Chapter 17: Chapter 17

I try to sneak in but mom and dad are both waiting for me. Dad is playing solitaire on his iPad and mom is pacing the floors, “Would you like to explain now?” She snaps at me.

“Explain what?” I ask. I thought I saw smoke coming from mom’s ears at that point.

“Let’s start with this boy I heard about that you are dating at school.” “You mean Michael, he is the nice guy that took me to the hospital when I hurt myself.”

“We told you that you’re not allowed to get involved with boys.

When did you start dating him?”

“He’s not a boy he’s a guy and after I got injured.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about this ‘guy?” Mom mocks.

“I did, I told you he took me to the hospital. You even saw him in your car. You commented on him being cute.”

“You know what I mean,” mom says.

“Because I knew you would react this way.”

“I’m acting like this because you aren’t straight with us. You lied to everyone!”

“It was just a little bit of fun while I was laid up, I didn’t expect things to get serious between me and Michael.”

“They’re serious?” Dad starts suddenly getting interested.

“Not anymore, Scott gave me an ultimatum and forced me to break up with Michael today.”

“Well, at least he has his head on straight,” mom comments.

“I just want to go to bed now, can I go?”

“Sure Honey, you did the right thing,” dad says supportively.

“No, it’s more like Scott forced her to do the right thing. Don’t give her credit where it’s not due,” mom says to dad. “Nothing responsible is done on her part.” Mom has that all-encompassing look of disappointment on her face that only she gets. I turn to leave them to get ready for bed. When I’m tucked in I put on Timberlake and cry myself to sleep.

The Next Morning, my alarm rings, and I go through my morning routine feeling hollow inside. I haven’t asked mom to take me to the arena and I don’t see Scott’s car outside. I text him:

ISABELLA: Hi, we need 2 talk.

SCOTT: I’ll come get U.

I looked out the living room window until I see the headlights of his Mercedes in the driveway. I leave the house quietly and get into his idling car. He turned it off, waiting for me to say something, when I don’t he faces me. The air is filled with tension. I return his intense gaze. His hair is messy and he’s wearing his wife's beater T-shirt with just a sweater overtop. It looks like he just rolled out of bed and this is the worst he could look. His worst is amazing but with the mood, I’m in, it is easy to ignore.

“I pick the podium, I pick you, Scott.”

He reaches for me pulling me into a hug, “You won’t be sorry,” he speaks into my hair. “When did you tell him?”

“Yesterday, before we made love,” I confide to him. “It was my first time.” My voice cracks and I break down sobbing into his broad shoulder. He holds my shaking body for some time and when I quiet down he whispers, “Did I hear that right?”

“Yes,” I admit.

He pulls away from me grasping both my arms as he did in school, “tell me you were protected,” he demands.

“no”

He releases me and then punches his dashboard really hard, leaving a crack in it, and suddenly he isn't able to look at me anymore, “Get out of my fucking car.”

“Don’t be mad,” I say timidly, “Michael deserves so much more than getting mixed up with this,” I justify. “There’s no way I’ll get pregnant after one time.”

“Get out!” he continues.

That’s when it strikes me, it’s more than our skating. His anger is stemming from raw jealousy.

Depression gets the better of me and I spend the entire day locked in my bedroom sleeping and crying it out. I miss school, skating practice, I don’t eat, or even touch my phone. I completely isolate myself from my family, friends, and all social media.

I know my parents were worried. They beg and plead for me to come out. They lay trays of food out for me that go untouched the entire day. Later, I find out that they went as far as sending me text messages in attempts to communicate with me. Nothing worked.

The following morning, I don’t feel any better I feel worse.

Physically I feel weak from not having eaten the day before, my stomach is becoming nauseated and I’m beginning to have periods of dizziness every time I get out of bed to go to the bathroom.

Emotionally I’m an even bigger mess. I long to be back in Michael’s arms, to feel his hands all over my body, to rekindle that undeniable passion we had in the final hours of our relationship.

My dislike towards Scott intensifies with every passing hour. He literally scares the hell out of me with his temper in the Mercedes and does not attempt to contact me or apologize for his unwarranted reaction.

I can’t remember anyone ever yelling at me the way he did. He is bossy, and I hardly know him. I have the right to be happy without him or my parents dictating how I’m supposed to live my life. When he gave me that ultimatum I sacrificed all my happiness for the benefit of ‘us,’ and he hardly showed a morsel of gratitude.

The next day is more of the same with the exception that I broke down once to eat, and I accidentally caught sight of my sorry self in the mirror. The image staring back at me was a puffy, forlorn face that made me retch with self-hate.

It wasn’t until the third day that I resolved to go through the motions of my daily routine even if my heart is shattered to bits over the first love of my life, Michael. I dress in my favorite dress and sweater before checking my face in the mirror, haggard I think. I use my much-needed cover-up to hide the bags of depression that settle under my eyes and spritz myself up with my prettiest perfume before checking the kitchen for food and hallway for keys.

Lunch is made for me to bring to school. I’m not sure if it was made on day one, two, or three but I take it. I also grab a banana for breakfast even though my stomach hasn’t completely settled from day two yet.

The dizzy spells for the most part are gone.

The keys to dad’s car are in the hallway and I’m grateful for his thoughtfulness. He shows more empathy towards me throughout this entire situation than mom ever has. I arrive on time to the arena walking quickly through the lounges. I feel people watching me, but I ignore their stares. I change in the locker room and make it out to the ice surface just as the Zamboni is leaving. I don’t see Scott and I feel a mixed bag of emotions, primarily relief and disappointment that he isn’t there.

I begin stroking slower than usual around the ice. I have a mild headache and my stomach isn’t feeling normal yet. I don’t have my usual level of energy to burn. I hear Scott’s edges breaking the ice and feel his presence behind me before I see him. He slips his arm comfortably around my waist and I look up at him to see him smiling back at me, “I was waiting for you to come back to me, I was worried.”

He stops us from skating any further and hugs me right there in front of everyone. The mixed signals and the sheer audacity of his actions infuriate me. I attempt to pull away from his hug which is ridiculous, because he is way too strong for me, and says, “You showed it when you called, oh wait you didn’t. Well, at least you apologized for your vile temper, oh wait you didn’t do that either.” I add sarcastically.

Scott argues, “What do you expect me to do? You keep making these stupid decisions that risk everything we’ve ever worked for. Go back to single skating if you’re going to be a narcissistic asshole!”

I slap him hard across the face and try harder to break free from his grasp. With little effort on Scott’s part, he keeps me there. All the other skaters stop what they are doing and are watching us. His cheek is red from the assault and for a second, I fear he will retaliate, but he doesn’t.

Coach Tammy witnesses everything before yelling at us to come over,

“Scott, Isabella!” Scott releases his hold of me and we both skate to him. His face is red with anger and his voice stern, “If the two of you have issues, you settle them OFF the ice. If I see either of you raise a hand against the other, you can find yourself a new coach. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” we say in unison.

“Get off the ice and don’t come back until you can act professionally,” he seethes.

We get off the ice and go to our separate change rooms. Scott is finished before me because I see him waiting at the front doors. I walk past him wordlessly. He follows me out, “I’ll drive you to school.”

“I’ve got my dad’s car here,” I inform him.

“Get in my car,” he orders. I follow him to his car. Upset I reach for the handle and my headache goes from something mild to this profound throbbing. My body turns hot and a huge wave of nausea hits me. I feel my legs give.

SCOTT

I was on the other side of the car, there was no way I could have reached her in time. She collapsed, I let her fall.

Damn it! I let her fall!

Panic mode sets in I run over to the other side of my car to find her fragile body laying on the ground with a small pool of blood collecting around her head. “Wake up,” I say to her as I begin shaking her, but her eyes don’t open. I move her upper body, so I can cradle her in my arms, blood is starting to go everywhere. My car door is still open on her side and I reach into my pocket grabbing my phone, I dial 911.

When the ambulance comes the first attendant looks at me and says to his partner, “He moved her.”

Why did I move her? They always say never to move the victim unless they are in danger. They taught me that. I did it anyway. I just didn’t want her to be lying on that cold hard ground. I told her I would never let her get hurt and that’s exactly what I did. She is hurt.

The first attendant is reaching in the back of the ambulance for the stretcher and the second one looks at me, “Can you tell us what happened?” He is lifting her off me while he waits for me to speak and scramble out from underneath her. They are going to place her on their stretcher. I don’t want to let go of her. I have to let go of her. It is the hardest thing I ever did, but I force myself to let go of her.

I’m afraid that when I open my mouth to talk to the paramedics my voice will crack or worse I will lose my shit, but I manage to put words together,” I don’t know, we were getting in the car and when I looked over, she wasn’t there. Her head must have hit something sharp on my car door, she’s bleeding.” They grab white cling wrap from their truck and the first attendant holds her head steady while the other one wraps it in effort to stop or slow the bleeding down before bracing her head in case she has any neck injury.

The first attendant begins doing her vital signs. He feels for her pulse and then starts taking her blood pressure. The other one records everything on a pad he keeps in his pocket, “BP 74/44, Heart rate 50, respirations 10, 02 Sat 88. We’ll start an infusion of normal saline now and put her on 100% when she’s in the truck.” The second attendant wraps a blue band around her arm and then inserts an intravenous catheter into it. The second attendant primes the line attaching a bag of normal saline to her. Then they transfer her onto the stretcher covering her and buckling her in.