She Makes Me Wanna

Emily’s Point of View

My life is a living hell I thought as I bit back a wave of nausea. My head throbbed, and the bathroom swam in front of me as I slid down the wall and hunched over the toilet. Despite working with the doctors that the Penguins had hired to help Sidney out, I wasn’t feeling any better. Granted, it had only been three days, but I was pissed. I couldn’t do anything. I could walk straight, I couldn’t eat much, I couldn’t sleep, I was completely incapable of controlling my emotions, I couldn’t concentrate on anything, and the slightest noise or bright light made me want to throw up again. It was like the world’s worst hangover, but without the fun night beforehand, and no amount of Tylenol and gatoraide was going to get rid of the headache. I fought it as much as I could, but I threw up again, and then sighed heavily.

“I hate everything,” I groaned, flushing the toilet before staggering to my feet to grab my toothbrush.

Sidney’s Point of View

I walked into my house around 3:45, and I almost tripped over the ugly potted plant Kris had given me as soon as I walked in the door.

“Stupid thing…why don’t I ever move this?” I muttered, putting my suitcase next to the door. My house was as dark as night, and eerily quiet. I frowned, remembering that not too long ago my house had been this way because I had a concussion. I heard a crash, followed by a nice, long stream of profanity, and I knew that Emily had to be upstairs. I ran up the stairs two at a time, and found Emily sitting in the hallway, nursing her head with a broken picture frame lying on the ground.

“You okay?” I asked quietly.

“What do you think?” she retorted. Oh great, mood swings. I thought, quickly running through all of the symptoms I had had.

“Sorry. Here, let’s get you up,” I said, helping her up. She staggered, unable to keep her balance for very long, and I bit my lip. Dan was right; this was a really severe concussion. I helped Emily to the bedroom across the hall, which she had claimed as her own when she moved in, and sat her on the bed.

“I’ll be right back, I just want to pick up the broken glass in the hall,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, lying down slowly.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said before slipping out of the room. I picked up the frame and hung it back on the wall, making a mental note to pick up a new piece of glass for it later. I grabbed the trashcan out of the bathroom and put the glass in it, cursing quietly as a piece slipped and cut my thumb. I shoved my thumb in my mouth and continued to pick up the glass with my other hand until nothing remained on the carpet but little pieces that wouldn’t be able to be picked up without a vacuum. I stood and looked at the picture Emily had accidentally toppled. It was a picture of me, Martin Brodeur, Scott Niedermayer, Jarome Iginla, Rick Nash, Jonathan Toews, and Eric Staal, right after we had won the Olympic gold medal. I smiled, the memory of that goal replaying in my head once again. It had probably been the greatest moment of my life. I tore myself away from the good feelings though, and grabbed a bandaid from the bathroom before heading back to Emily’s room.

“Hey,” she said, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” I replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“So I don’t remember anything from the time I got hit to like…when I woke up in the hospital the next morning,” Emily sighed.

“You-you don’t?” I stammered.

“Nope,” she said. As ashamed as I was, relief flooded through me. She didn’t remember me kissing her forehead. I was safe for a little while longer.

“That’s not good. Did you tell the doctors?” I asked.

“Yeah. They said it’s kind of normal to have memory loss. And then they gave me about eight hundred CAT scans,” Emily said, laughing weakly.

“Oh yeah, you’re going to become very familiar with the inside of the CAT scan machine,” I said, shaking my head.

“Hey Sid?” Emily asked.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Thanks. You seem to know exactly what needs to be said,” she mumbled, which caused me to smile broadly.

Three Weeks Later

Emily bounded into the locker room, a smile plastered to her face.

“What’s that look for chickadee?” Tanger asked, pulling off his tee shirt.

“Cleared for light exercise!” Emily chirped, dancing around. I felt my jaw drop.

“Holy shit, that was fast!” I said.

“Yeah well apparently I heal quickly. I’ve passed all of my tests, but they’re keeping a very close eye on me,” Emily said, her smile not fading a bit.

A few hours later I was sitting at my desk emailing my parents when I heard Emily walk down the stairs. I raised my eyebrows; she was dressed up.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Jack and I are going to dinner to celebrate my concussion-less-ness,” Emily smiled. Just then someone knocked on the door. I got up slowly before walking over and answering it. There stood Jack, in a dress shirt and tie, and in that moment I wanted nothing more than to throttle him.

“Hey,” I said, moving out of the way so that he could step in.

“Hey Sidney…nice place,” he said, looking around.

“Ready?” Emily asked, grabbing a light jacket out of the closet.

“Yes ma’am,” Jack grinned, and before I could say anything Emily had said goodbye and vanished out the door. Immediately anger welled up in my chest, and I fought the urge to punch something. What was wrong with me? If Emily wanted to go out to dinner with another guy, that was her right, right? I should have known. I could see the signs. They’re always talking…it’s like they have some secret that only the two of them know. Damn it! It’s not like you could go out with her anyway Sid…she’s your teammate. But she’s Jack’s teammate too. But Jack isn’t the captain. I thought, mentally battling with myself.

I hate women I texted to Flower.

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