I turn around, my face planting into my pillow, and I yell. And it feels so good to yell. To remember how angry I am at that guy who kicked me and ended my shutout and at Barrera and his fucking ultimatums. I pick up my arm, my shoulder and chest still bruised and stinging when I do, and I embrace that pain. I slam my hand down on my mattress and yell some more into my pillow. I yell for how sad I am. For how weak I am. Because, at one point, I was able to almost have everything, but now I have nothing.
I yell, and I slam my arm down, and I yell some more from how much this hurts. I want it to hurt. Again and again and—
“Gabo,” Pérez calls out from behind me, rushing to my bed and landing on top of me, careful to not put his weight on the half of my body I’m doing enough extra damage to myself. He grabs my arm and holds it, his other arm wrapping around my stomach.
“Hey, I got you,” he says, hearing my yells turn into more cries. “I got you. Let it out. Just don’t hurt yourself anymore. I’m right here.”
I stop moving, but it takes minutes for me to force my heart rate down and the tears to quit coming out. Pérez stays with me, sitting on my bed, his hand on my back, but without the pressure now that I’m not actively hurting myself. My cheek ispressed into my pillow and I take in the half of it Vale might’ve been on right now, in another future where he refused to leave because he wanted to take care of me. Instead, there’s just empty space and the wall. Instead—
“He’s gone. I … I ended it.”
The words sound like half-truths. Barrera stays living in my head, his threats loud and playing over and over again.I had to end it. I was careless.But I don’t mention him. Mostly because I know that Pérez would leave right now, go find our captain, and do his best to bring the fight I couldn’t. But this is all for an option that’s the least chaotic, the least dramatic. The least likely to break my squad with me at the center of it all.
“Why?” He carefully but quickly crawls into that space, his eyes big in shock, and he sounds just as surprised. Almost hurt, even. “What happened?”
I shrug, biting through the little bit of pain from moving my shoulder. “Maybe I never deserved him in the first place.”
Pérez lets out a bothered breath through his nose, shaking his head. “Gabo, you … I don’t know what it’s like to be in your shoes. I don’t know half of what you’ve gone through just to look as happy as you did whenever you were around Vale. But I do know you made him happy. And I know how important he was to you. Don’t think so low of yourself, papi.”
“I just— I wish I could’ve done more.”
“I know,” he says, just louder than a whisper as he scoots close and hugs me. “I know.”
32
I TRY MY BESTto hold it together. To not have a breakdown first thing in the morning in front of my whole Philosophy class. But I also can’t not look at Vale as he comes in, gives me a sad, tired, maybe even forced smile, and walks past his seat and our row, continuing up, probably back to where he sat our first week before I told him to sit next to me.
And I try my hardest not to look back.
I’m not even sure me being here is better than skipping. I could’ve emailed Coolidge, said I was sick or something. Used my injury as an excuse. He even asked about it as I walked in, but all I gave back was a nod to his “Soccer injury?” and an “I’m good” when he said I can sit closer if it’d hurt to walk up the steps.
I know that physically being in class is a necessity. But mentally, I’m not here at all. I couldn’t guess what the professor’s talking about up there. My brain is so foggy and far away, I might as well be skipping.
“Gabriel?”
“What?” My head pops up from where it was resting on my fist, looking for Professor Coolidge and finally finding him a lot closer to me than I remember him being. How long has he been trying to get my attention?
“I was asking for your thoughts.”
“I … okay.”
His brows perk up and his lips press together as he sighs, all the signs that make it clear we both know I haven’t been listening. “In case you didn’t hear me, we’re discussing what exactly is the self, what exactly isyou. And, as an example, I ask you, if your brain is here in this room but your body is playing a soccer game in California, where are you?”
Well, my brain for sure isn’t here, so we’re already off to a bad start.
“I … I don’t know.”
“Want to give us a guess? Promise there are no wrong answers.”
Yeah, that’s why I hate Philosophy in the first place.
“Fine. I’m where my brain is.”
“Why? Your brain can’t physically play soccer. If your body were to still be able to block a goal, would it not be Gabriel Piña who blocked that goal?”
“I guess, yeah.”
“But tell me what you’re thinking. Why you first said differently.”
