Page 9 of Skating Towards Danger

I allow a few tears to fall before quickly wiping them away, then I pick up speed again and close my eyes, willing myself to get lost in the moment while visions of my beautiful baby brother fill me, and I wonder what he'd look like now and if whether he would have been happy.

I let the music guide me before I begin with the axel jumps again. This time, instead of slowing down or going into the jump again, I change into the mohawk, changing direction before going back into the axel jump, ending perfectly with my left leg out straight behind me and my arms spread wide, my body half bent and again instead of stopping. I twist on my skate, bringing my left leg down and pick up speed again going backward and begin a dance I performed with my Momma when I was seven, just before she had found out she was pregnant with Royal and without thinking too much of it, I let the memories wash overme, pretending they're watching as I bring myself into the spin, bending backward slightly.

“That’s it Paige, well done sweetheart, I knew you could do it,” Momma cheers and happiness fills me.

I squeeze my eyes tight and swing my arms round into a spin pretending she’s cheering me on.

I skate for over an hour before I stop in the middle of the rink, breathing hard. My back feels wet, my breathing choppy, yet I feel free and hate myself for it.

“Fuck that was amazing,” a voice says, and I jump, looking over to the left of me where the hockey players' seats are, and lock eyes with Rhett's dark brown ones.

Crap. He always has a way of being here when I’m here.

I swallow hard and mumble, “Thanks,” before skating over to the stands where my bag is and Rhett says, “I didn't want to disturb you, but your phone has been vibrating for the past five minutes.”

Ah double crap. I groan and drop my head, making him chuckle.

“It's probably Uncle Rocco,” I say, and he hums, knowing it is.

I don't know Rhett well, only that he's the goalie for the Jaguars. His parents are close to my aunt and uncle, and he apparently knew my momma and daddy very well, which is why I've kept my distance.

Anyone who knew my parents well, I keep a wide berth. Even after fifteen years, I still can't manage to hear stories about them. While yes, it's nice to know they were loved, it's hard for me because it's my fault they are dead, or that’s what my head and heart has convinced me since I woke up in the hospital.

They came to my practice, they stayed the whole time.

It's my fault, mine and skating.

“I did message him and let him know you were skating and in your own world before he decided to send out the whole police force,” Rhett says, and I nod.

“Thank you,” I mutter, he hums again and sits beside me as I take a seat and unlace my skates.

I notice Rhett's eyes go to my left forearm, but I ignore him and continue changing my skates for my sneakers.

I remember the first time he saw my tattoo. He and his family came to dinner. I had just quit skating for good and I hated the world. He asked if it was a marker because I was only sixteen but soon scowled and demanded to know if it was a boyfriend's name when Aunt Tyra admitted it wasn’t fake. I just snorted but never confirmed or denied it.

I begged Aunt Tyra to let me get it, and she didn't hesitate, and while yes, it hurt like a bitch, I'm glad I got it.

Royal

Having my brother's name large on the inside of my upper forearm was the best decision I ever made, and I've made some pretty poor choices since losing my parents.

After waking up in the hospital for the second time, I went mute and cut off all my hair, scaring my poor aunt and uncle, and that was before I tried to slit my wrists, and I had to be Baker acted for two months at the age of nine.

When I was thirteen, however, I started skipping school, and I only got worse after that, something my aunt and uncle probably didn’t think was possible.

Staying out late, partying, drinking, drugs. It's a miracle that I graduated high school, especially after I allowed my history teacher to take my virginity bent over his desk at the age of fourteen.

Not my best idea.

The man was in his early thirties but still, not okay and while he wanted a secret relationship to try and groom me, I justwanted to forget and went onto the school quarterback and then the basketball team captain and so on.

I never had a boyfriend and didn't have a very good reputation.

I was classed as easy to the jocks while the nerds and goths tried their hardest to get my attention which never worked.

I was on a downward spiral, struggling with survivor's guilt.

I shouldn't have survived, and yet I did, I hated myself for it, still hate myself for it, but Uncle Rocco put me in therapy, and I'm trying. I am, I just don't have a purpose in life like most twenty-two year olds do.

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