Keeping The Peace

Keeping The Peace.

Lazvernius.



Chapter II



That afternoon I paced my room, but even there I could find no peace; after all, I shared the room with Shane. All of his possessions seemed to be marking me, silently accusing. I felt like going and pacing the bathroom. However, I knew, without looking that the bathroom was not big enough for a decent pace.

Walking toward the window, I shook my head. Shane? How could I feel like THAT… about SHANE? Reaching the window, I turned back toward the door and kept walking. I remembered the way it was throughout practice, and again felt the grabbing sensation in the region of my stomach. What was wrong with me?

I stopped pacing and sank onto my bed, at the same time as the door burst open. Speak of the devil.

“A group of us gonna go work off some aggression at the arcade. You wanna come?”

Shane grabbed a comb and attempted to tame his hair. After attacking it viciously he looked in the mirror and found it no different. Sighing, Shane asked again,

“So, you want to come?”

“Nah, I’m right”. my voice sounded choked and squeaky. Luckily, Shane didn’t seem to notice. He came over and sat next to me.

“I should’ve guessed you’d be pretty nervous about tomorrow. Don’t sweat it, eh?”

What the hell was he talking about? My brain slowly whirred into realisation. He was talking about the game we were playing tomorrow, the one-dayer againustrustralia. If I hadn’t been nervous about it before, I sure was now. Thanks Shane.

Shane squeezed my shoulder.

“Well then, I'll seeya later”

“Yeah. Bye.”

He left, closing the door with a click.

Great. Now I had two things to pace about. As confusing as that fateful practice was, at least it had kept my mind off the fact I was on the eve of playing my first International. Now I felt like whatever I had eaten for lunch had turned to slime and was trying to claw its way up my throat.



I didn’t sleep well. How could I be expected to? Not only love, but also my imminent demise at the hands of Brett Lee were both hanging above me like twin hammers. If I managed to dodge one, I would surely be hit by the other.



After shooting out of my third – and most horrific – nightmare, I turned on the bedside light and checked the time. 2:47am. Not the greatest way to spend the night. I collapsed back on my bed. The specifics of the nightmare flowed out of my brain like water, leaving me with a general feeling of terror.

I looked across the room at Shane and noted, not for the first time in the week we have shared a room, how childlike he looked when he slept. Eyes squeezed shut, hair on end. When I first noticed this I had laughed to myself, and wondered how I looked when asleep. Now I had the overwhelming urge to climb into his bed, to have someone bigger and stronger than me take away all my nightmares. The urge wasn’t conscious, wasn’t something I could control. If I could have controlled it, I would have told it to piss the hell off, told it that I was not supposed to feel that way about my teammates. But the urge just wouldn’t listen. I knew that desires don’t pay attention to rational thoughts, and I desired with all my being to curl up and fall asleep in Shane’s arms.

I leaned over and clicked off the light.

“Or maybe I’m just crazy.” I threw this statement at the darkness.

The darkness did not answer.





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