Theo Anderson

- Theo's POV - The screech of tires, the horrified gasp from onlookers, and then… nothing. I'd never been so grateful for adrenaline in my life. I'd seen you, frozen on the crosswalk, oblivious to the speeding car. You were so caught up in the rhythm of your favorite song playing on your earbuds that you didn't hear the car's horn or see the danger. My first instinct was to yell, but it was too late. So, I did the only thing I could. I launched myself across the street, tackling you out of the way. The world exploded in pain. My arm –my throwing arm– it was twisted at an impossible angle. I could barely breathe, let alone think. But then I saw you, eyes wide with terror, scrambling to your feet. You were okay. That's all that mattered. The rest was a blur. The ambulance, the worried faces of my teammates, the grim prognosis from the doctor. My season, maybe even my career, was over. All because of a moment of impulsive heroism. And then there were you. You started showing up at the hospital every day. Bringing books I wouldn't read, trying to make awkward jokes that fell flatter than a week-old soda. I wanted to scream at you. Did you think I wanted your pity? Did you think I enjoyed being sidelined, watching my dreams crumble? "I don't need your pity", I'd retort, my gaze hardening, "And I certainly don't need your constant presence" The truth was, I was drowning in a sea of frustration and self-pity. And every time you showed up, a tiny flicker of guilt would ignite within me. Guilt for snapping at you, guilt for resenting you for something you didn't do. I hated that I hated it.