CHOICES (Completed)

DETONATIONS

Howling and cheering goes on all around me. St. Stephen’s has won. And I, have lost. Everyone around me is happy. Cheerful. Rejoicing. And I am pacing, into the locker team of the basketball team, to do one last thing.

I enter and am met with celebrating and cheering players, drowned in the joys of victory and I scan my eyes before landing on him. There he stands, laughing and happy, no flashes of regret or guilt of the pain he has inflicted.

Not a care in the world about the person he has broken, and then rejoined only to break her again.

I march straight to him, turning him by the shoulder and landing a full force slap on his face, venting out every dram of anger, hurt and pain I have within me.

He looks at me shocked and so does everyone else in the room.

“You really did that?”

He looks at me warily, confusion etched on his voice, which slowly turns into realisation. And I know he did. It is all the confirmation I needed. Hope sucks. But the last single one that childishly betrays it’s way into your heart, is lost too now.

 “Ho-w dare yo-“I choke out hoarsely, not believing still, that his is happening.

Hardin takes a few steps forward, until he stands directly in front of me. My breath comes out rough, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.

He holds my wrist, achingly slow and firm, and the next thing I know, he is dragging me with himself, out of the dressing room.

Hardin marches off, past everyone, into the corridor. I have no strength to fight, but I retaliate. I struggle though his hold, which he grips tighter in response. Our footsteps, echo in the corridor, and he bangs open a door, pulling me inside another locker room, just empty.

He leaves my hand with a jerk so sudden and forceful, I almost stumble.

I turn around sharply, and that’s when I see him.

He stands, hands in pocket, unfazed and unaffected, as if he has not just done the worst thing someone can possibly do to one who loves you this hard.

“Yo- you do-“

“Tell me when you get that voice back. I have won a game, I’m in no rush.”

His strong, easy voice falls on me like a thunderstorm. I stand rooted, to my place, appalled at everyt- Har-

I walk up to him slowly, almost as if trying to decipher who this man standing in front of me was. The one I had laughed with, the one I had cried with, the one I had loved.

And I don’t see him.

“You did th-“

“Yes, I did this. How did you like it, I know you’re quite the critique, so any ratings any- suggestions for improvement?”

He is not serious. He can’t be- serious. His voice is full of sardonic humour, but his eyes continue to hold the icy glare.

It just keeps getting worse, the pain, just piles up and up, and I know it’s not long before it just topples over and crushes me underneath. I can feel an impending hurricane approaching.

“You don’t- there’s not even regret, or guilt and you did this.” I say out disbelievingly, I cannot comprehend just how repulsively shameless he can be.

“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think. At least, my piece was more realistic, I mean you did fall for that, but I’m not falling for this.” He smirks lightly and walks past me, taking a few more leisure steps around.