Playing the Game

19. Today Royally Sucks

Just three short weeks and he's free. Forgiven in the eyes of the law. Suddenly able to live a free life, a life that not everyone got to have after that night. Because of him.

My phone chimes beside me, pulling my gaze away from the screen and effectively giving me my breath back. I slam the screen shut, staring at the wall in front of me. The room is a blurry haze, a thick fog rolling in around me as I zero in my gaze in front of me.

It takes another few focused breaths before I pull my phone into view. Tommy's name lights up my screen and I don't have to read the message to know he saw it. We've been on this journey together for a long time. Maybe not the exact same one, but Tommy knows how this feels, he knows what it's like to lose a father to the law and to get them back. And more than that, he was there that night. The one that still haunts me.

I open his message, reading the words and confirming he saw what I just did as he asks me to call him after my classes. I want to talk to him, to hear his voice and find strength in the words he always seems to know to say. But I'm not ready. I'm not ready to feel the calm he always brings to my life. I'm not ready for this to be okay.

It's not.

*****

It's been a rough fucking day.

It's been a rough fucking week.

This week started with that stupid pop quiz. The one I managed to screw up. Like I said, I've been distracted, consumed by limited time, lack of sleep, and the lingering bomb that was just dropped on me this morning. But today is worse, a lot worse.

I could barely function at training today. It was noticed too. My lag during sprints was picked up on by my coach. Earned me an extra five minutes on the track. I didn't actually mind it seeing as I've pretty much gone numb today. My brain has fallen to mush and I can't seem to ground myself.

He's getting out in three weeks.

What does that mean? Is he going to reach out? Am I supposed to see him? Forgive him? I don't know that I'm ready, that I'll ever be ready.

His mugshot comes back into play, flashing across the hazy cloud in my head. It's been so long since I've actually set eyes on him. As much as I don't want to wonder, I can't help but picture what he might look like today. How the lines of his face have changed, how he's chosen to style his hair, if it's cut short or grown out. Does he have a beard? He rarely used to let a small shadow of stubble fall across his face. I remember the smooth feel of his skin when he'd kiss my cheek or hold me close. Has that changed?

"Alright," the professor claps his hands, the sudden noise causing my shoulders to hop. I'm ripped right back into reality, the familiar walls of Psych class coming back into view. "I'll see you all next week. Be safe this weekend, oh, and because I'm in a good mood, you should know that last week's pop quiz wasn't my last. Hope you took good notes today," he smiles, giving a knowing nod before turning to gather his things.

My eyes fly down to my laptop, the screen staring back at me, the blinking cursor mocking me as it flashes steadily against a vast blank canvas. Oh shit. I didn't take notes. Not a single, solitary one.

I quickly glance to the seat beside me. The one Grayson usually occupies. It's empty.

I really shouldn't be surprised. After blowing him off earlier this week, I don't blame him for choosing a different seat.

Shifting slightly, I locate the spot I saw him occupying when class started. Two rows back, opposite side. He's closing his laptop, placing it in his bag. A defeated groan crawls out of my throat when I realize what I have to do.