Chapter Seventeen:
Victoria just wanted to be loved. Fucking loved.
There was nothing special, or elaborate to this idea, really. Whether they denied it, or were cringingly over-the-top about it, everyone wanted to be loved. Everyone wanted to be needed. Everyone wanted someone. The only difference with Victoria was, the concept of love, as a whole, ate away at her. Bit by bit, inch by inch, day by day, it tore away.
She'd been like this for years. Absolute years.
Starting right around freshman year, Tori grew infatuated with romance, and the intrigue/desire carried with her ever since; although with age, the flame had started to slowly fade out.
However, when she met Sidney...well, it's safe to say the flame was reignited, burning approximately 87% stronger than it had three years ago, three months ago, three weeks ago.
But, on the pessimistic side, in the grand scheme of things, Victoria still wasn't quite sold on the idea that the resurrection of her love of love was necessarily a good, strong, constructive quality blooming within herself.
Thing was, disgustingly enough, Canada's Golden Boy was just like any other single (or, depending on the person, maybe even taken) boy within the age bracket of 12-30: Indecisive, and overwhelmingly hard to read.
But, most notably, he also possessed the most common talent amongst the human, male race: The ability to change emotions so incredibly quick, it almost seemed as though they were part light switch.
It's been noted before, and it'll be noted again: There were days that Sidney would treat her like the queen of his world, and then others where he'd brush her off, discretly sending the cold shoulder her way, just by simply being apathetic. It didn't make sense, but then again -as every girl knew- boys, as a whole, didn't.
Victoria just simply couldn't tell what the hell her and Sid were, what they wanted to be, and/or what they eventually would be. She didn't know if this was just what he did; if he bounced around, having girls fall in love with him over and over, to which he then lead them on, and eventually proceeded to cut them off, with little, to absolutely no explanation why.
But, ultimately, whether he treated her like the Queen of England, or like last week's garbage, it wouldn't change the fact that she really was falling (more like, had fallen to the lowest possible pit ever, really effing hard) for Sidney Patrick Crosby.
And despite that things were pretty up-and-down, all-over-the-fucking-place with her and Sid, in the end, she knew she wanted him. And deep down, she was pretty, sort-of, maybe-kind of sure he wanted her, too.
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He missed her so much. So, so fucking much.
In the painful reality of it all, Sidney had little-to-no room to miss her. Frankly, he had treated her pretty damn pathetically in his last few days before he left the 'Burgh. He'd been distant, and cold, and he couldn't quite wrap his head around why he treated her the way he did, he just knew he did, and it was unacceptable. Oh, and that he felt awful about it.
So, while he may not have had any room to miss her, he all the room in the world to feel awful. And man, was he maximizing that room.
Honestly, Sid just felt off. Maybe it was the fact that the guilt of his behavior was gnawing away at him, or maybe it was that his roomie Pascal Dupuis wasn't out on the trip, because of the blood clot in his lungs. While both were highly probable, and, in all technicality, acounted for at least a portion of the haze Sid was under, he didn't think it was the latter that played the bigger role. In his heart he knew it was Victoria.
See, that's the overall thing. Sidney knew it was Victoria. He knew that she was beautiful, and smart, and perfectly awkward, sort of like he was. He knew that she seemed to get him, for him, and not for who he was when he stepped onto the ice. He knew that she complemented him in ways he didn't think any girl ever would. He knew that no matter how much he dicked around, and drug his feet, he wanted her. Boarderline needed her. He felt sort of silly saying this, considering they'd known each other for just over two weeks, but, to him, that just proved how right they were together.
Now, the only catch was, he needed to either:
A.) Tell her about his feelings. All his feelings. About how he's always been afraid to love; afraid to fall; and the very fact that he's comfortable enough to tell her all that she means to him, is a huge deal, in itself. About how he loves the way her glasses slip down the bridge her nose sometimes, and how she embarrassedly pushes them back into place. About how he loves the way she blushes when he says her name. About how when he's with her, he wants to somehow press pause, and live in those moments forever.
B.) Pick up his goddamn phone, dial the number he knew by heart, actually press the 'call' button -for once- and just say hi. Ask how she's doing. Maybe say that he misses her. Just let her know he cares.
C.) Pick up his goddamn phone, dial the number he knew by heart, actually press the 'call' button -for once- and spill his guts. Gush about his feelings. Tell her everything on his mind. Just fucking tell her he wants her.
And as Sidney sat, head pressed against the cool, glass, hotel room window, and he looked down upon the streets of Los Angeles, he began to weigh his options. Telling her over the phone seemed a little insensitive, honestly; telling her in person seemed to be the much smarter, sweeter option.
So, decidedly, he'd tell her when they got back to the Steel City, in 8 days.
But, he still missed her, and still wanted to talk to her. So, with shaking hands, he plucked his phone from his back pocket, and begin to dial her number. He glanced at the clock, one last time. It was 7:43, meaning it'd be 10:43 back in Pittsburgh. Hopefully he wouldn't wake her.
After calling her, the phone rang six times, in Sidney's ear.
After each one, there was no answer.
Huffing, considering his attempt was unsuccessful, Sidney jerked the phone away from his face, and hung up.
"Dammit." He mumbled, under his breath, even though there was no one around to hear him. God, Sid really had wanted to tell her he missed her.
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From across the living room, Tori and Ash's clock read exactly 10:41 pm, Eastern Time, making it 7:41 Pacific Time, out West, where Sid was. And, by that time, on a night before a game, he was probably already back, within his hotel room. If she wanted to, she could probably call him up, and he'd answer.
Oh dear god, did she want to call him.
While, again, Tori wasn't quite sure where, exactly, they stood, she wasn't going to waste her night worrying about it. If she wanted a damn answer, she'd ask for it; not just sit and ponder it, while listening to some sort of shitty, girl-power inspirational music.
The clock flipped to 10:42 pm.
Inhaling deeply, she yanked out her phone, and with her trembling left hand, slowly dialed Sid's phone number, hoping to the highest heavens he'd pick up. God, she needed to hear his voice, even if it was just his voicemail.
By 10:43 pm, the phone was ringing.
It rang.
And it rang.
And it rang some more.
But never did anyone actually pick up.
Hell, it didn't even go to voicemail.
Eventually, she gave up, letting her hand fall from the side of her face, to her lap, as she pounded upon the 'end call' key. All she had fucking wanted was to:
1.) Hear Sidney's voice.
2.) Tell him she missed him.
And she got neither.
Fuck.
She sighed, heavily, before heaving herself off the old, worn-down couch, and in the direction of her bedroom, sufficiently upset.
God, she really had wanted to tell him she missed him.
