Resigning myself to the fact that I saw no way to undo what I had done, I refocused my attention to hockey and tried to suppress all memories of the past few weeks deep down in some dark crevice of my subconscious. St. Sebastian and Pine Wood entered the playoffs as the top two seeds in the league, which thankfully meant that we wouldn't face each other until the final game, as far away and as least likely as possible.
Regrettably, that did end up happening, as I should have known it would. Fate and Theo's hockey abilities conspired against me. The game would be the first time in two weeks that I'd see my ex-boyfriend in person. Nora had obliged when I asked to change my schedule around at the bookstore to avoid coinciding shifts with Theo. She gave me a skeptical look but begrudgingly allowed it.
Debilitating dread filled my body in the days leading up to the game. My teammates' increasing antagonism towards Pine Wood generally and Theo specifically did not help matters. Rumors abounded that there would be a police presence at the game to avoid any further escalations, but that never materialized.
On the night of the game, while no police were visible, I could see as my attention diverted from warm-ups that the arena was more packed than it'd probably ever been with students, families, and onlookers. All for a game I simply did not want to play, with a pit in my stomach that was growing larger by the minute.
My eyes scanned the crowd before eventually returning to the ice, specifically the other end-zone, where Theo was warming up with his team. This was my first actual look at him in fifteen days and believe me I was counting. The sight of him, so totally focused when I was anything but, pained me immensely.
I played about as well as I focused, letting up three goals. Two were from Theo and the other from Nolan, on Theo's assist. Pine Wood's coach seemed to notice I had difficulty against Theo's line and kept the matchup all night as best he could. The rest of the team didn't play much better either, as the game ended as a 7-2 blowout. That was probably for the best, as our student section didn't have much reason for enthusiasm.
Scott, Kirk and the rest were so focused on trying not to be embarrassed in the game that they didn't have time to harass Theo as much as they could've, which I was silently thankful for. Theo earned a hat trick in the game, which I couldn't help but feel prideful about, despite our current estrangement.
By the third period, the game had lost all consequence to me and I was reduced to marveling at Theo's naturalness on the ice, his ability to glide and maneuver with ease, taking complete control of the game. The feelings of longing and wistfulness I'd had during that January game all those weeks ago was now replaced by a pang of intense guilt and pained continued realization of what a grave error I'd made
Still, in the handshake line, after the final buzzer sounded, I kept my eyes trained on the hands of my opponents as I connected mine with theirs. I had no intention of looking into the eyes of my ex-boyfriend. Even still, I immediately recognized his hand when we reached each other in the line, with a rainbow-colored bracelet hanging from his wrist. It was bittersweet to know that Theo was able to be so open and accepted among his team, while also besting a team of homophobes. The realization that I was part of that team of homophobes made me nauseous.
I felt Theo's eyes on me as our hands connected as if they were pulling mine to meet his. Now that the game was over, maybe tensions would evaporate and things could go back to the way they were, I imagined for an ever-so-brief moment. This possibility was still not enough to compel my eyes to meet his. I could feel Kirk's eyes on mine, watching the interaction and patrolling for any divergence from the bare minimum interaction.
"Good game, Charlie," Theo said in his soft but confident voice. That was the standard saying in the post-game handshake line, though the use of a first name or any name at all was uncommon. Even more, there felt a much greater meaning to his words. It was as if he was willing a detente between us. Still, I couldn't look him in the eyes or reply audibly. I kept my head down and moved forward, the moment had passed, and I was a coward.
Without hockey or any other organized sport to structure my free time, the ensuing days and weeks blended. I worked more at the bookshop than usual, needing the distraction. I spent more time than I would've admitted searching for the Pine Wood lacrosse practice schedule so I could add more shifts without the chance of running into Theo.
On those rare occasions where he was coming in and I was heading out or vice versa, I avoided him at all costs, pulling Dalia or Nora into a conversation or simply bolting out of the shop before there was ever any chance of interaction. I knew that I partially did this for fear that he wouldn't even want to exchange pleasantries with him. That voice in the back of my mind told me that he hadn't made an effort to get in contact with me since that fateful night. Part of me wanted to maintain the fiction that he still desired me, mostly for my own ego's sake at this point.
On days where I wasn't working, I would come home and immediately go to bed. Sometimes, I'd watch Netflix, but for the most part, I would just sleep or simply lay in bed and stare blankly at the ceiling, pondering my various mistakes in life.
My mother alternated between teasing me for the way I was acting and showing overwhelming concern. From one day to the next, she would either tell me I was "acting so gay" or suggest that I should "speak to someone." The latter suggestion was the last thing I wanted to do. I had fallen even more in with the hockey bros and that hyper-masculine wall had been reconstructed. There was no way that I was going to do something as feminine as talk about my feelings with a stranger.
Aside from losing Theo, I had also lost two of my closest friends. I could see in their faces at school that they had nothing but contempt for me. I felt my only friends left were the hockey bros or the guys from football.
I'd lost my outlet for expressing any variation from the masculinity required of a boy at that school and convinced myself that I needed to sublimate entire chunks of my selfhood for survival. I had already repressed my ability to feel and accept love and now I was suppressing much of my individuality and personality to endear myself to peers who would desire harm done to me if they knew my true self. That's what being in the closet is the gradual process of cleaving parts of yourself off when they don't conform to the expected version of you until, one day, there's nothing left at all but bare bones.
I knew all of this and I hated myself for it, but I saw no other way. These feelings were cyclic, creating what I felt to be a death spiral in which I was sinking further and further from any notion of happiness. Since preadolescence, I trained myself in these survival tactics and convinced myself that it was the only way to make it through these teenage years. But, now I knew there was another path, but I had also destroyed that path out of my choosing and my desire to shield myself from the abuse that I saw inflicted on Theo and other out peers.
This is where my mind raced to in those evenings and nights I did nothing but stare up at my ceiling, dwelling in self-hate. I would maybe get a few hours of sleep in the afternoons after school, but at night I could never fall asleep. My mind raced with accusations, faint hopes, and nightmarish fears. The thought of being outed, a paranoia that had not dissipated since I rejected my Theo in front of friends and classmates, was top on my list of concerns. I felt as though I had to keep up appearances now, because I had already lost my chance at happiness with another boy, so I had to be able to find it in the straight world. Had that path been burned too, I saw no future.
I reached the age requirement for a driver's license in March, but I felt no drive to go take the test. As a result, I remained at the mercy of my parents and friends to drive me anywhere. That's how my mother finally got me to therapy. I didn't have much choice in the matter, really. Mom had unexpectedly picked me up, which was strange but meant I didn't have to take the bus so I didn't think much of it. I had had my head down scrolling through my phone one day after school when the car suddenly stopped.
After a few minutes of neither of us budging, I looked upward, expecting to see our driveway and garage, but instead seeing the parking lot of a doctor's office. "No, no, no," had been my immediate reaction and I sat in silence for most of that first session and the second.