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“It’s better this way,” I hear myself repeat once more, like a mantra. I figure if I make myself say it enough times, eventually I'll come to believe it.
I still can’t believe how quickly everything went from picture perfect to complete and utter devastation. I feel like I still haven’t caught my breath from that night.
Arms close around me from behind and hug me tight.
“I’m so sorry, Nera.”
???
“Hey Nera, come here for a sec?” Coach Kelly calls me.
I look up at him. I’m flat on my back on the mat after yet another fall.
I’ve been terrible at practice today, completely unfocused and sloppy. I’ve dropped weights, missed hits, and tripped over my own feet more times than I can count. I’m a danger to myself and others in this headspace but I can’t seem to shake it.
“Yes, Coach?” I say, jogging up to him.
“Go home.”
“What?” I ask, startled. Immediately, fear swells in my stomach.
Failure is not an option.
I’m conditioned to lose my shit in this moment and I recognize the familiar encroaching negative feelings. Coach Kelly must sense something is off because he puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, forcing me out of my thoughts. I look up at him and find kind eyes staring back at me.
“No one’s perfect every day or every practice. You’re having an off day, it happens. Go home and rest.”
I shake my head in refusal. “No, Coach. I can’t afford not to train. I can’t let myself fall behi—“
He pats my shoulder encouragingly a couple times, silencing me. “I’m serious. Relax for the afternoon, it’s the best thing for you right now. Come back tomorrow ready to hit the ground running, okay?”
I give him an uncertain look. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
I nod wordlessly and head for the locker room. It’s a new regime under Coach Kelly and I’m still getting used to the more lax approach, albeit doing so warily.I didn’t trust people easily before, and I trust them even less so now.
But the truth is, I could use a day to clear my head.
Maybe I’ll go for a walk around the grounds or read a book in a coffee shop somewhere. The idea forms as the memory of Tristan telling me to do something that’ll make me feel alive assaults me. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I gather my things and head outside.
It feels so impossible to move forward without being constantly reminded of his presence in my life. I have to tell myself that it’s still fresh and raw, that as time goes on without seeing him, he’ll eventually fade to nothing more than a bad memory.
And so what if a part of me is hurt that he left without a word? We’re broken up, he doesn’t owe me anything. In fact, him leaving is exactly what I need. Patience and distance will make me forget him.
“Nera.”
For a second, I think I’ve imagined his voice. I’ve spent enough time thinking about it over the past few days that it doesn’t seem far-fetched to assume I’m conjuring it up in my head once again.
But then I look up and there he is, standing before me staring at me like a soldier seeing his love for the first time after coming home from the battlefield.
I stop in my tracks. My throat dries.
It’s snowing.
Thick, fluffy, almost soft looking flakes float around us, ambling slowly towards the ground. The air grows shallower with every second I spend staring at him until there doesn’t seem to be enough of it left for me to breathe.
His cheeks are reddened by the wind, like he’s been standing out in the snow for a while. As cold as it is, his eyes blaze a path of warmth wherever they touch me.
