Twisted Wrister pt. 2

“I thought you were going to try to sleep in.” Aleia said as she pulled at the down comforter that she had draped over herself to brave the cold.
“Yeah,” he said. With an annoyed tone he had extended the ‘y’ sound. Wiping his brow with is right forearm Kent looked only out at the lawn where the ball ended up.
“I was turning and shifting all night. I can’t shake that game. Baby-”
“I know.”
“Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Yes.”
“Hunny…”
“Drop it!”
“Listen,” she said as she bounced up and down in a vain attempt to keep warm. “you can’t take this out on me. You know that, right?”
He thought for a while. Columns of visible breath formed from his nostrils as they flared with each exhale. Kent relaxed his muscles and dropped his arms to his side. The stick fell from his right hand onto the ground. He spit angrily at the street near where it lied. His jersey, without his pads on, hung loose off his body; the sleeves especially were long enough to cover any skin, had the gloves not been there to interrupt it. “I’m just so fucking tired. I know…I’m sorry…it’s just that…”
“I know.”
“How can you know?! You don’t understand at all.”
“Well, you know what I mean. I can sympathize.”
“I’m not looking for your sympathy, sweetie.”
“Well then what are you looking for?”
He didn’t say anything for a while.
“It’s just that it’s only been like what two and a half weeks?” she said looking at him with glassy eyes.
“So…?”
“So! So you lost your goddamned hand! Don’t you think you should be taking it easier on yourself?” Kent threw down his right glove and started to tug at the sleeve of his jersey revealing his bandage. “I didn’t lose it! Its right here! The things just useless that’s all. I can still play damnit!” he said. As he held up his right arm the sleeve fell to around his elbow, “There’s no use in crying over it. My life hasn’t changed and that’s all there is to it.” He skated away and retrieved the puck from beside the net.