Tracks of My Tears

“What am I doing? What am I doing?” Mackenzie Hughes muttered to herself over and over again with her back pressed against the prickly stucco wall of the mansion. That was actually a good question, what was she doing outside of a party filled with NHL superstars and most importantly, her ex-boyfriend. But he wasn’t just any ex-boyfriend, he was her boyfriend of 4 years, he was the one who broke up with her three days ago without so much as a warning at the airport, he was the reason she moved from Hershey to DC, he was the reason she quit her dream job because he was her dream guy, he was the reason she was such a mess, the reason’s name? Mike Green.

When she first met Mike Green, Mackenzie couldn’t believe her luck. How did a guy like Mike love a girl like Mackenzie? How did- how could the hot-shot hockey player end up falling for the sarcastic yet bookish girl with mousy blonde hair and plain-Jane hazel eyes? The answer to that question may never be known, by either Mike or Mackenzie. But, now Mackenzie feels just the opposite, she couldn’t believe how unlucky she is to have fallen for the playboy, heart-breaking hockey player on the rise.

“God, what am I doing here?” Mackenzie- not Kenzie, not Mac but just Mackenzie- groaned again as she slid down the wall to sit on the cold cement floor with her head in her hands. Her shoulders slumped as her eyes burned with tears that wouldn’t, that couldn’t fall. She cried so many tears since he broke up with her, it was if she had just run out. Every beat of her heart seemed to take more effort than it was worth, but somehow, for some reason, it just kept beating. Even the weather seemed to agree with her, the cloud were dark grey and heavy, threatening at any moment to spill their tears onto the earth.

The scene played over and over again in her head, like it was stuck on replay. Each time it played, she looked for something, a reason, for the break up. She combed through every memory, every moment of their four years together for a sign, some sort of harbinger.

“It’s not working anymore,”

How could it not have been working? How could four years of perfection not have been working? How could four years of falling asleep in each other’s arms not have been working? How could four years of making love till the early morning not have been working? How could four years of watching the sunrise together not have been working? Those questions were what filled Mackenzie’s mind.

“We’re just not working anymore,”

The image of Mackenzie grabbing Mike’s arm, trying to keep him from leaving, trying to make him stay, was permanently burned into Mackenzie’s mind. The desperation in her voice. His cool and indifferent demeanor… and heart. The way she latched onto him, begging him to stay. How easily he pried himself from her grasp. All of it was burned into her memory.

“Mackenzie?” A deep voice called out to her.

Mackenzie jerked her head to the source of the voice, Brooks Laich. “Yes,” She replied tersely, casually getting up from her seat on the floor, straightening her cream blouse and brushing any dirt off her dark jeans. It was a talent of hers to be able to act, to pretend, that nothing happened but when it came to Mike, she couldn’t.

“What are you doing out here, the party’s inside,” Brooks joked as he motioned towards the large, wooden double doors to his teammate’s mansion.

“Just getting some fresh air,” She replied nonchalantly.

“Well, let’s go in, the party isn’t gonna come to us,” Mackenzie nodded and walked with Brooks to the heavy, ornate doors of Alexander Ovechkin’s home. The party was to celebrate the Capitals’ homecoming, after a difficult road trip. It seemed the minute she crossed the threshold, she saw him, laughing and joking with a group of friends, his arm draped around some tanned, blonde bimbo wearing a dangerously short skirt and a low cut top that left nothing to the imagination. That girl used to be her, save for the skimpy attire, they used to be inseparable, it used be difficult to imagine Mike without Mackenzie or Mackenzie without Mike. Used to be. Now look where they are.

“He’s not the same without you, you know that right?” Brooks said sincerely. He was a good guy, a player but a good guy none the less.

“I doubt that,” Mackenzie muttered as she stared at Mike, he was the same old Mike, laughing, making jokes, “Look at him, he’s still funny, happy-go-lucky, life of the party Mohawk Mike with a girl at his hip, even if that girl isn’t me,” She added not withholding any venom in her voice.

“No, Mackenzie your wrong, take a good look at his face because I would know, we live in the same building, we room together, deep inside he’s blue. That girl she might be cute but she’s nothing but a substitute because you’re the permanent one,” Brooks patted her softly on the shoulder before leaving Mackenzie alone on the landing with her mouth wide open.

“I need a drink,” Mackenzie said, more to herself than anyone in particular, as she walked off in search of the kitchen which often served as a makeshift bar. At the kitchen, I found Alexander Ovechkin and Simeon Varlamov chatting in Russian and drinking, unsurprisingly, vodka. Perfect. Mackenzie had never drunk vodka before, but it seemed like the perfect drink for the moment, she wanted- she needed to forget. “Can I have some of that?” She asked, gesturing to the frosted bottle.

“Of course,” Alexander said with a wide grin before saying something in Russian to Simeon who also started grinning. Alexander pulled a red, plastic cup from the stack on the counter and filled it with the clear liquid.

“Thank you,” Mackenzie said politely, taking a sip of the alcohol. The vodka burned her throat on the way down causing her face to pucker.

“Never drank vodka?” Simeon asked in his broken English, laughing at her expression.

“Nyet,” Mackenzie mocked, hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. Out of anger, or frustration, Mackenzie took an even larger gulp of the firewater, the burn dulled and so did the ache in her chest.

“You Mike’s girlfriend?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow at the fast pace Mackenzie was imbibing the vodka.

“Ex,” Mackenzie said that single syllable with an odd mixture of hate and sadness. She wanted to be numb, she wanted more vodka.

“Da?” Alex poured her more vodka.

“Da,” Mackenzie slurring ever so slightly as she eagerly and greedily drank the elixir.

“Don’t be sad, Mike dumb, he make bad choice,” Simeon’s words were comforting and eased the pain that Mackenzie thought she had suppressed.

“What’d you say about me Varlamov?” A teasing voice asked as the source of the booming voice entered the kitchen.

It’s funny how a voice can trigger so many memories, so many emotions like it did now for Mackenzie. That smooth, baritone voice, brought everything to the surface, everything that the vodka was so successfully suppressing.

“Kenzie?” Mike asked, nervously running hand through his Mohawk.

“Mackenzie,” She corrected, focusing her eyes not on the man before her but on her near empty cup. She hated being called Kenzie or Mac, or any nickname. Only Mike called her Kenzie, which she used to relish, but now it just opened up fresh wounds.

“You know Mackenzie? She our vodka buddy,” Simeon said with feigned innocence, his broken English only augmenting that image.

“Yes, I know her,” Mike’s eyes narrowing, noticing the empty bottles of vodka that littered the counter. He inwardly wondered how much she had drank. Mike knew Mackenzie couldn’t hold her liquor and while he liked Alex and Simeon, he wasn’t sure if he could trust them with her, “And I need to talk to her.”

“Well, I don’t need to talk to you,” Mackenzie spat as she drank the rest of the vodka in her cup, the alcohol giving her a shot of liquid confidence.

“Kenzie, please,” Mike said softly.

“You have no right to call me that, no right!” Mackenzie shouted slamming her plastic cup on the counter, prompting Alex and Simeon to leave.

“Kenzie, can we please talk outside,” Maybe it was the fluorescent lights, but Mackenzie suddenly noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the weariness that replaced the teasing glint in his eyes. “Please?” Maybe it was the liquor, maybe it was Mike’s expression but she agreed, nodding slowly. It would be easy to blame it on the alcohol, but deep down inside, though she would never admit it, Mackenzie wanted to talk to Mike.

Once they were outside, they were silent. No one dared say a word. Mackenzie leaned against the wall, as if it was the only thing that could keep her knees from buckling beneath her.

“Who’s the chick?” Mackenzie angrily recalled how Mike draped his arm around her shoulder, how she laughed at his jokes, how close they were. God it had only been three days, did he have to bounce back so fast? Mackenzie thought bitterly.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Mike groaned, turning his back to her.

“Oh don’t give me that. You wanted to talk, let’s talk! Where is she? Is she keeping your bed warm?” Our bed Mackenzie thought to herself, she was the one who had to move out, to stay at some hotel till she could find a place to stay. Mackenzie’s voice quivered with anger and something else; perhaps sorrow or maybe even jealousy. The iron gray sky roared before pelting the earth with its icy tears. Nothing was shown mercy, save for Mackenzie who was under the safety of the overhang.

“You want to know about her fine. She’s nothing, she’s some girl I hooked up with after we broke up. And I sent her home, not to our home but hers okay? Is that what you wanted to know? That she means absolutely nothing to me!” Mike turned around, his eyes boring into her as he yelled. Our home. Mike had called it our home. Because Mike, unbeknownst to Mackenzie, still, whenever he walked into the empty house called her name, thinking, hoping she would come running, like always, to greet him at the door. But she didn’t.

“Yes,” Mackenzie admitted, “Yes it is what I wanted to know.”

“Fine, my turn. What were you doing with Alex and Simeon?”

“Well you’re not the only one allowed to have fun, Mike. You can’t be the only one enjoying themselves, being the life of the party,” She snarled. It was so unfair to Mackenzie, how Mike was able to enjoy himself while she was disintegrating.

“You think I’m enjoying myself? You think I’m having fun? It’s been fucking hell without you. You think just because I tell a couple jokes and everyone laughs that I’m the life of the party. You think just because I’m smiling and laughing that I’m having fun. God you can be so dense sometimes. Can’t you see how bad I’m hurting?” Mike planted a hand on the wall, as if he couldn’t bear the weight the weight of his emotions. He leaned into her, their faces where inches apart, their bodies pressed against each others. Shivers ran through Mackenzie, from being underneath Mike’s piercing stare and drenched body. She could feel the cool wetness dripping onto her clothes and permeating to her skin. His eyes, full of pain, stared into Mackenzie’s as if they were challenging her to stare back.

Stare she did, she saw the hurt, the anguish, the sorrow, she identified them with ease, after all those emotions had been her friends for the past 3 days. It made sense, the images of Mike laughing and smiling and joking at the party flashed in her mind. His smile looked out of place, he was just masquerading his emotions, his smile was his makeup that he wore since our break up. Mackenzie’s cool fingertips traced the tracks of his tears, “Why did you break up with me?” The question had echoed in the corners of her mind for the past 3 days, and unknown to her, it echoed in Mike’s, as well.

Mike took in a deep breath, as if he was bracing himself for a punch to the gut, “I’m going to be honest. I was selfish, I was angry that you couldn’t make it to my games, that you had forgotten our anniversary. You were doing so well at your new job, and it felt like you were choosing your job over me. But I know better, now. You sacrificed so much for me, more than I ever did for you. You dropped everything, your job, your family, and moved here with me. I realize that now and I need you. I see that now, too. Without you, my life, quite frankly, sucks. I can’t focus, I can’t play, ask any of the guys, ask coach and they’ll tell you I’ve been sucking in practice and in games. Ask Brooks, and he’ll tell you I’ve been moping around the apartment and in the hotel room. I’m sorry. I just- I just need you to say you need me too,”

“Mike,” Mackenzie sighed, her forehead resting against his, “Mike, I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you,” she repeated over and over again as she buried her head into the crook of his neck, wrapping her arms around his neck while Mike’s arms held her securely against him. Never letting go.