A Face From The Past

Carlson

I walked into the nurse's office with Cheryl in my arms while some people passing by the area had their mouths open and others started whispering to each other.

"Carlson?" the nurse asked, clearly shocked. "What happened?"

"Found her in the arena," I said, with a flat tone. "Some guys jumped her. Stole her equipment and her knees are already bleeding. You should start treating her immediately."

I set her down gently on the bed. My hands lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, and I caught myself, pulling away.

"Take care of her," I said, motioning to the nurse.

The nurse rushed over, examining Cheryl's knees while I stood there, watching.

I had my arms crossed over my chest as I looked at the girl on the bed. Her face was pale. She had closed her eyes, wincing at the pain, like she was trying to block out the world. Her brown hair was spread across the pillow, all tangled and messy, and her lips were slightly parted.

There was something about her... I thought. She looked really familiar.

I recalled back in the practice room when she looked at me while I stretched my hands to her. She had this gray leaning to blue eyes.

I had my hands on my jaw thinking when the realisation hit me.

She looked exactly like the little girl who used to skate with me back when we were little.

I pulled out my phone and checked my vault images where I had stored that little girl photo I had gotten from the CCTV security from when I was twelve.

It was at the time I hated hockey. My father had forced it on me early, and I'd resented every second of it.

I would sit on the ice looking miserable and hating every moment of it.

My sister had died on the ice a few years before. She'd been skating at the rink outside the school when she fell and hit her head. No one found her in time.

My father never got over it. He didn't know how to grieve, so he just got angrier, pouring all his hopes into me, pushing me harder than he ever pushed her.

My father would scream at me from the stands. "Skate faster! What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop being a disgrace to our family and work harder!"

I had never wanted to be there or ever wanted any of it.

Until that day...

I was sitting on the ice, my skates scraping the frozen surface, tears of frustration filled my eyes.

And then a little girl had come up to me.

She had brown hair and these bright gray or blue eyes, I couldn't tell.

She walked up to me, a complete stranger, smiling and sitting beside me without permission.

"Hi!" she'd said, her voice cheerful. "Wanna skate with me?"

I'd been too stunned to say no.

She'd skated with me for hours. She showed me how to glide properly, how to stop without falling, how to just... have fun. She'd laughed when I fell, but not in a mean way. In a way that made me want to laugh too. And I could very much tell it was her dream and what she ever wanted. Maybe I could come to love this dream.

It was the first time in my life I actually enjoyed skating.

We skated a few more days but after a week, I never saw her again.

And I had never forgotten about her either.

I looked at her picture once again, probably this would be the hundredth time, trying to figure out who she was. Where she had gone and why she stopped coming to the rink.

And now, looking at the girl on the bed...

She had the same eyes, the same face and the same hair. Same everything.

It has to be her.

The nurse looked up at me when she left the bedside. A little bit surprised I was still standing here. "She's going to be fine. Just needs to rest for a bit."

I nodded, still staring at Cheryl.

Why did she stop coming to the rink?

What must have happened to her?

"Carlson? She okay?"

I turned. Remy was standing in the doorway, looking concerned.

"Yeah," I said. "She's fine."

Remy walked in, smirking. "Okay, so I'm just gonna say it. It's kind of odd seeing you care about a girl. Like, actually caring and not just—" He pumped his fist up and down near his crotch, mimicking the motion of sex. "—you know."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up."

"Just saying, man. This isn't your usual thing. You don't stay after to look after anyone."

Remy held up his phone. "On another note, as much as I despise that queen snake Celeste always forcing herself on you—"

"Remy."

"—and Megan forcing herself on me—"

"Remy, stop with the teasing, man. What do you want?"

Remy's face changed. He looked serious this time. "Celeste was right, though. I checked about the journal on the school portal. You should read it, it's quite concerning."

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Remy scrolled through his phone and handed it over. "It's... interesting, man. Just read it."

I took the phone as my eyes scanned through the screen.

Day 23 - Analysing Carlson

Carlson played today again. He was pretty good, swinging his arms in that powerful rhythm as he skated... each push sending him gliding across the ice, his muscles flexing beneath his wet jersey clinging to his body. When he speeds up, his arms pump forward and back, driving him faster.

But what if I had those hands touching me? What if those fingers were inside me?

I want to get to play with his messy hair. He plays with it a lot when he's skating... running his gloved hand through it and pushing it off his forehead. It shows how tired he is, which somehow makes him even more handsome.

I want to run my fingers through it. I want to tug on it while he's inside me.

What if those lips get to kiss me hard against the lockers? What if he pins me there, his mouth on mine, his hands gripping my hips, and I don't even care who's watching? Because it's him. It's always been him.

My eyes went wide and I turned off the phone immediately.

"Carlson?" Remy said. "Are you okay, man?"

"How did this journal get to the school portal?"

"I wouldn't know, man. But she wrote all this about you," Remy said with a quiet voice so no one else could hear. "Like, really detailed stuff. It's a lot. I mean, she's definitely got a wild imagination, I'll give her that."

I was about to say something when Cheryl coughed, her eyes fluttering open.

She looked around, confused as her gaze landed on the white walls, the medical supplies and the bed.

When she saw me, her eyes went wide for a second and she tried to strengthen up, arranging her clothes.

"I—Carlson? You're still here?"

I walked to her bedside, standing over her. My eyes were locked onto hers.

"You're the journalist for the team, right?" I asked.

She nodded slowly.

"Good." I held up Remy's phone. "Recover quickly. Because we're going to have a session."

Cheryl stared at me, I saw how her face immediately went pale again as she recognized the journal text on the phone. She looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"And I've got a lot of questions to ask you," I added.

She coughed, nodding slowly. Her hands were gripping the sheets so tight her knuckles were white.

I turned to walk away when I stopped.

I didn't bother turning around. I just stood there with my back to her.

"About the journal," I said, "We'll talk about that too."

I walked out, leaving her there while Remy followed me. "Carlson, what the hell was that?"