Hate him or love him, it's still an obsession...
Today is the first day off you’ve had in weeks.
And how are you spending it?
You’re checking up on him.
Instead of lying in bed and having a well deserved rest, or perhaps going out to breakfast with Geno and Staalsy, you’re on your computer at ten in the morning, desper-ately wanting to know how he’s been doing.
It doesn’t take you long to find the most up to date fan sites and of course, the Washington Capitals website isn’t exactly well hidden. It’s not like you haven’t done this before.
He’s doing rather well this season. Coming up on sixty goals, poised and ready to join the legends of the league; it actually angers you a bit, how well he’s been doing. You want him to be suffering, playing horribly after you crushed him months ago.
You close the window with a sigh and turn off your computer, stepping away from the machine to go lay in bed. Sleep would be a welcome reprieve, you think.
You’re under the covers and your eyes are slowly closing, your whole body relaxed and calm, when your phone rings.
You curse yourself for putting it on the stand next to you as you pick it up, rubbing your eyes as you flip it open.
The number is unfamiliar, but you figure you don’t have that many numbers stored, so that’s not too much of a surprise.
“Hello?”
“Crosby?” Well, it’s obviously not a friend of yours. All your friends call you Sid or Cros.
“Yeah, this is him, why?”
“Fuck you, Crosby. Seriously, just fuck you.”
“I’m sorry?” Who the hell is this?
“He pours his heart out to you and you just dump all over him…now he’s miserable and not one of us can figure out what to do about it. All he’ll say when we ask him why is your name, so fuck you.”
Oh. You’re guessing Alex. You can’t think of any others you’ve left heartbroken in the past few months, in any case.
“He dumped all over me first,” you say in your defense. Oh, very mature of you. But you’re speaking truth.
“Yeah? Well, were you sounding like this?” He holds up the phone and you can hear muffled sobbing coming from somewhere close by, mixing with panicked voices and a soothing “Shh, Alex, shh…”
You’re ashamed to realize that your chest hurts at hearing how much Alex is hurting.
No reason to let him know this, though.
“Yes, actually, I sounded a lot like that. More to the point, who are you and why are you calling to tell me off?”
“I’m the one who looks out for Alex when stuff goes wrong, and stuff has gone very wrong.”
You’re about to furiously demand this person tell you his name when you hear a soft, “Clarkie, what should I do? He won’t stop crying.”
“Olie, love, just lay him in bed and cover him up. He’ll cry himself to sleep eventually.”
Alex’s cries get further and further away and you want to follow him, hold him to you and soothe away his suffering.
Perhaps he’s finally learned his lesson. Perhaps you two can start anew, now that you’ve both been hurt.
“Where are you?” You’ve made your decision. There’s no turning back now.
“Why?” He sounds suspicious, and he has every right to be. But you have no time for this. You have to get to Alex, and you’re not really patient when it comes to him.
“If anyone can stop him crying, it’s me. Now tell me where you are.”
“We’re at Alex’s apartment. If you hurt him again, I swear…” he lets the threat trail off, and it sounds even worse with him doing so.
You swallow, nodding though he can’t see you. “I won’t, I promise. I’ll be there soon.”
He sighs. “How soon? I don’t think he’s going to be awake much longer.”
“Soon as possible.” And you know you’re being honest. You cannot possibly wait any longer to see him again, no matter how much you once wished he’d suffer.
“Alright then, I’ll see you.” He hangs up the phone.
You get out of bed and dress, hoping all the while you’re doing the right thing.
Has he suffered enough?
***
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And how are you spending it?
You’re checking up on him.
Instead of lying in bed and having a well deserved rest, or perhaps going out to breakfast with Geno and Staalsy, you’re on your computer at ten in the morning, desper-ately wanting to know how he’s been doing.
It doesn’t take you long to find the most up to date fan sites and of course, the Washington Capitals website isn’t exactly well hidden. It’s not like you haven’t done this before.
He’s doing rather well this season. Coming up on sixty goals, poised and ready to join the legends of the league; it actually angers you a bit, how well he’s been doing. You want him to be suffering, playing horribly after you crushed him months ago.
You close the window with a sigh and turn off your computer, stepping away from the machine to go lay in bed. Sleep would be a welcome reprieve, you think.
You’re under the covers and your eyes are slowly closing, your whole body relaxed and calm, when your phone rings.
You curse yourself for putting it on the stand next to you as you pick it up, rubbing your eyes as you flip it open.
The number is unfamiliar, but you figure you don’t have that many numbers stored, so that’s not too much of a surprise.
“Hello?”
“Crosby?” Well, it’s obviously not a friend of yours. All your friends call you Sid or Cros.
“Yeah, this is him, why?”
“Fuck you, Crosby. Seriously, just fuck you.”
“I’m sorry?” Who the hell is this?
“He pours his heart out to you and you just dump all over him…now he’s miserable and not one of us can figure out what to do about it. All he’ll say when we ask him why is your name, so fuck you.”
Oh. You’re guessing Alex. You can’t think of any others you’ve left heartbroken in the past few months, in any case.
“He dumped all over me first,” you say in your defense. Oh, very mature of you. But you’re speaking truth.
“Yeah? Well, were you sounding like this?” He holds up the phone and you can hear muffled sobbing coming from somewhere close by, mixing with panicked voices and a soothing “Shh, Alex, shh…”
You’re ashamed to realize that your chest hurts at hearing how much Alex is hurting.
No reason to let him know this, though.
“Yes, actually, I sounded a lot like that. More to the point, who are you and why are you calling to tell me off?”
“I’m the one who looks out for Alex when stuff goes wrong, and stuff has gone very wrong.”
You’re about to furiously demand this person tell you his name when you hear a soft, “Clarkie, what should I do? He won’t stop crying.”
“Olie, love, just lay him in bed and cover him up. He’ll cry himself to sleep eventually.”
Alex’s cries get further and further away and you want to follow him, hold him to you and soothe away his suffering.
Perhaps he’s finally learned his lesson. Perhaps you two can start anew, now that you’ve both been hurt.
“Where are you?” You’ve made your decision. There’s no turning back now.
“Why?” He sounds suspicious, and he has every right to be. But you have no time for this. You have to get to Alex, and you’re not really patient when it comes to him.
“If anyone can stop him crying, it’s me. Now tell me where you are.”
“We’re at Alex’s apartment. If you hurt him again, I swear…” he lets the threat trail off, and it sounds even worse with him doing so.
You swallow, nodding though he can’t see you. “I won’t, I promise. I’ll be there soon.”
He sighs. “How soon? I don’t think he’s going to be awake much longer.”
“Soon as possible.” And you know you’re being honest. You cannot possibly wait any longer to see him again, no matter how much you once wished he’d suffer.
“Alright then, I’ll see you.” He hangs up the phone.
You get out of bed and dress, hoping all the while you’re doing the right thing.
Has he suffered enough?
***
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