Page 117 of Jaded

The darkness has arrived.

It fills my muscles, my tendons, my blood. Like gravity’s increased tenfold or someone turned my bones to adamantium but forgot to give me the Wolverine superstrength.

I lie cocooned in a web of warmth, eyes closed, bathed in a sea of morning sun, uncharacteristically still. Try not to think or breathe too deeply, like maybe it’ll leave me alone: a predator that’s grown bored of prey that won’t play.

I had so desperately hoped that I’d escaped. That the roller-coaster ride was over, and I could go about leading a normal life, a life with hopes and dreams and plans that didn’t disappear every time my moods changed.

I was wrong.

The darkness has returned. My internal sunshine’s dipped behind the clouds. Where’s my positive self-talk now? My perpetual cheer and positive attitude? They’ve abandoned me—and too soon.

We have one game left to get through, and I know how it’s gonna go. The Vipers are a decent team, a team that would’ve been a fight on a good day.

Today?

It’s gonna be the kind of day where I’ll be putting all my effort into things like smiling and cracking jokes, being the upbeat, bubbly Olli everyone knows. Because when I’m like this, my inclination is to sink into silence and solitude and sleep.

But it’s a game day. I can’t do that.

When Charlie gets up from the neighboring bed and marches into the bathroom, I know I’ll have to move soon too.

I’ll have to get up. Fake a smile. Hide my heavy bones and languid movements. Hope that nobody knows me well enough to call BS. That’s the benefit of never letting anybody in. Nobody knows how to call your bluffs.

Why did I think I could do this?

There’s a reason I haven’t been able to hold my spot on a team since I joined the league seven years ago. And it’s ’cause I’m inconsistent as hell. It’s ’cause when I’m on, I’m on.

And when I’m off . . . Well, everybody’s gonna know the real Olli James soon enough, if they hadn’t already heard the rumors.

Charlie exits the bathroom. “Morning, James.”

I drag myself up to sitting on the bed. “Morning.”

“Well, that was a step down from your usual bubbles,” he says, and I can’t help but be a little surprised he knows me so well. Surprise takes too much energy, though, so I press on a smile.

“My brain’s not awake yet. No coffee up there.” I rap my knuckles against my temple, then brush past him into the bathroom.

I take a shower, make it through breakfast and onto the bus.

Into the rink.

“You ready for this?” Everton’s fingers squeeze my shoulder, dragging me out of my darkening thoughts.

“This is cozy.” I tilt my cheek down onto Ev’s skin. “You trying to hold my hand?”

“Always, bro.” He slaps at my cheek, grinning, and skips ahead to hip-check Skyler into the frame of the locker room doorway. Leaving me to my thoughts.

Trying to convince myself . . .I can do this, I can do this. I don’t need a silly crush to get me high, to bolster me through the impending darkness. I can do this.

I keep weaving lies around my heart, silken armor intended to blind rather than protect. Anything I can do to keep myself moving forward.

“You all right, man?” Charlie’s concerned voice drags my gaze up to his furrowed brow—crap, I’ve been staring at my skates, without putting them on, for God only knows how long now. “You look kinda . . . space cadety.”

“Hey, now. Be nice.” I aim a grin his way—one I definitely don’t feel. “I’m an Ice Out guy now. Don’t make me make you regret things.”

“Yeah, right.” Charlie kicks at my ankle. “If you were a dog, you’d be all bark.”

“Nah, I’d definitely bite too.” I shoot him a grin as I reach for my skate.

---