Pick A Spot

“You good, mate?” Jacob asked as he sat beside me and handed me a cup of hot chocolate. 

I took it without a word, cupping my hands around the mug and staring at the steam. 

He said nothing for a while, just drank his beverage, and then said, “The game is tomorrow, you know.”

My shoulders stiffened. I heaved a sigh, sipping the hot drink, but I barely tasted anything. 

“Yeah,” I said, my voice scratchy from lack of use. 

“You haven't slept, haven't eaten anything. How are you going to play like this? Don’t expect us to go easy on you because you were our captain.” 

He said it as a joke, nudging my shoulder with his, but I remained silent, unmoving. He sighed deeply, placing his mug down and turning to face me. 

“Listen here, mate: it’s not your fault. It’s neither of your faults. You both have a shitty past, and she’s been hurt, yeah, but have you ever done anything to hurt her?” He didn't wait for an answer he wasn't going to get and just went on. “Sure, you were a fuckboy just three months ago, but deep down, Jackson, we both know it’s not like that anymore. Be honest with me, brother: have you so much as looked at another woman since you fell for her?”

I kept staring at the steam, and then slowly shook my head. 

Jacob nodded. 

“Good. The Jackson I used to know would have hooked up with maybe more than ten girls in the last three months, and yet all you saw was her. Sure, mate, your past is a bit disgusting, and any woman would want to run the opposite direction when she hears about it.”

I shot him a look, and he just shrugged and went on. 

“But I have seen the way you look at her, mate. Your pupils were love-shaped! And I have never seen you look at a girl like that before.”

“Yes, but what difference does it make, J? What difference does it make if I have stars in my eyes or my pupils are shaped like a heart when she had looked at me like… like that?”  

I winced as I remembered the look, rubbing my chest like I was trying to soothe the ache there, but it was useless. I couldn't even think about the look without pain shooting through my chest. 

“Tell me, what difference does it make when she looks at me, and all she sees is… him?”

He picked the mug from my hands and placed it down, grabbing me by my shoulders and turning me to face him. He had a determined look in his eyes, like he had made it his personal mission to drag me out of my miserable state.

“A whole lot of difference, bro,” he said softly. Jacob wasn't a soft guy. He was a tough bastard who showed this side of himself to only a few people. People he saw as family. “You love her. That bastard hadn't. Isn't that enough difference?”

“But is it to her?” I asked in a barely audible whisper, my voice as pathetic as could be. 

“Then you have to make sure she sees it. Take it slowly, man. Don’t rush it. Don’t rush her. You’re one strong-headed bastard, Jackson. This is the time to let that stubbornness shine like a diamond.”

He drew me into his arms, and I hugged him back without hesitation, my arms tight around him.

“Thank you, brother,” I whispered, my voice thick. 

He clapped my back. “Always.” He pulled back, tapping my cheek. “Now go eat something. You’ll need all the energy you can get for the brutal game tomorrow.”

~.~

For the first time in seven years, I was going to play a game without having sex, without stroking myself. Just me, and my years of experience on the rink, hoping that the memories stay in the past, that the ghost will remain locked up, and my wrists will remain pain-free. I was hoping against hope here, and praying to whatever god who cares to listen that the past doesn't bleed into my present tonight. 

It was three hours to the game, and I was heading to a café, about to get enough coffee to make my hands stop shaking. 

I thought about calling her, or sending her a message. Maybe to ask her if she would be there, just an excuse to hear her voice. But my voicemail and messages have gone unanswered, so I know she won't pick up. If she were there, it would make this so much easier for me. So much easier.

I pulled out my phone and stared at her contact for the millionth time, but I dialed another number instead. She picked up on the first ring, her voice bright and so sweet.

“My darling boy,” she whispered. “I thought you might have forgotten you had a mother somewhere across the world, seeing as I hadn't gotten a single call from you in two weeks.” 

I stopped walking and rested my back on the wall of the building close to me, my grip tight on the phone as I stared ahead, my throat too tight to push out words. 

“Jackson? Are you there, my boy?”

“Mom…” I whispered, my voice cracking, and all of a sudden, I was a boy again, crying to her for everything and knowing she would always find a way to make it better. I wish she could find a way to make this better too.

Her voice tightened, raising a pitch higher, and I could almost feel her tension. “Jackson? My darling, what’s wrong?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my palm into them when they burned so harshly that it was painful. “I just… It hurts, Mom.”

“What does, my darling?”

“Everything.” 

She was silent for a while, and then her voice became clearer, softer. “Well, that won’t do now, would it? Pick a spot, Jackson. Pick one spot where you want it to hurt the most.”

I frowned even though she couldn't see me, dropping my hand from my face and peeling my eyes open. “What?”

“Go on. Pick just one spot.”

I didn't ask any other question, and just did as she said, picking my chest where I could feel the pieces of my heart, where it felt like there was a knife buried deep in it.

“Now channel all the pain there. Think about a little traffic regulator directing all the pain there. Let everything bleed into that spot you just picked. Let them be packed together just there.” She gave me a moment, letting me find my pace. And then, “Now breathe, my darling boy. It doesn't matter where you are, close your eyes and breathe. Slowly.” 

I shut my eyes, a tight pain in my chest, and I tried to breathe. I tried to force my lungs to obey, but it was bloody hard when all I could think of was the pain in her voice, in her eyes. 

“Think of nothing but that heavy spot where all the emotions are, and slowly, let them go. One by one as you breathe. Like you’re letting go of a balloon and letting it fly into the endless sky.”

Slowly, so slowly it was painful, I let them go. I didn't know how long I stood there in the middle of the street, my eyes shut and phone pressed into my ears, but eventually, the pain lessened. And when I breathed again, it came easier. 

My mother sighed from the other end, her voice soft as she said, “It’ll all be fine. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’ll be fine.”

“I love you,” I whispered, my eyes still closed. 

“And you’ll always have my love.”

She ended the call, and I just stood there for a while, breathing. When I opened my eyes again, it took time for my vision to adjust to the dimming light. 

When it finally did, my vision zeroed in on a figure staring right at me from across the street, and every cell in my bloodstream turned to ice.

Grey eyes stared at me, a smile on his lips, and slowly he raised his hand and waved. 

Pain exploded in my wrists.