Pucked By the Rival Captain

Seraphina’s pov

“Please, stop” my cry came out muffled, my lower body burned, my heart throbbed so hard I thought it would tear free from my chest.

“Stop struggling, Seraphina.” His voice was muffled as they whispered coldly against my ears. 

He was way too strong for me to fight off, his grip against me was hard and firm, sending shivers running down my spine. 

I twisted my wrist, kicked my legs but it was of no use.

“Please…” my lips trembled, hot sweat poured down my forehead as the words desperately rolled out of my mouth. 

“Wake up Seraphina, wake up!” A faint voice called somewhere from far distance. 

I forced my eyes open. Faint light pierced through my lashes as they came in contact with the white unfamiliar ceiling of the room.

Warm hands grabbed my shoulders and I shoved them off frantically, scrambling backward until my spine hit the cold cinderblack. “Don't touch me!” My voice came out hoarse and rough.

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry, no touching.” Sane lifted her two hands upward in surrender as she slowly retreated towards her side of the room, lowering herself onto the edge of her bed.

She had a satin scarf wrapped around her hair and her eyes were glinting due to the glow from the desk lamp.

“It's me. Sane, your roomate. You're at Westbridge.” She murmured slowly, dropping her  hands on her laps.

Westbridge…

I pressed my palm against my temple, trying to steady my breathing just the way my therapist had thought me whenever the nightmare came back.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Deep breath in, deep one out.

Sane stood up, reached for the small plastic cup on her bedside table before walking towards the small sink at the far end of the room.

A few seconds later, she returned with the cup halfway full, handling it to me from a distance like she still wasn't sure how I'd react if she came any closer.

I murmured a small thank you before accepting the cup, watching as she sat back on her bed, her eyes fixed on me.

I took the cup towards my lips with shaky hands, watching her from its rim, her eyes didn't leave mine, not even for a second. When I was done, she quietly collected the cup and returned it back to the sink before going back to her bed.

“Are you okay?” Her voice was small and uncertain. “You've been murmuring in your sleep for more than five minutes.” She paused, glancing at the small bedside alarm clock which now displayed 3:12. a.m. “I've been calling your name for the past two minutes.” She cleared her throat, her eyes fell back on my face and the concern was unmistakable.

“I'm sorry, I just—” I gulped down at nothing. My voice sounded strained and raspy. “I just had a bad dream, you can go back to sleep.” I murmured.

Sane didn't look convinced, she eyed me suspiciously, her lips parting like they wanted to argue. “Okay.” She whispered instead with a light sigh.

I turned to face the wall, slightly relieved she didn't ask about the dream. 

It's been three years already. 

It should've been better now. My therapist said I was doing better. I made sure I completed my medication but I guess I still haven't healed mentally.

I exhaled heavily, my heart racing steadily in my chest. Tomorrow I would be standing on the same ground where he might be breathing the same air as me and I wasn't sure I was ready for that.

I thought I was, I thought I was ready to face him. 

Three weeks ago, I was wiping down tables at the restaurant where I worked when the channel was switched to sports channel. 

I wasn't even looking at it until the crowd started cheering loudly and proudly, when I lifted my head up, my heart dropped.

Adrian Cross. Twenty-three years old, hoisting a trophy over his head under a rain of confetti, his smile bright enough to sell anything. 

The announcer called him ‘the future of the city's hockey.’

 Two men at the counter whooped and clinked their coffee mugs together and someone murmured “That kid's a legend.”

The rag stopped moving in my hand. My grip on the rag tightened so hard my knuckles turned white.

I could still feel his weight on me, the smell of his cologne. The memories were clear and raw.

I stood there in the middle of the lunch rush, my skin crawling while the whole room celebrated the man who had ruined my life.

I had gone to the police three years ago, I had stood with a carbon on the main road while everyone walked past. Some had even called me dramatic. Claiming that I was trying to gain attention now that Adrian was at the peak of his career.

Something inside me changed that afternoon, as I stared at his face on the screen.

I went back home that evening, dug out the Westbridge scholarship form I had rejected three days ago and accepted the scholarships.

“Hey.” Sane’s voice pulled me out of my head, I turned to face her.

She had drawn her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “You've been exhaling for the past three minutes. I can't sleep either, I guess we both need a distraction. So tell me what are you wearing tomorrow.”

“I don't know.” I admitted in a whisper.

 A tiny smile touched her mouth, then she tilted her head. “You know it's Rivalry Week kickoff, right? The whole campus will be out there. The Wolves and the Stanford Blackhawks share a stage for the cameras and everyone pretends they don't hate each other.” She snorted softly. “The athletic department treats hockey like a religion. Scholarship kids learn fast who not to cross in this place. And the Blackhawks' captain is the worst of them.”

My hand went stilled around the blanket.

“They say he's untouchable,” Sane continued, casually reaching for her phone as she scrolled through it. “Honestly, half the board would apologize if he stepped on their foot.” She rolled her eyes.

I couldn't breathe again. I kept my face down, staring at the marble floors while trying to keep my voice flat. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

The room went quiet for a few seconds. When I finally lifted my head, Sane wasn't looking at her phone anymore. 

She was looking at me, and her expression was something much sharper than concern.

“You were saying a name in your sleep,” she said softly, setting the phone down on her blanket. “Over and over. I thought you should know.”

My mouth suddenly went dry.

“Adrian Cross.” She held my gaze. “Do you know him in person?”