Page 17 of Rebound
The deadly combination of depression and anxiety is one a lot of people deal with on a daily basis. There’s medication to tackle and while I follow the regiment as prescribed, sometimes my head feels too cloudy or quiet, and I can’t function. Finding the balance has been hard, especially with all of my training, the constant travelling and the number of games I play a year.
I understand the importance of these sessions, but I prefer to do it on my own time.
Dominic doesn’t feel the same way.
Dominic Varkey
Congratulations on the match yesterday. I don’t want to be that guy, Pat, but please pick a date so we can talk. I’d rather we not wait until you get back.
I realise the time difference, so I hope this didn’t wake you up. Text me when you’re functional.
I scroll through the rest of my notifications. Since I don’t use social media, I barely know what’s happening in the world outside of my comfort zone. Even with the news, I check a few sites and leave the rest for everyone else to worry about. I review the scores for the rest of the tournament. We won’t know who we’re up against until after tonight’s game, but we’re so close to the finish line, I’m antsy.
Just as I start to reply to Dom, my phone rings and my heart stops. Tamara Chandy calling flashes across the top and I stare at her name for too long, trying to figure out if it’s my mind playing tricks. By the time I go to answer, she’s hung up. I blink furiously, trying to erase the cloud of confusion, then open the caller list and see her name there. What the... I press her name and lift my phone to my ear as it connects.
“Was that a butt dial?”
She scoffs, but it doesn’t hide the following sniffle. “Why would I butt dial you?”
“Good question. Is everything okay?”
Another sniffle, this one louder than before and when she speaks, her voice is shaky. “Yeah, totally.”
“Okay. Good to hear your voice, Lotus.” She grunts and says something, but it’s drowned out by the sniffles. “I can’t hear you, baby. Say that again.”
“I shouldn’t have called,” she finally says and I pull the phone away, hitting the video option. “No, Patrick.”
“Answer it.”
I can hear her frustrated growl and her face fills the screen. Her eyes dip to my shirtless, tattooed torso before meeting mine and my smile fades. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes are red and even through my phone I can see the tear tracks down her soft cheeks. She steps away and uses the sleeves of her hoodie to wipe at her face. It’s the height of summer in Chennai and she’s wearing a thick layer. Something is wrong, even if she’s pretending it isn’t.
“Tamara…” My heart’s beating so fast I’m afraid I might pass out. She refuses to meet my eyes as her lips twist to the side.
“Promise not to get angry or hate me?”
I frown and peer into the screen. “You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Promise me, Patrick.”
I sigh and rub the back of my neck. I’m afraid of what I’m promising, or what I’m agreeing to but she’s got her eyes locked on mine. I’m scared to refuse her. She’ll hang up and never call again.
“Okay, baby. I promise. Now tell me.”
Tamara nods and chews on her bottom lip. She reaches for something to the side and stares at. I tilt my head, attempting to figure out what she’s holding, but can’t decipher it at this angle.
“Okay,” she breathes and flips the paper over.
At first all I see is black shapes and blurs. She adjusts it and everything comes into focus. My heart slows down, as does everything else. Breath rattles in my chest and I’m having an out-of-body experience. I drag my eyes up from the picture to the sliver of her face at the top of the screen and I exhale loudly.
“I’m pregnant.”
I nod, staring at the picture because who the fuck knocked up my girl? Who the fuck is taking her away from me? I rub a hand over my mouth and try to formulate the words, but I can’t find them. I close my eyes and count to ten and then back, but nothing helps.
“Patrick.” I shake my head, tears pricking the back of my eyes. “Patrick, look at me.” I can’t. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll admit a part of me still loves her. “Trick!”
I grunt out a “Fuck.”
