Game Theory × NH

103 | lawrencium

× Horan

I have once been told that I have a very callous coping technique. Maybe it was an insult, but it was obviously still true. I preferred to get straight to the root of things and deal with them in the most logical way possible. Every problem had a solution, every action had an equal and opposite reaction, and if I thought hard enough, I could ruin any hitch in my way. All things considering, my scientifically proven system of not getting hurt may have had some errors after all.

I never should have gone to the hospital. No, that wasn't it. I had to go; I had to make sure she was okay. But I never should have stayed to see her wake up. Seeing as though Jamie, Jace, and Coach were there, she wouldn't even have missed me, but my fucking heart got the better of me and I knew I had to see those deep blue eyes to settle my worrying mind.

But getting that close to her again only made things worse off for me. The past two days were spent in my room, leisurely strumming my guitar and throwing textbooks around in frustration. It had gotten so bad that I even touched on the idea of leaving the football team. It was hard enough to be in the same room as her, it almost downright killed me to look at her every day knowing it would never be like it was before.

So I went to the gym. I needed to do something to take my mind off everything. Punching something seemed like the most logical thing to do.

I went at night, after it was closed and used the keycard coach had given everyone on the team so the gym would always be open. The last thing I wanted was to deal with people.

When I stepped into the fitness center, someone had already beaten me to the idea.

"What are you doing!?" I shouted

Lynn had a look of concentration as she stood in front of the punching bag, knuckles wrapped in tap and beads of sweat running down alone her hairline. She was clearly ignoring the fact that her ankle was messed up and seemed to put everything she got into punching the bag in front of her.

"You should be in bed with your foot up!" I tried again, making my way over to her.

She ignored me as she took a kick at the bag, the vinyl swinging from the ceiling. From the looks of it, she didn't come here with her crutches and I wondered if she walked all the way over here on her bad ankle.

Before she could take another strike, I stood on the other side of the bag and stopped it from swinging, halting Lynn's action to advance.

She was wearing black leggings with a mesh design up the side and a matching sports bra with an intricate web cutout on the back. Her hair was hastily pulled up into a pony tail; lose strands clinging to her wet skin.

"What are you doing here?" I tried to get her attention again.

The fire in her eyes should have been enough of an indicator that she didn't want to talk to anyone, let alone me, but seeing as though she really needed to stop putting pressure on her ankle, I didn't find a way around this. For the sake of the team and her future career, she needed to stop.

And Lynn knew that; she wasn't an idiot. That only made me wonder what in the world could cause her to do something so risky.

"You need to go back to your hall and rest. You know what the doctor-"

"Fuck the doctor," Lynn interrupted.

Even though I was holding the punching bag, she took a swing anyways, making me step back slightly from the momentum.

"Talk to me," I said desperately. "Tell me what's wrong. Did I do something?"

"Go away," she sneered, her eyes looking directly into mine. Her taped knuckles were a bright red, telling me she had been here a while. "This has nothing to do with you."