I knew she wasn’t cheering. My head dropped to my left side, and her expression, through the drops, was troubled—a kind of troubled I didn’t know she could conjure since she was always creating trouble in my life.
For a split second, I thought of the edges of my organs, how far they’d expand, and what my kindness towards her could do to me. If she was the one, she would die, and if she wasn’t, she would still die.
Loving her was a dooming fate that I wasn’t ready to accept, so until then, my heart was going to stay small and my kindness limited.
I heard the buzzer go off, and I still felt unmotivated to get up, to be anything vertical. I pushed my helmet off and let my arm fall back down, not caring where the helmet went.
We had lost for the second time in the season to Exeter, and our chances of being in the finale was slimmer than Kate’s waistline.
Nyx offered his hand, dangling it lazily, unmotivated like me. We weren’t losers; we didn’t know how to lose gracefully.
“They didn’t play by the rules. You should have let me break them too.”
I could hear the anger in his voice. It wasn’t directed at me, so I didn’t care. The whole game, Nyx wanted to use the parts of him that weren’t human, the parts the circle hid, and the parts that were unexplainable. His strength wasn’t something that the crowd on both sides of us were going to overlook, but he was convinced the pounding we took was at the hands of Caellum’s abilities.
“You know the rules. I’m not dealing with Alba’s shit.”
I slapped his hand away, finally getting up, and when I did, my eyes locked on Arianna.
Looking away wasn’t an option, she wasn’t some girl or a quick fuck.
She was a queen that I hadn’t taken as my own yet, but she still demanded the respect of royalty.
I wasn’t in the mood for the troubled expression she wore the whole game or the questions I knew she wanted to ask, but didn’t know how.
Henry Jon’s journal begged more questions than answers, but at least it was historic and proved I wasn’t a crock of shit if she wasn’t going to believe me.
I couldn’t believe how much control she was hosting in her rebellious tongue. She hadn’t asked me one stupid question or made one stupid remark. She was all intimacy, open wounds, and emotions that I wouldn’t understand in the same way people around me did.
Instead of intimacy, I saw sex.
Instead of open wounds, I saw fear.
Instead of emotions, I saw annoyance.
I was, in essence, in a teenage body made of things that didn’t belong here.
I pushed right by Arianna, leaving her wanting things I couldn’t give her—not on my highest high or even this crippling fucking low.
I heard her voice beg for attention: “Bolton, are you—”
It was smart of her to cut herself off from finishing that sentence. The answer wouldn’t have been pleasant.
I didn’t shower until everyone left the locker room, wearing our loss longer than anyone else. I threw my pads in the bin in the corner on top of the pile and let my jersey pollute the floor, just like I would have in my room.
My body was covered in moisture, rain, and sweat dancing on my skin, as I walked to the showers naked. I wasn’t shy. My body was a temple, a host, and one I took pride in.
Perfect was a way to be as close to my true form as possible.
Twisting the knob all the way to the right, I didn't even wait for it to heat up when I pushed myself under its unforgiving spray. It lashed my skin in a punishing way that I let myself deserve—not for long, just enough to get a grip and move on.
There was nothing I could do now. None of us controlled time.
As soon as I twisted the water off, the dripping showerhead echoed against someone else in the room. Shaking my head, I pushed my palms back squeezing the excess moisture from my hair.
It was a locker room—no locks, no privacy. Whoever was there wasn't going to possibly make my mood worse… unless you had purple hair, pretended to hate me, and was now making risky decisions in order to please me.
She was bowing to me as king, and if we hadn’t just lost, I would have been laughing at her subordinate behavior.
I rounded the corner, leaving the shower stalls behind me, when I saw Arianna straddling the long bench taking up the only space between the rows of lockers. Her legs were as wide apart as could be and her arms straight with her palms flat against the wood, the only thing blocking the view of her panties.
“Can I help you?”
I had to pretend to not care she was there or that I was now thinking of her panties.
“I wanted to check on you.”
She was looking down the whole time the sentence fell out of her mouth, like she wouldn't admit to worrying about me. When she finally looked up, her cheeks turned a deep red, like she had just ran a mile in under seven minutes, when she realized that I was only in a towel.
“Checked on. Done. Anything else, Arianna? I kind of need to change.”
She didn't move, except for her eyes, which looked down again. My once tough-as-nails, firecracker, queen material looked a lot like average instead.
She had questions floating around in her head, so many I could clearly sense them battling for space.
“I dreamed you killed me.”
She stood up slowly, still trying to not make eye contact after staring at me for two hours straight on the field.
“Did you learn anything from Henry Jon?”
I wasn't waiting for her to leave to tug my towel off and change. I had been naked and in a towel long enough.
I was done wearing the loss. I stayed facing my locker, trying to be modest, as I stood there completely naked in front of an already blushing girl. I pulled my boxers on first, making sure I didn't kill her here and now.
“A lot of useless things. Things that don't explain you… or us.”
I pushed past, her zipping up my black hoodie and pulling the hood up to cover my still wet hair. “That book is us.”
I could tell by the look on her face that I was confusing her, and she didn't like being toyed with that way.
“What does that mean? Why can't you ever just say what you mean? I don't need a riddle.”
I walked past her enough to lean over and let my low tone hit her ear, “What's the fun in dying, if I tell you when and where?”
Leaving her there to ponder more riddles was an asshole move, I know. I should just come clean, but I already said enough—enough to get me in trouble with the wrong people, like the circle.
I wanted to tell her everything: about the ritual, about the circle, explain Henry Jon was our love story’s first documentation, and explain this probably wouldn't be the last time she forgot and I had to force her to remember.
Luckily, everyone else in the circle got a turn, so I didn't have to repeat our history being reenacted over and over each year.
I was always prepared, but I wasn't expecting to relive her anytime soon. Once Rosalia, Clementine, Isabella, Florence… she had had many different names, but only one person was brave enough to transcribe our encounters: Henry Jon.
It took me years to find that book and to have something to hold onto in her absence.
There was no pizza after this game, not that I would be caught dead rewarding myself with anything after a game like that. Even the wins, I would celebrate alone in my room, contemplating how many more times I'd be forced to do senior year over.