I rub at my eyes.
They're sore and aching, and I'm sure they're bloodshot and red-rimmed. I must look like hell, and I feel much worse.
I rest my face in my hands and my elbows on my knees, and I take in several heavy, shuddering breaths. I calm myself and breathe deeply through my nose. I hold my position for a count of ten seconds, before shakily exhaling. I do this several times, and the repetition calms my nerves and settles my stomach.
How could I have missed it?
How could I have been so focused on Adam, how could I think that I knew him so well, that I loved him so much, and yet have not known the two biggest secrets he held so close?
How could I have been so blind?
I should have known. Why didn't I know? How could I possibly have missed...?
Memories wash over me suddenly, like a flood. I remember little things - Adam running his hands through my hair, Adam always trying to pass me the puck first, Adam always sitting next to me at meals and on the buses to away games, Adam brushing away my tears and taking care of me when I'm really sick and telling off anyone who ever said a negative word to me.
How could I never have noticed this before?
Of course, I noticed that he did these things, but they never added up to anything significant in my mind. He was just looking out for me. He is my roommate, he is my best friend, he is a Duck, and "Ducks fly together" and all that good stuff.
I just never let myself really notice them. I was too convinced that he would never, that he could never...I'm so frustrated now, how did I miss it, all these months, all these...years...?
I take several more calming breaths and let my mind flow back to moments with Adam, moments when I realize now that I should have known.
Moments where, maybe in his own way, maybe without realizing it...he was trying to tell me...
Adam is searching through his closet. Everyone thinks he's a neat freak, but that's only because he shoves nearly everything he owns into the closet and then shuts the door before anything can fall out.
I laugh at the mess he makes as he throws clothes out over his shoulder; they land in a heap on the floor.
"Dammit," he swears loudly.
I look over from my desk, where I'm trying (rather unsuccessfully, mostly due to a distraction named Adam) to work on an English composition. "What's wrong?" I ask.
"I lost my wallet," he replies, without moving from his position kneeling before his closet. Half his body is inside his closet, and I hear several more curse words as practically his entire wardrobe comes flying into the room.
"Anything I can do to help?"
"I guess...if you could just look around..." He exits the (apparently empty) closet and turns to survey the heap of clothes. He must decide that the wallet is definitely in the pile, because he kneels next to the mound and starts rummaging through the clothes, reaching into pockets and shaking out t-shirts. I abandon my composition, and I bend above him, doing my best to help him look. Suddenly, he pulls it out of the cargo pocket of a pair of khakis and stands back up, not knowing I'm right there. The crown of his head connects with my nose.
"Argh!" I grab my face in anguish. I put my fingers to my nose, and they come away wet and warm. My nose trickles slightly...and then blood is gushing down my face. I clamp my mouth shut tightly and bring my hands back up to my nose, trying to stop the flow as best I can.
"Holy shit, Dwayne, I'm so sorry!"
"Id's fide," I reply as best I can, with my nose completely clogged...and still gushing blood.
He races out of the room and returns a few moments later, with a wet washcloth in his hand.
"Sit, sit," he instructs me, as I am still standing dumbly in the middle of the room, my brain and body both frozen, with no idea what to do.
I sit down on my bed, my now-bloody hands still pressed against my face, still trying unsuccessfully to ebb the flow.
He uses his left hand to hold my wrists together and pulls them away.
"Keep your head level," he says softly, and sets the washcloth on his leg and reaches for the tissues I keep on my bedside table, next to my alarm clock. His left hand still holds my wrists as he presses the tissues against my nose and upper lip.
"I cad - " I start to say, but he silences me with a soft "Shh..."
"Let me," he says quietly. "I'm sorry, Dwayne."
I shrug cheerfully, trying to ignore the tension in this moment, the spirals coiling and uncoiling themselves in my stomach. "Dot on puh-pose," I say.
My nose is no longer bleeding, but my face is covered, my shirt is ruined, and my hands (still held by Adam) are completely red. He presses the washcloth against my face and gently cleans away the blood. He refuses to let me go, and he gazes at me carefully, trying to gauge the damage. I flush bright red under his scrutiny and close my eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"I thindk so," I say. I open my eyes, and he is still staring at me.
"Is it broken?" He reaches up to gently press my nose.
It hurts, but the pain is not agonizing. "Doe, pwobuhby dot."
"But it hurts?"
I shrug. Of course it does. But I can't have him feeling guilty.
"I'm so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, I didn't know you were there, I just..." He is frantically stumbling over his words, apologizing like he's worried I'll never forgive him.
"Adab, Adab, id's fide!" I try to reassure him, pat the back of his hand. "I'b fide, dod't worry!"
He turns his hand over and holds mine gently. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks and stare down, focusing on our suddenly entwined hands, and I never want him to let go.
"You should lie down," he says. "You lost some blood, do you feel lightheaded?"
I do, but not necessarily from the bloody nose from which I have just recovered. I only faintly nod and lay back on my bed.
Adam breaks our contact and leaves to throw away the tissues and rinse out the washcloth in the bathroom. When he returns, my eyes are closed, but I'm not asleep. When I roll onto my side and open them twenty minutes later, he is sitting by my beside, watching me...
...I should have known, I should have known...
These words repeat in my head over and over, almost like a chant, almost like a taunt...
...I should have known...I should have known...
Maybe things would be different now, if only I had recognized those moments for what they were...
If only...
After The Wrist Incident, I guess Adam just knew he could trust me, just knew that I...cared.
We started to spend a lot of time together, even though we weren't sharing a room at the dorms where we were staying. I went out of my way to spend time with him...I would help him do the things he had trouble with, since his arm was in a sling...I would make it a point to sit next to him at meals or to skate near him at practice (he still insisted on lacing up with us, although he couldn't do any of the drills) or to just...hang out. We started talking, and the best friendship of my life was formed...
It's six-twenty-three in the morning. I stumble to the door, my shirt half-twisted, my hair and clothes equally rumpled. My alarm isn't set to go off for another hour, at least.
Everyone else is dead to the world (understandably) so yanking open the door, I stand there, barely-conscious and very, very annoyed (understandably.)
Adam stands there, hair all over the place, in a t-shirt and boxers.
"I'm so glad you're awake!"
I freeze, staring openly, before collecting my thoughts and asking, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing! Everything's right!" He can barely contain his excitement, and I wonder briefly where he gets so much energy so early in the morning.
At the same time, I'm also very confused about his statement until Adam holds out his wrist – sans cast – and exclaims, "It's healed!"
"What?!"
"I woke up, and it doesn't even hurt." The bruising has yellowed now, and the slight swelling has completely gone down. "I can play!"
I smile widely. "Adam, that's great! I'm so happy for you, I know how much this means to you."
His smile is wider than mine. He grabs my shoulders with his hands, and for a moment, I am worried (thrilled) he's going to kiss me. Instead, he pulls me into one of those unwieldy guy hugs." I am shocked and have no idea what to do with my arms. I settle for awkwardly patting his back.
He pulls away and looks into my eyes.
"I'm sorry," he says softly, so softly I'm not quite sure it's not just my imagination. "I should have listened to you, Dwayne." He speaks a little louder now. "I was being ridiculous, I see that now. I just wanted - "
"It's okay." I stop him. I don't need to hear it. I understand. And I know his apology is sincere.
There's a long moment of silence. I am suddenly very fascinated with the hem of my t-shirt, I am pulling at it when his hand rests over mine. I look up.
"Thank you," he says.
I nod slightly, and he steps back.
"I just...I'll let you get back to sleep. I know I wake up really early, I just...I had to tell you." He rotates his wrist smoothly, and we both smile.
He walks back down the hall to his room. I watch him until he closes his door before I close my own. I cross the room and climb back into bed. I don't sleep, of course.
...Maybe things would be different...