "I promise you. It'll be okay."
I almost let myself believe him.
