Lionel is an asshole! I still love him, but he's an asshole. I can't ignore it, I can't sugar coat it, I can't pretend like it's not true. He is and I know that now. The past two weeks have been strained to say the least. Our conversations are empty and all traces of our friendship are gone. We are only remnants of our former selves and it's all his fault. He ruined us! He ruined me! God I hate him! No, I can't say that. I love him. Why can't I stop thinking about him? He hurt me but I still want him.
Everything has changed between us. We don't work out together anymore. Practice has finally started so I'm getting to know some of the guys from the team, but talking to them doesn't replace the feelings I have for him. He refuses to be my workout partner during practice and the coach made some comment about thinking we were best friends in high school and wondering what happened. Lionel told him that we were. I wanted to yell out and tell the coach he was lying, but I would never renounce our friendship or lack thereof. I think I saw him looking at me a few times in the locker room, but I know it's probably my imagination.
I am standing in line at practice, waiting for my turn to do the three-man weave. It's finally my turn to go and I grab the ball and make the first pass. I am running to get behind the guy I just passed to, when a basketball hits me on the side of my face. My eye is stinging so I put my hand on it. My head starts throbbing and I feel dizzy so I sit down on the court. By the time my ass makes contact with the floor, I am surrounded by teammates. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I instantly think of Lionel. I smile a little thinking that he's come to check on me, but then the hand rubs across my back and the person walks around to the front. I see their shoes and the pants and I know who it is.
"Are you okay, Son?" The coach sounds really concerned so I know I must look bad.
"I think so, but my eye is hurting." I feel liquid running down my face. "Stop pouring water on me, I don't need it. Geez, I didn't faint!"
My coach leans down in front of me and my good eye looks at him. "Don't panic, but that's not water."
Talk about an idiot move. Never tell someone not to panic and then let them know that they're bleeding profusely. I moved my hand and held it in front of my other eye. The hand was covered in blood. I didn't want to look like a little bitch in front of the team, so I fought the urge to scream like a girl. "Shit!" was all I said.
"Somebody go call for help!" Then I heard the coach say, "Who threw that fucking ball?" I heard someone say it was Lionel and I wanted to cry. "Why would you do that?"
I heard Lionel say, "I was just playing around. I didn't mean to hurt him."
"You threw a ball at his face! What the hell is your problem? You didn't mean to hurt him? Look at him! Look at what you did! Get out of my sight!" I thought he wasn't being harsh enough, but I understood that he probably didn't want to go off on our soon to be star player.
"I want to make sure he's okay. I really didn't mean to hurt him." He sounded like he was crying, but I knew that couldn't be the case.
"Well stop crying and grab a towel!" I guess he was crying. At least he felt sorry for it. I heard him run off to the side of the court and run back. He pushed my coach aside and kneeled in front of me with the towel. I just stared at him, mesmerized by our proximity. He grabbed my hand and took it off of my eye.
"I got it. Relax." He put the towel on my eye and rubbed a little. He took the towel away and said, "Wow, that's a nasty cut! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. You have to believe me." The look in his eyes, along with the traces of tears on his face told me that he meant it. Of course he didn't want to hurt me.
"I know." He started walking away and I wondered what was wrong with him. Then there was another set of feet in front of me.
"What happened?" I didn't recognize the voice and I didn't feel like talking. He must have realized that I was not going to answer, because I could feel him look away from me. "Did he fall?"
I heard Lionel say, "I hit him in the head with a ball."
"Well it looks like he's going to need stitches. We're going to have to take him to the hospital."
"Can I ride with him?" Lionel seemed worried.
"Well, um, where's the trainer?"
That's when coach stepped in, "He's not here today."
"Do you want to go with him?"
"No, Lionel can ride with him if he wants to." Another paramedic was there and the two men helped me on to a gurney, not exactly how I wanted to spend my evening, but I knew it was a necessity. As they were wheeling me out of the gym, I heard the coach say, "Alright you maggots, someone get the janitor to come clean up this blood, and the rest of you give me laps until we can get back to work. Don't worry about Lucas, he'll be fine."
They put me in the ambulance and Lionel climbed in and sat next to me. At one point during the ride, Lionel reached over and grabbed my hand. I should have been thinking about how he was the one who caused me this pain, but I wasn't. I was thinking of how soft his fingers felt and how nice his hand felt. I squeezed his hand a little and he squeezed back. He had to let go when we got to the hospital. The paramedics rolled me in and I saw a doctor. I had to explain what happened and he tried to figure out if I had a concussion. He asked me a million questions while he had some nurse clean up my cut. After my stitches were in, the doctor made me do some vision tests, and asked me some more questions. He made me do some tests, too. I thought he was trying to be funny, but he explained why he was doing it. He said he had to check my strength, sensation, balance, reflexes and memory. I just said whatever. Anyway, turns out I have a concussion as well. He must have thrown that ball pretty damn hard.
The doctor told me I could go home but I had to promise that I would rest and come back to the hospital if I felt worse. He told me he had talked to Lionel and Lionel promised to take care of me. `Great, just what I needed," I thought. How was I supposed to rest when I had Lionel taking care of me? The doctor wanted to put me in a wheelchair so I could be wheeled out, but I refused the chair. I wanted to walk out on my own. Lionel was sitting in the waiting room. He had his head down so I had to tap his shoulder to get his attention. "I'm ready to go."
"You checked out already?"
"Yes."
"Okay, let's go then." He stood up and put his arm around me like he was saving me from something. I leaned against him for added support as we walked outside. Lionel waved his arm but nothing happened. I wondered what he was doing, but I didn't care to ask. He pulled out his cell and called someone. Then I saw a car pull out of a parking spot, circle around the parking lot and stop in front of us. Lionel opened the back door for me and told me I could lie across the backseat. When I got in I saw the face of the driver. Of course it was her, his girlfriend. She was such a sweet girl, but I hated her so much. I should be the one with Lionel, not her. My jealousy had never allowed me to get to know her, yet here she was, asking me how I felt and taking me home. I told myself she was doing this for Lionel, not me. Lionel closed the door behind me and got in the front seat. I felt sick when he leaned over and kissed her on the lips. "Thanks, Babe." She just smiled back at him and I wished it could have been me smiling at him. She was so lucky and she didn't even know it. I had a pang of regret when I remembered that Lionel had hit me with the ball. I don't know why it was so hard for me to remember that it was him. I guess I just couldn't see him doing something like that to me. But I was wrong. I closed my eyes and tried to blink away the bad thoughts about Lionel. Lionel was a good guy, he couldn't have meant to hurt me. He was just fooling around.
Lionel practically carried me to our dorm room. Luckily, he left the girl in the car and told her he would call her later. He pulled back my covers and sat me on my bed. I watched as he pulled off my shoes. He lifted my legs for me and then bundled me up in the covers. I was about to thank him for being so kind, when I heard the familiar sound of my phone going off. Impossible I thought. I left my phone in the locker room. Lionel reached in his pocket and took out my phone. Before I could ask how he got it, he answered it. He started telling the person that I couldn't talk right then because I had an accident at practice. I heard him omit that he was the person who threw the ball. "Who is it?" I asked.
He ignored me and kept talking to the person. "He'll be fine. The doctor said he had a concussion, but he seems to be doing a lot better and his color seems to be coming back. He looked like death earlier." There was a pause and I guess he was listening. "Look, he doesn't want to talk to anyone right now. I'll tell him to call you back when he feels better so just relax, okay?" I assumed that it must not have been okay because Lionel made a face and then turned his back to me. I heard him say, "Look I'm not doing this because I'm jealous of you and him." There was another pause. "I'll tell him to call you back!" The person said something else then Lionel told them, "So what if it was me who threw the ball! I wasn't trying to hurt him and I'm not a jerk! You're the fucking jerk! I told you he would call you back, now goodbye!" He slammed my phone shut.
I didn't have to ask who it was because the conversation made that clear. It must have been Michael. I told Michael everything that happened between me and Lionel and he was ready to come over and jump on Lionel. It took me a week to convince Michael to leave it alone. He told me Lionel sounded like a closet case to him and that I shouldn't get involved with Lionel because he would probably just play games with my heart before he broke it completely. Michael said it was obvious that Lionel didn't feel the same way about me that I felt about him. I told Michael that I didn't care and he told me one day I would. Anyway, Michael and Lionel had never talked to each other until today and that didn't sound like it went very well. Lionel turned around and walked to me. He handed me the phone. "Michael?" I already knew the answer.
"Yep. That guy is such a jerk. He acted like I was trying to keep the two of you apart or something. Like I was a jealous boyfriend, but no matter how much I love you, we'll never be boyfriends." His words were music to my ears. He did love me. I knew it! You can't feel the kind of heat I feel for him if it isn't reciprocated by the other side. I wanted to call him on it and say, `Oh, so you do love me?' but I was afraid of chasing him away. It was obvious that he needed to take baby steps and I was more than okay with waiting. One day he wouldn't view the term boyfriend as offensive. One day he would be mine.
"Thanks for telling him I didn't want to talk. I don't have the energy for conversation."
"I figured that."
"How'd you get my phone?"
"A guy from the team brought our phones to the hospital. I guess he went in our lockers and got them for us. I thanked him for you, too. We wouldn't want to leave that shit in there overnight, you know the mice around here have sticky fingers."
I laughed a little and my head hurt. "Don't make me laugh."
"Sorry," he said as he turned to walk to his bed.
I knew I shouldn't do it, but part of me was dying to hear the answer. "Lionel." He turned around and looked at me. I wondered if he realized this was the most we had talked since the morning after. "Why did you hit me with the ball?"
He backed up and sat down on his bed. "You want the truth?" he looked me dead in my eyes and I knew I didn't really want the truth, but I knew I needed to hear it. I prepared my ears for that beating I thought they were about to take.
"Well?"
"I hate you. I did it because I hate you." That was not the answer I was planning for, but I wasn't surprised by it either. I turned on my side so I could look away from him. "Don't you want to know why?"
"No," I croaked, holding back the tears and trying to vanquish all fantasies of us being together.
I could hear him moving across the floor. I listened as he walked towards my bed and then kicked off his shoes. He pulled back my covers, but I didn't turn around. I felt his body on my bed and then I felt his arm come around me and pull me close. "I hate you because I can't get you out of my head. You just won't go away! I was watching you in practice today and I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to take my eyes off of you, but I couldn't. When you went to run to the other side, I just lost it. I wanted to make you disappear and before I knew it, I was chucking the ball at your head. I wasn't really trying to hurt you. I just wanted you to be gone. I regretted it the second the ball left my hands. I was just so angry. Why can't I have you?" he sounded choked up, but I was too deep in thought to notice it much.
"You can have me," I whispered.
"No I can't. It's not right. I can't do that to my family or to myself."
The words bounced around in my head for a little while and a few minutes later, I said something. "Do you love me?"
"I don't know." He said it so softly that I was afraid to press him further. Maybe one day he would be ready to answer that question, but I knew he wasn't ready then. We relaxed for a long time with me cradled in Lionel's arms. He fell asleep and I listened to his light snores as his chest went up and down against my back. This could work,' I thought. He's just a work in progress.'
I awoke the next morning to an empty bed.
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