Sasquatch to the Moon

13: Lonely

YETI

Losing miserably brings back some memories for the group of us that's been around longer than Nico. The sharp bite at first, then the dull ache of knowing it's probably going to happen more often than once.

It's normally fine for us in the older crowd, you just go home, get something to eat and sleep it off, then get ready for the next game.

The one thing I never thought about, though, because I've only spent one year without Gage Paxton as my goalie, and that was my first year, when Paikky was doing better; is how big of a toll it takes on them. Gage is almost superhuman in my perception, he has full control over his emotions and can shut them off after a moment or two, getting right back in the mood for the next game. 

I'd never seen anything different. Paikky and Paxy are both so far out there into "all goalies are a little off" that they don't seem to process losses into emotions. Rocket's the first. It's weird to me. 

I've never been good with emotions myself, I'm pretty alright with other people, when they come to me with an emotional mess up or something they need to get off their chest I'm good enough to keep a level head and tell them what I think they should do. I'm alright at it, I do it with some people, it's okay. 

But I've never been good with feeling anything myself. Working with other people is like being a ghost standing in the middle of the locker room after winning a big game. I'm there but I don't get to be a part of it.

Which is why I'm so confused right now.

I'm soaked, having just gotten back from a hot shower in the team room. My legs and arms are shaky. After a loss normally everyone goes extra hard on the post-game work out to get ready to try a little harder the next game.

I stayed late. I wanted to get in extra reps and then run it off like I normally do, I thought I was the last person at the facility.

I'm not.

Rocket is sitting in the locker room, his head in his hands, fingers knotted up in his hair, tugging on it. He's staring at the floor, thinking.

And I'm awkwardly standing in the doorway.

As much time as I spend with other people's feelings, I've always thought I was broken enough to not feel empathy. I know what they're feeling, I have a decent guess at what it actually feels like, I have enough compassion not to make any harsh statements, but when people mention empathy, I don't believe in it.

Feeling what other people are feeling in a moment of hurt is not possible.

Or I thought it wasn't.

That is until I feel the ache of self hatred deep in my gut even though I already worked my way through that feeling tonight. I'm done with the feeling already. I didn't play badly, it was just an off night for all of us.

But here I am, watching Rocket tear himself apart over it and I'm feeling it too.

"Get up," my voice croaks out too harshly.

Rocket looks up at me, his eyes are swimming, he's hurt by my quick words.

"I'm sorry, that came out wrong," I splutter.

"Listen, Yets, I don't want a pep talk, I just need to go home," he stands up, pulling a baseball cap on over his head, then grabbing his coat. "You played great tonight."

"No, I'm not giving you a pep talk. We sucked. I know we sucked. Hyping ourselves up after something that bad isn't worth it. I just want someone to come with me to get a sandwich."