What Goes Around Comes Around

"Shit, Sidney. You in there, buddy?" An obnoxious light was directly pointing in my eyes and I swatted it away almost as soon as it appeared. I squeezed my eyes shut again: confused as fuck and feeling like someone was repeatedly kicking me in the head.

"Get the fuck off of me." I growled, scaring myself. Where was I? And who the fuck was sitting on my head? I tried to sit up but a pair of hands held me down, on my bare chest. When did my shirt come off?

I cracked my eyes open, biting down as my eyes painfully adjusted to the brightness of the torture chamber I was in. I looked down my body, the bottom half clad in hockey gear.

I flinched, remembering the hit. I couldn't remember hitting the ground. Which probably is not a good thing.

"Let me up." I squinted at the guy with the bushy eyebrows holding me down. His eyes widened. I probably looked like a fucking loon

"Sid, you just need to relax. You hit your head pretty hard out there and I think you might have a--" Even in my dazed state, I knew what was coming next. Concussion. Possibly out for the rest of the season. This was all I fucking had, and it keeps on getting taken away from me.

"Oh, what the fuck!" I screamed and sat up, head pounding but I ignored it, way too pissed off. The doc jumped back, eyes widened. He moved back in to try and, shit I don't even know, did he really think he could restrain me right now? Silly bastard had another thing coming to him.

"I swear to whatever God there may or may not be, if you touch me, I will kill you." I bit out, standing up on my skates. I was still squinting but could tell that we were the only people in the room. The guy held his hands up in mock surrender, so I guess I managed to scare him.

I stalked away, out the door. I managed to stumble back to the locker room, my head pounding more with each step. I ignored the concerned questions and questioning shouts my teammates threw at me. By the time I reached my stall, I could hardly feel the pain in my head or hear my teammates.

I plopped down on the bench and grabbed my wallet, opening the stupid 300 dollar thing I didn't fucking need. Another thing I didn't need. I slid out the worn out picture of the blonde girl that occupied my thoughts. My sleeping beauty.

The picture was one of her and I, sitting by a bonfire, laughing at something. I wish I could remember what we were laughing at. Her long golden locks were shining in the light of the fire. I wish I had a picture of her with those big blue eyes wide open. So much wishing, Crosby.

Before I registered what was happening, a small crystal droplet landed on the picture, trailing down and off of it. I kept my face even, not bothering to wipe the small trail.

"Sid? Man, are you alright?" I dragged my eyes away from her laughing face and met Marc Andre's concerned brown eyes. Was she still laughing? Did I take away her life by dumping her, with my child? Did she even have the baby?

All the things I usually thought about separately, suddenly came rushing to the surface. The guilt, the look in her eyes when I told her I didn't want her... When I told her that I didn't think the baby was mine, knowing very well it was mine and I did that just to hurt her.

My hands began shaking as the guys crowded around me, their shouting voices sounding like muffled whispers in my ears. I dropped the picture, the only physical memory of her. I closed my eyes and her bright eyes were the last things I saw before I collapsed to the floor, the world and people around me disappearing.