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PRACTICE ENDS BUT IT WASN’T REALLY a practice. At least not for me. Coach Castro’s still watching me like a hawk. No running. No dribbling. Just passing drills, slow ball control, easy movement. Feels like I’m trapped behind glass-close enough to touch the game I love, but not allowed to really play.
I need football. It’s all I’ve got. Everything else-the noise, the pressure, the shit at home—none of it matters when I’m on the pitch. But right now? I’m stuck on the outside looking in.
It’s been three weeks since I’ve injured my ankle and it’s healing well. I walk properly now, no crutches or limping. Coach won’t let me play yet, not until I get permission from the doctor. But even if I do, I’m sure he will wait another week to finally let me join. I mean better safe than sorry, right?
The thing is, Royal United starts next month in March. Games with other clubs, along with tournaments, don’t start until April though, and by then I’ll be good as new. Well, I better be.
Hassan and Felix jog beside me, caked in mud from head to toe. Hassan’s got clumps of it dripping down his leg, and Felix’s shirt looks like he rolled across the entire pitch. I glance down at my kit-clean as fuck.
“Look at you.” I grin. “Pretty boy.”
“You wanna be pretty like me?” Hassan smirks, lunging at me with a mud-streaked arm.
“Don’t fucking try,” I warn, side-stepping fast.
Felix actually laughs, a real one, the kind I haven’t heard from him in days. It slips out quick and dies even quicker. Hassan shrugs, hands raised like he’s innocent.
Then I spot them, catching all my attention.
Valeria and JJ, walking across the hallway toward us. Both of them look serious-too serious for something casual.
We all slow down. Even Hassan shuts up.
“Hey, Connie!” Valeria calls out, her voice light but not playful.
“Can we talk to you for a second?” JJ adds.
Felix glances at me, his eyebrows tugging together. I shoot him a look like, Don’t look at me, I’ve got no clue what this is. Because, well… that’s the truth.
“Okay?” I answer, unsure.
“Your player days making a coming back?” Hassan whispers, amused.
Felix glares at him and smacks the back of his head. “Shut the fuck up.”
He storms off toward the locker room, Hassan still laughing as he jogs after him
I walk toward JJ and Valeria, who are standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the pitch. The sky outside is cloudy, thick with grey like it’s about to pour.
“What’s up?” I ask.
JJ crosses her arms. “We might need your help with something.”
“Depends,” I say slowly, narrowing my eyes.
“It’s about Carmen,” Valeria says, and just like that, every part of me locks up.
My stomach flips. My chest tightens. “Is she okay?”
“That’s the thing… we don’t know,” Valeria admits.
“What do you mean?”
JJ exhales through her nose. “She’s just… off. Hasn’t really been talking to us. And when she does, it’s like she’s always zoned out.”
“She’s anxious all the time. Jumpy,” Valeria adds. “We thought maybe she’d talk to you since you two have gotten… close.”
Close. Yeah. That doesn’t even begin to describe what’s happening between us. But I don’t say anything. I just nod, because my brain’s already running a thousand miles a minute.
“Yeah, ‘course.”
“Thank you,” JJ says quietly.
I hesitate. “Anything else”
JJ shrugs a little, glancing at Valeria for backup. “Um… well, yesterday she ran out of the dining hall into the first bathroom. We thought she might have thrown up, and we asked if she was okay, she kind of snapped at us.”
My throat goes dry. I nod again, but it’s automatic. “I’ll check in on her.”
“We care about her, you know?” JJ says softly. “So if you notice anything else, please tell us.”
“I will.”
“Thanks, again.” Valeria sends me a small smile. “Bye, Connie.”
And just like that, they walk away, leaving me and my mind spiralling. The thought that something might be happening to her at home comes to me again. Could that really be it? Fuck.
It’s not until I walk into the locker room that everything hits at once. Jack throws an arm around me.
“There he is! Number 10, King Connie!”
I push him off. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”
“You know you love it,” he winks.
“Stop bothering the poor lad,” Carson adds with a smirk. “He’s injured. Be nice.”
“Fuck off, both of ya’,” I mutter, opening my locker. “Doing my head in.”
Jack whistles low. “Someone’s moody.”
“Looks like the girls didn’t give you good news, huh?” Hassan says, half-laughing.
“What did they say?” Felix asks, voice more serious now.
“Oh, you mean what did JJ say?” Hassan nudges him with a grin.
They all laugh again. I don’t. I grab my hoodie, shove it over my head, and slam my locker shut. I’ve got shit to think about.
“Oi, no goodbye?” Jack calls out.
“In a bit, lad,” is all I say as I walk out. I shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and start heading outside. My steps are slow. I don’t hear the chatter behind me, the boys yelling in the locker room, Jack’s stupid voice calling out. Everything is muted. Distant.
Something’s not right.
I should’ve known.
The way she’s been acting lately-like she’s constantly trying to outrun something inside her. Like she’s falling apart but holding it together with duct tape and desperation.
I reach my car and sit inside, the silence pressing in on all sides. My hands are shaking slightly. I rest them on the steering wheel and take a slow breath. I know I’m not supposed to care this much. We’re not… anything, really. But every time I see her, I feel something. Something warm and heavy and impossible to ignore.
Then the memory hits me like a slap.
Jude.
I told him not to sell shit to her anymore.
And since then… she’s been different.
I sit up straighter. Pull out my phone. My fingers hover for a second before I type: Withdrawal symptoms.
That could be it, right? I mean, if she was on drugs then suddenly stopped, her body would react badly to that. The screen loads and I scroll through the list.
Insomnia. She never sleeps. I get texts from her past midnight. Calls to sneak out at two in the morning.
Anxiety. That one’s a given. Her knee bouncing. Her eyes darting around. The way she grips her skirt like she’s trying to ground herself.
Sweating. She wipes her hands on her skirt constantly. I noticed it. I just… didn’t notice it.
Mood swings. Nausea. Isolation.
My heart’s in my throat. It’s her. It’s all her. Every fucking symptom. She’s going through withdrawal and I didn’t see it. I should’ve seen it.
I should’ve known when I saw her pale in the lunch line, when she barely touched her food, when she rushed out. I asked her about it but she told me she was sick. Why did I believe her? Why wasn’t I there for her more?
For fuck’s sake.
I feel like someone’s pressing their thumbs into my lungs. She’s doing this alone. She’s trying to carry it all on her own, and I let her.
No. No, I’m not doing that again.
Not with her.
I have to be there for her now. Not just as the guy who likes her. But as the person who gives a shit. The person who won’t let her drown quietly.
I won’t fail her.
Not now. Not ever.
Carmen-fuck, it’s hard to explain her in words-there’s just something about her that pulls you in and makes you never want to push away. Maybe it’s her smile, her soft laugh, that look in her eyes.
To think that she has been going through this all alone for possibly months makes me feel sick.
She doesn’t deserve that.
I hope that’s something she knows.
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