The following morning, Adam woke up late, and the first thing he saw was Charlie's face, looking over him. His expression was an anxious, uncertain one, and one that Adam had rarely, if ever, seen there before.
"What's wrong, Charlie?" he asked, sitting up. Charlie bit down on his lower lip and reached for Adam's arm.
"This," he replied, indicating the cuts on his wrist. Adam instinctively jerked his arm back, but Charlie held on.
"It's nothing, Charlie. I'm fine."
"Bullsh*t, Adam. Why would you do this?" He covered the wounds with his hand, as if he couldn't even look at them, and Adam recognized the feeling from his troubled dreams during the night. He pulled his arm away and traced the cuts slowly, somehow finding solace in the dull ache they caused to run through his arm.
"It's a release, Charlie. An escape." Not like he expected him to understand.
"Don't you see what you're doing to yourself?" Charlie asked. He wasn't angry, he was scared, and Adam could sense that right away.
"Charlie, I'll be fine, okay?"
"No, not okay, Adam." Charlie grabbed his arm again.
"Look, okay? Look at what you're doing to yourself. You're hurting yourself." Adam jerked his arm away forcefully.
"You're wrong, Charlie." And with that, he got up and left, slamming the door behind him. Almost immediately, Charlie felt the guilt clawing at him inside. He was never good at keeping control of his emotions, especially when it involved someone he cared about. Seeing those cuts on Adam's arm had upset him and scared him, and he hadn't known how to react. Score one for me, he thought bitterly, laying back on his bed, some friend I am.
"Adam?" Oh christ, of all the people to see him in this condition. Adam rubbed furiously at his eyes, trying to stop the tears.
"Adam, what's wrong?" He sensed the presence at his right shoulder, and glanced sideways to see Jade's hand reaching out for his arm. Without even thinking, he pulled away.
"Charlie and I had an argument," he said, his voice thick with tears.
"About what?"
"About…about me…" Why was it so hard for him to say that?
"What about you?" Adam swallowed hard and tried to make the words come out, but his voice faltered.
"I…I cut myself," he said in a bare whisper. Jade glanced down and saw Adam's hand pressed tightly over his left wrist. Gently, she grasped his hand and lifted it away. The marks she saw were nothing new; she bore her own scars on her wrists.
"Was he angry?"
"Yes…well, yes and no…"
"He's scared, Adam. He's your friend, and he doesn't know how to react to this," she explained quietly, "All he's probably heard about people who cut is that they're messed up in the head." Adam let her words sink in for a moment. Now that he thought about it, she was probably right. The tone of Charlie's voice, the expression on his face…they weren't angry, they were scared. And he knew firsthand how Charlie wasn't the best when it came to expressing emotions.
"Look, go back up there and talk to him. If he doesn't listen, I'll talk to him. But I think he'll listen. If he's a good friend, he'll let you get everything off your chest before he starts in." He felt her hand rubbing his upper back in an attempt to console.
"He's always a good friend," Adam murmured, more to himself than to Jade, and the realization that hit him as he said this was like a blindside blow.
When the door opened and Adam stepped into the room, Charlie was immediately on his feet. He reminded himself to stay calm, to hear his friend out, to not jump to any conclusions.
"Charlie, I'm sorry," Adam said quietly. His eyes were slightly swollen and red, and that only served to deepen Charlie's guilt.
"No…it was my fault. I shouldn't have flown off the handle like that." He extended his right hand in a gesture of reconciliation and Adam gladly accepted it. Such a trivial thing, yet carrying so much meaning to the two friends who'd stood the test of time.
"So, can we talk?" Adam asked after they'd shaken hands.
"Yeah, definitely."
The next few days were nothing short of hell for Adam and Charlie. Practices were gradually getting longer in preparation for the NCAA Tournament, and classes were getting more demanding as well. Midterms were not far off, and that meant all-nighters and lots of coffee for everyone. Jade came by their dorm several times, offering pizza or tacos or take-out Chinese, whatever was ordered by people on their floor, and more often than not they accepted it gratefully. With all the hockey and studying, there was very little time left for eating well.
"You know, when an injured player is as tired and sore as his healthy teammates, you gotta wonder," Adam commented during one of their study breaks. It was around 2 in the morning, and he and Charlie were studying up for their American Literature exam.
"No sh*t. You're doin' all the drills without a stick, and you're sitting for shooting and scrimmage. I don't get it," Charlie replied. Across the room, Adam flexed his wrist a little and winced.
"My dad's going to flip tomorrow night when I'm not out there," he muttered, "He's coming to the game, and I haven't had the courage to tell him."
"Dang, he really is gonna flip," Charlie agreed. He knew well enough how Adam's dad was, especially when it came to injuries. He remembered well Adam's continuing problems with his wrist throughout high school and his father's resulting reprimands. Basically, what it amounted to was his father was so obsessed with Adam's success in hockey, that he blamed his son for any injuries he picked up along the way. The logic, needless to say, was lost on Charlie.
"You're answering the phone for the next week, Conway," Adam grumbled good-naturedly, turning back to his homework. Charlie smiled. He'd do whatever, as long as Adam was finally coming around.
