Chapter Text
When Neil wakes up, the first thing he registers is the kink in his neck. Followed by the ache in his shoulders, the crust in the corners of his eyes, and the dryness of his mouth. His eyes blinking open slowly, feeling like sandpaper dragging with every blink.
A burning low in his chest, his stomach tight and nauseous. It takes him a long time to pull his awareness from his body and to the room around him, he was on the couch in the dorm. Tucked into a tight ball against the arm rest, head resting awkwardly on his arms crossed over his knees.
He takes a moment before letting his arms fall away from his knees, forcing his chest a little more upright before stretching his legs out towards the floor. A long low breath leaves his lips as his vision fuzzes, brain going static as he stretches out his cramped muscles.
When his legs and lower body feel loose he takes another breath and rolls his shoulders back, tilting his neck from side to side, letting the pull of his muscles wake him.
Abram.
The name catches him off guard, he was sure he was alone. His teammates all gone home for Thanksgiving. He tenses on instinct, eyes sharpening and head whipping side to side. The room is silent, no creaky floor boards or stray breaths giving an intruder away.
Yet, the feeling of being watched is still deep in his bones. He forces himself up off the couch, one of his feet sending a tingling sensation up his leg with every step. He covers ground quickly, searching every inch of the dorm. It is as empty as it was when he fell asleep late last night.
Neil’s chest is tight, he perches himself on the edge of his couch and forces himself to breathe. In for four, hold for four, out for eight. He loathed to admit any advice given by the team counsellor was helpful, but he couldn’t deny in this moment with every exhale it felt like he was blowing the anxiety out of his chest.
When the grip on Neil’s chest loosened into something more manageable Neil let himself settle back into the couch. Vaguely aware he should get up, go for a run, or really do anything. But, while the anxiety had leveled for the minute, there was a dark emptiness sitting heavily in his heart.
He doesn’t know how long he sits on the couch, eyes staring unseeingly at the black TV screen in front of him. He does eventually slump back, shoulders curling as he contorts awkwardly into the groove of the cheap couch. One of his hands falling off his lap and landing on the cushion beside him, pinky finger bumping into the TV remote.
Neil turns his head slowly, unseeing eyes turned on the remote, one dry blink, two. He forces his hand to move despite it feeling like it weighs more than a bus, doesn’t bother picking the remote up, just presses the power button.
Noise fills the room instantly. The words flowing through Neil’s ears like useless static. Lights flashing on the screen draws his eyes back from the remote and towards the TV.
His eyes get dryer as time passes, the sun that started high in the sky behind the TV when he woke was now somewhere low on the horizon, basking the room in a light pink glow.
With a flex of his hand, and a particularly hard swallow Neil feels as if he is slammed into his body all of the sudden, his brain coming back online after a lengthy break.
His eyes blink rapidly trying to apply moisture quickly, the hand that still sat on the remote flexed again, unintentionally pressing a button.
A loud BREAKING NEWS broke into the room, louder than before. The new channel he was on louder than the last.
“New updates on Nathan Wesniski case at 11:00” Follow the words a photo of Neil’s father is plastered on the screen.
It’s his mug shot from his last time in prison. His eyes are hard, but his mouth is upturned in something of a cruel smile that makes Neil feel sick. Nathan is dead. But something about this photo feels so so alive.
Neil bites his tongue hard, the copper taste of blood filling his mouth eyes locked on Nathan’s face. Time going at a glacial pace as he stares at the first thing he’s seen properly all day.
And for just a moment, nothing more than a split second, he could swear Nathan winks at him. Swears he can hear the word Junior whispered from the screen.
Neil moves like he’s been struck by lightning. Shooting up, remote in a tight fist. Whole body taut, when the photo shifts to one of Nathan and his pregnant Mother he feels like he could puke.
He manages to turn the TV off and drops the remote, turning on his heel towards the bedroom.
Hands shaking as he gathers and puts on his running shoes, not bothering to change his clothes from the jeans and t-shirt worn the day before.
One minute he’s tying his laces, bent at the door of his dorm.
The next, he’s hunched in a bus shelter on the side of a long dark road. The wind sounds like angry whispers whipping around his head, his chest tight from excursion feels like he’s being constricted.
Neil lets out a slow shaky breath, looking down the street to see if he can piece together the memories of getting here. On one side of him is the highway, the other side is a smaller street lined in shops. He is near the end of the bus line, all the way across town.
He’s about to stand and start making his way home when a shadow pulls his attention somewhere at the corner of his eye. When he whips his head around to identify the cause, the shadow is gone.
Neil laughs an ugly cruel laugh at himself as he shakes his head, a hand coming up to knock at the front of his head hard. Once. Twice. He stops. Forcing in a deep breath. Hold. And out.
His eyes burn at the sharp and sudden brightness, his hand gripping tightly onto the sticky yellow bus pole.
A giggle to his left has his head swiveling, behind him on the bus are two young women. They’re sitting close. Whispering.
Neil could swear they are glancing at him, they’re talking about him. A pit grows in his stomach, the fear in his bones doubling.
He reaches up, searching for a hood to put up and finds nothing. He looks down at his body, remembering the jeans and t-shirt.
His arms littered in goose bumps as he crosses them tightly across his chest, choosing to lean against the pole instead of hold it. He lets himself look around the bus for a quick moment, looking for a sign of where he’s going before he tucks his chin to his chest and tries to let his hair fall and cover the scars on his face.
Staring at the scuff marks on the bus ground Neil feels his focus dialing in. The edges growing fuzzy, his thoughts slipping with every bump and jostle of the bus.
He blinks once, twice.
He’s taking his shoes off and lining them up on the boot mat at the front door. The silence settling around him along with the darkness like a weighted blanket pulling him to the floor.
By the time he’s climbing into bed he feels somewhere between in his body, and floating six steps behind it. His mind churning a million thoughts a minute, none sticking long enough to consider them.
Heavy eyelids slipping shut, on the brink of sleep, before darkness consumes him, a cruel angry laugh fills inside his head.
It lasts no more than a couple seconds, Neil knows that laugh. Knows the one who makes it is dead. It doesn’t soothe him.
Instead of sleep, Neil spends the night staring at the top bunk unmoving.
*
When the warm light of sunrise starts leaking in through the window Neil pulls himself back out of bed. He doesn’t bother changing out of his clothes that are now on day three, and makes his way slowly towards the front door.
Running on no sleep was stupid. But Neil couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, the urge to run.
He wouldn’t leave. He had promised Andrew he wouldn’t. Do not go anywhere while I’m gone. Promise me.
The words sound almost as clear as the day they were said. He finds himself nodding in agreement without thought.
Shaking hands lace up running shoes as he leans on the front door - dry eyes staring blindly as he works. Nausea rolling in his stomach.
He swallows thickly. A loud blaring noise rings through the dorm, disrupting his silence. His head snaps up, neck cracking breath coming in sharp.
The noise sounds urgent, alarming, he can’t place where it’s coming from or what it is. Only the shirl noise.
It last several long seconds before ending abruptly. The silence washing back over the room as quickly as it had gone. This time interrupted only by the ragged sounds of Neil’s own breaths.
He doesn’t end up going for his run. He doesn’t know how long he stays crouched in his spot, how long his body is tense and posed to run.
He forces his body to relax and thumps his head back hard against the wall. Kicking his legs out from under him he slides to the floor. A level of awareness crawling to the front of his mind he had lacked for days.
He felt weak, tired, and detached. He wasn’t sure what day it was, or when the last time he’d seen the team was.
Trying to recall the events that led to this moment on the floor he finds a lot of empty spaces and raw panic.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Neil shakes his head and thumps his head against the wall again. It was probably Sunday, hopefully it was Sunday. His team would be back tomorrow, practice would resume tomorrow.
Tomorrow things would be normal, tomorrow Neil would feel better.
__
It was not in fact Sunday, and Neil’s teammates had all filed in that afternoon. They were loud and excited to be back, discussing their weekends.
They had tried to ask Neil about his weekend, but when they were met with silence the conversation quickly shifted
Neil had followed them to the court,opting to ride in one of their cars as opposed to his normal run. His body was already screaming at him from exhaustion and excursion, he needed to reserve whatever he had left for practice.
Practice was a disaster, which was a surprise to no one. Most of his teammates were distracted, full on thanksgiving food, and down right yappy. And Neil, as much as he tried, was in no place to captain. Words stayed lodged in his throat, moves were slow, passes were off.
Nobody commented, but the concerned glances shot his direction in the locker room did more than any nasty comment ever could to put Neil on edge.
Run.
Neil stalls on his way to the parking lot. The word sounds clear as day, a voice he hasn’t heard in years. Shouldn’t hear now. He tenses, it couldn’t be her. It wouldn’t make sense. She was dead.
That didn’t stop him from looking over his shoulder, or running like there was a fire under his heels on the way home.
__
Neil spends the following days after Thanksgiving somewhere between here, and there. His mind floating between his body and the unknown.
Chunks of time slipping from his memory like they were never there. He doesn’t speak in classes, hasn’t spoken outside of barked orders at practice. He can’t even place the last time he ate something outside a rushed protein bar in the locker room.
It’s Friday before Neil has an empty dorm again. All week he had been able to ground himself in the busy body movements of his teammates. But now that the door has clicked firmly shut behind the last to leave, the silence feels deafening.
He’s already gone for his run, gone to practice - he even changed into fresh clothes and truly had nothing left to do. His mind wandered dangerously close to Andrew, he forced it away when the familiar pang of longing shot through his heart.
He doesn’t know what else to do, so he takes himself to bed at 5:00pm. It’s early, but his eyes are heavy and aching, his heart is somewhere between hurt and lost. He would like to close his eyes, and take whatever small reprieve finds him.