Disbelief buoyed my heart and leadened my brain, the discrepancy between what I thought was possible and what was making me nearly come out of my skin.
Adrenaline surged when I accepted it, and I couldn’t help but squeal as it all set in.
“Oh my God,” I shrieked.
Nik nodded, a smile practically reshaping the features of his face.
I wanted to stay in that moment and take it in, but a flurry of activity separated us, pulling me toward the center of the arena and the ceremony that ultimately named me as an Olympic Team member.
I searched for Nik as it was happening, eager to see his face some more and share in the news, but the crowd swallowed him up and completely thwarted my efforts.
It amazed me how two things could go hand in hand so well together and at the same time be the cause of one of the most monstrous internal wars of my life.
The Coach and The Career.
Two things destined to go together.
But the way I wanted it wasn’t as intended.
Two weeks back in the gym with Nik passed like the speed of light, and the eve of leaving for camp came before I knew it.
I tried my best to rush through every day in the gym just to get to the nights. Time when Nik and I would tumble together like always, touches and kisses in between, and flirting all the way through.
Every day I felt a burn, a fire that ate at everything I knew, setting it ablaze and threatening to make me rebuild.
I thought I would be scared of the flames, the memories sure to burn down, trapped in place that couldn’t get out or be saved. I thought the heat of it as it encroached would make me cower in fear, that the change would feel unwelcome and cumbersome in an effort to start over.
Instead, the danger felt like opportunity, a chance to burn it all down and start over in a way that rarely existed.
Sure, material memories would be gone and my routine would change, but the world I created might have a chance to be bigger and better and all-together more well-built from the beginning.
Gymnastics was the old house, and Nik was the new. Both felt like home in some ways, but while gymnastics was built on opportunity and the dreams of my parents, my feelings for Nik felt mined straight from the deepest tunnels within me.
So when he asked me to go to the beach with him that night, I knew there was nothing I’d rather do.
Not pack for camp or spend time with my parents. Not dream about the coaches and gymnasts I would meet or the opportunities I would be given.
That night, all I wanted was him.
My hands sank deeper into the cotton covered flesh of his abdomen, and the muscles tightened noticeably in reaction.
His hand cracked the throttle to slow us as we pulled off on to the path and made our way to the back of the dune.
I pressed my cheek harder into his back and inhaled his scent mixed with ocean like a drug. The sea and the salt clung to my skin and his, and the humidity of the night made my clothes feel sticky.
Nik helped me from the bike before pulling my hand to his chest. “I can’t believe you leave for camp tomorrow.”
His words were congratulatory but sullen, the mix sounding funny to my ears. I understood perfectly though, the very feeling swimming and swirling in my own gut at ten times the power.
I didn’t know how to make choices or decisions, and part of me felt like it should be easy to have both.
And if it had just been me and Nik in the world, it probably would have been. But it wasn’t just us, the circus that was everyone else hanging out conveniently just on the periphery.
Nik helped me climb to the top of the dune, standing patiently in silence as my brain ran circles around itself for long minutes. When I made no move to touch, no move to speak, no move to engage whatsoever, he finally sought to find out why.
“What’s going on, my little Pea?”
I shook my head at the nickname but smiled at the affection behind it.
“I just…I don’t know. I can’t shake all of this inner turmoil, I guess.”
“What’s bothering you?” he asked softly, pulling me to sit down next to him.
Lightning bugs danced peacefully in front of us, and the sound of the ocean sang out a lullaby.
I sank into the comfort of it and him, leaning over to rest my head on my shoulder as I spoke.
“Everything,” I answered truthfully. I hadn’t only become this torn up recently. I’d always struggled with indecision and the demons in my mind. I’d just been covering it up a hell of a lot better.
“Can you describe it?”
He didn’t scoff or tease or make me feel like a statement so broad was a joke.
He greased the path and eased the way, and he made talking about something I’d never even considered talking about before feel like the most natural thing in the world.
He made me feel open.
Scared the moment would pass, I forced myself to get it all out fast, practically piling one word on top of another until I got to the end.
“I don’t take deep, heavy breaths just before sleep pulls me under. I think deep, heavy thoughts that cloud my dreams, awaken my mind, and muddy the blood in my veins. I feel insecure and unworthy and cyclically self-deprecating. Who am I to complain? Who am I to get trapped in the confines of my own head? I’m unbelievably blessed.”
Picking up my hand, he laced our fingers and laid the back of it on his thigh. With a finger and thumb, he pulled my chin to him so I could see directly into his eyes.
“Blessed and blissful are two very different ideas. Things don’t make you happy. Inner peace and bolstered self-worth do.”
Understanding and acceptance swirled and swelled in the expression of his face, and the very same well-rounded nature that’d made me feel comfortable before made me snap.
I just couldn’t wrap my mind around how he managed his thoughts and accepted my own as completely plausible no matter if they agreed with his or not. He didn’t have to feel it himself to get it, and I envied the ability.
“How in the fuck are you so well-adjusted with two dead parents, and I’m fucked up while mine are very much alive?”
He cringed slightly, and my own reaction didn’t take long to follow.
“Jesus.” I dropped my head into the cover of my one free hand, lifting it and meeting his eyes again a few seconds later to apologize. “That was a terrible thing to say. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He shrugged. “And it just is what it is. Internal battles aren’t always dependent on the external. If that was the case, all kids from broken homes would lead broken lives, and every nurtured child would flourish.” He shook his head. “That’s not how it works.”
“But a broken past makes it more understandable.”
“Nah,” he denied with a smile. “Just predictable and boring.”
“I just feel like I’m sucked up in a tornado, spinning and spinning and hoping with all that I am that I’m gonna land somewhere soft.”
He shrugged again, studying the rips of my hands and pulling them even tighter into his body.
“I know you feel mixed up and abused. I know you can’t tell what direction is what, let alone which of them is right. But I think it’s just because you need to slow down and take everything one step at a time.”
He smiled. “Love is like over splits. You can’t expect to give into it all in one sitting. But if you work at it, warm the muscles gradually, your body will eventually accept it as normal.” The bulk of his shoulder nudged my much smaller one lightly. “It might even feel good.”
Love?
The muscles in my throat seized and closed it off, shutting my mouth in a way that rarely happened anymore. I couldn’t form a response. Racing and racing, the words and sentences fluttered through my mind without making sense and with a flat-out refusal to slow down so I could make an attempt to figure it out.