SEPT 14, 2017, 11:24 AM
Montreal, Quebec
Angel stirs at the daylight finally hitting his face. He groans and turns over, stuffing his face into a pillow. He grunts, wiggling into a more comfortable resting position. It’s marginally better, now that the sun isn’t in his face.
His body feels oddly sore. It’s not the same kind of sore following a practice or a game, it’s more unpleasant, more pronounced. Like someone’s sticking their fingers between his ribs. Or down his throat.
“You awake, Ángel?” A familiar voice asks.
Angel snaps his head up, startled. Not many people bother to pronounce his name like that. Including himself. He blinks a few times before recognizing the person sitting next to him in bed.
“Zhenya?” He mumbles, staring at his teammate. “Did we fuck? Why are you in my bed?”
Well, she is pretty, even with her tired eyes, brown messy hair. Pretty, even in a plain white tank top and shorts, tight around her figure. Angel glances down at her cleavage. Zhenya gently smacks him with a pillow.
“Angie, I love you, but you know I’m a lesbian.” She says, exasperated but firm. “And you’re in my guest bed, idiot.”
“Right, sorry, sorry. Did you peg me?” Angel asks, pushing the pillow off his face. It would explain the aches in his lower body. He looks back up at her, grinning, but she doesn’t seem quite as amused.
Her brows are furrowed, her dark brown eyes upset. “Angie.”
“Sorry…” Angel mumbles. She would usually laugh at that.
“You really don’t remember anything?” She continues. “Jakey dropped you off here last night, because…”
Angel stares at her as she trails off. Zhenya avoids his eyes. She sniffles, wipes her face with the back of her hand.
“Are… are you crying?” Angel tries to sit up, to try and comfort her, but the soreness in his ribs flashes into a sharp and painful sensation. He hisses, then falls back into the mattress, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Shit, shit, are you okay? Don’t move too much.” Zhenya panicks, scrambling to get something off the nightstand. There’s a distinct rattle of pills in a bottle. “They prescribed you painkillers. I was supposed to give you one an hour ago, but you were still asleep…”
“It’s… it’s okay.” Angel manages to say through shallow breaths. He feels his eyes water from the strange, imploding pain in his chest. “I don’t need them.”
“Not the time to try and look strong.” Zhenya says, sniffling. “Take your fucking medicine.”
“…Okay.”
She hands him a single white pill and a straw-top water bottle. Angel takes it dutifully. His throat feels awful as the water goes down.
Zhenya takes the water bottle back, places it back on the nightstand. She sighs and touches his hand. “What do you remember from last night?”
“Nothing.” Angel says, softly. “I don’t know what happened.”
“You were at the optional practice yesterday morning.” She says. “We had lunch with Jakey, then he drove you back to your place.”
Angel vaguely remembers going to a morning skate. “Then?”
She looks down at his hand, poking it. Angel catches her palm. Zhenya sighs, laces her fingers between his. “You really don’t remember anything?”
He wants to sigh too, but knows it’ll hurt. Angel keeps his voice steady. “I really don’t remember anything.”
“Angie…” She murmurs. “Dylan hurt you.”
Angel’s frown deepens. “Dylan?”
Zhenya shifts, uncomfortable, staring back at Angel’s hand in hers. “Our teammate… your roommate. You’ve been living with him for the past year?”
He shakes his head.
“White guy? Shitty mullet?” She offers, like it would narrow it down. Half of the Eastern Conference could fit that description.
“Maybe it’ll come back to me.” Angel murmurs. “Still feeling off.”
“Right. You’re concussed.” Zhenya squeezes his hand before letting go. “You should rest a bit more. I’m gonna grab lunch for us.”
“Okay.” Angel says. “See you.”
“I’ll be back in about twenty.” She leaves the room, closes the door behind her quietly.
After a couple minutes of staring at the ceiling, Angel notices that his chest doesn’t ache as much as he breathes. That’s nice. He finally sighs, the pain reduced back into a small ache.
He knows it’s stupid, but he props himself up on his elbows, adjusts into a sitting position. His back is definitely complaining, but it’s bearable enough.
There’s a mirror in the corner of the room that he sees himself in. He understands why Zhenya was so… upset.
Angel looks awful.
There’s bruising on his face, his neck, his chest. The colors are sore, sickly browns and blues. He’s got a shiner on his left eye. Swollen and purple.
“Fucking hell,” Angel mutters, touching his face, observing himself in the mirror.
His jaw aches as he presses his fingers into his stubble. He considers getting out of bed to inspect himself closer, but a faint shock of pain in his ribs reminds him that he shouldn’t move much.
His phone rings, buzzing against the nightstand. He lets it ring for a couple seconds, still busy with staring at himself in the mirror, like a fucked-up Narcissus.
It stops ringing. Shortly after, there’s a chime. A text. Angel considers ignoring it as well, but he sees the contact name.
JAKEY
Call me back when ur awake
Guilt hits Angel immediately. He yanks his phone off the charging cable to call him back. “Jakey?”
“Hey, kid.” Jakey greets. His usually gruff voice sounds relieved. “I’m getting your things from your old place packed up. Did you leave anything in Dylan’s room?”
That name again. Angel briefly considers telling him that he has no idea who that is, but that would probably worry him.
“Nothing important, I’m sure,” he says instead.
“Right…” Jakey murmurs back, doubtful, but not pressing. He quickly moves on. “Well. That was all. I’ll drop by later with your stuff.”
“Thanks.”
“Of course. Get some rest.” He says. “See you in a bit.”
“Okay. Bye, love you.” Angel says, automatically. After a brief pause of realization, he groans and considers throwing his phone across the room.
Jakey just laughs. “Love you too, Angel.”
There’s a click when he hangs up. Angel’s chest hurts again.