As I started paying more attention to her, I noticed the little things—her laughter, how her emotions matched her voice, and her changes like cutting her hair or painting her nails. I wondered if being so attentive was strange.
We had been on the same soccer team since freshman year, but I remember back in fourth grade when she hit her head hard. She tried to act tough, like it didn't hurt, as if it had happened before.
When she blacked out, I was the one who took her to the nurse, despite her trying to push everyone away. Even now, she still believes it was Kevyn who brought her.
I couldn't stand him. They spent time together doing reckless things like cocaine, though I couldn't claim to be any different.
I still don't think hitting her head was what caused her to black out.
Once, I woke up on the field with everyone surrounding me, unable to make my voice heard amid the chaos. It felt like my insides were spilling into a dark puddle, tearing me apart. When I finally opened my eyes, she was standing there, looking concerned.
Why her?
I wondered.
Out of everyone,
why was it her.
As I opened my eyes, she was there with a concerned expression.
"Are you okay?" Her voice was filled with fear as she extended her hand to help me up.
Despite the pain, I managed a weak smile and nodded, gratefully accepting her assistance.
Walking to the sidelines together, I felt a whirlwind of emotions. She seemed to have a way of making my heart race, as if she could see through the walls I built, exposing the emotions I kept hidden.
Sitting there, she gently asked about what happened and why I was so scared to get up. I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal.