DIANA NOLAN

SNAP.
The awful sound of tearing ligaments echoes through my ears and it vibrates through my entire body. It is the sound of a teenage dream shattering into a million pieces. The world seems to slow down as I step sideways to maintain my balance. The adrenaline must have kept me away from immense pain. I turned to the judges to close off.
     I get pulled back into reality and a wave of immense pain engulfs my veins. I try not to grimace as I limp away, but the pain only increases with the second. My coach, Cate, runs up to me and orders me to sit down. My chest rapidly rises up and down. My eyes roam over the silent audience until I spot a pair of familiar eyes. Once we lock eyes, I look away. I look away in shame. He had come to watch and I simply failed. Failed to impress him and most importantly, I failed to secure my place in the National team.
I threw it all away.

The kind medics assist me in getting down the podium. I leave with loud applause from the audience as if I had just become a World Champion. But no, it was an applause full of compassion and empathy. Because they, too, know I will not participate in the Olympics. I feel so much, but nothing at the same time.
     I leave the hall, assisted by the medics and Cate. I try to set my foot on the floor, but a sharp pain shoots through my knee. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. New, fresh tears well up in my eyes. I can't fucking believe it.
     "Diana!" My mother's voice reaches my ears, causing me to lift my head. I am soon met by the eyes of my parents, my little sister, and Cillian. Once I met Cillian's eyes, I couldn't bear to look at him and look away. I see him approaching from the corners of my eyes. He wraps my arms around his neck and I fail to keep it together. I just couldn't. With all the strength I have left, I cling to his body. Tears flow down my cheeks.
     "I'll lift you in my arms," Cillian whispers. He makes sure that my left, injured knee is closest to his chest. As embarrassed as I already felt, I hid my face in the crook of his neck.
     "It is alright, dearest," Momma tries to soothe. I shake my head, because it is everything but alright. Nothing can be said to me to cheer me or soothe the pain of a shattered dream. Fourteen years of hard work down the drain. Gone. Poof. Dissolved. Melted like snow in the sun. Evaporated.
     "I think we should head to the ER," I hear Cillian say. He then lowers his voice for me, speaking to me. "I am with you," he whispers. I felt added pressure on my hair, to which I concluded he pressed his lips on my hair. "I am going to take care of you." His words might send a little spark at my dying flame.

My head rests against his shoulder as my father drives us to the hospital. Momma and Flora are heading back to the hotel, simply because Flora has to go to bed. "How is the pain?" he whispers, causing me to lift my head to look at him. How is the pain? My knee has a heartbeat of its own, throbbing like crazy.
"Unbearable," I answer. "It hurts immensely." New, warm tears slide down my previously teared stained face. Cillian moves his hand to my face and gently wipes away my tears. I watch his eyes shift to my cheeks and back to my eyes. He had come to watch a competition of mine and I was sure that I failed to impress him.
"I'm sorry that you traveled all the way to California to see this," I whisper, lazily pointing at my knee. He arches an eyebrow at me. "Are you mad? I was blown off my seat when I first saw you perform," he answers, making my heart flutter at the slightest. "She can sing. She is a high-performance athlete. She is beautiful. She is funny. She is intelligent. How many more secrets can she keep?" he adds, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. He leans in and nuzzles his nose against mine. He succeeds in making me chuckle.
     "I don't," I answer, suddenly remembering the letter he wrote me.

𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓪,

𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍. 𝑻𝒐𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑶𝒍𝒚𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒔. 𝑰𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒅𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒎𝒆, 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 ;), 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒐𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒕. 𝑺𝒐, 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒆. 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒄𝒖𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅. 𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚?

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒐 𝒊𝒕, 𝑳𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒂.

𝑪𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏

"I read your letter yesterday," I add, lowering my voice. I slightly pull away to look him in the eyes. "Good girl," he whispers, the corner of his mouth curving into a small smirk. A heat rises from my neck to my cheeks as I avert my eyes from his. I think of the words in his letter.
"You wrote sweet and encouraging words," I whisper, meeting his gaze once again. "I didn't dare to hope for your presence-" "And yet, there I was," he finishes. "Socialising with your little sister," he adds, chuckling. Another chuckle leaves my throat and only moments later, Dad pulls over in the parking lot. Cillian continues his role by carrying me, in bridal style, to the hospital.

I have to fill in a form with my medical condition. Cillian sits next to me and carefully lifts my legs onto his lap. I flinch at the sharp pain in my knee, causing Cillian to apologize. "It's okay," I grunt. "This is better anyways."
     Soon after, we get called into a room by the nurse. Cillian carries me into the room and places me on the table. I haven't seen the visible damage, something I will be witnessing in a few minutes. I cautiously undress myself from my tracksuit, leaving me in my leotard. "Cillian, can you ask my father if he can fetch me my polo?" I question. He then tugs at his hoodie, pulling it over his head. I tilt my head, confused.
     "Have this," he answers simply. I stare at the hoodie for moments before accepting it in my hands. My eyes shift toward him, wanting him to turn around. He tilts his head in confusion and it is adorable to see. Then he realizes and turns around. I pull my leotard down to my waist and pull Cillian's hoodie over my head. His scent fills my nostrils and it sends a shiver down my spine.
"You can turn back around," I inform him. He turns around and eyes me up and down, biting his thumbnail. "That looks good on you," he compliments. I arch an eyebrow, not knowing in what way to take the compliment. Does it actually look good on me or does it look good on me because it is yours? "Can't I give you a compliment?" he asks, offended. "Yes," I counter but I cannot finish my sentence. I grunt in frustration as he simply scrunches his nose at me.

"Good evening, Miss Nolan. How may I help you?" the nurse smiles. "My knee snapped in an unnatural way while landing my mount," I answer. Her eyes ran me up and down, probably concluding my sport. She starts inspecting my knee. She adds pressure to several spots, carefully watching my expressions. I flinch at each other of them.
"Can you stretch or bend your knee?" I try to stretch or bend but it hurts too much. I grimace and shake my head. She removes her hands from my knee, undoing herself off her gloves.
"I would like to do an X-ray," she informs. "Which means we will be looking at images of the internal tissues, bones, and organs. My hypothesis is a torn anterior cruciate ligament." My heart sinks lower than the freezing temperature. My eyes shift from the nurse to Cillian, meeting his eyes.
"And what if I did tear my ligament, what then?" I question, almost sounding desperate. My heartbeat quickens, needing to know the answer. Her expression melts into empathy as she replies: "Surgery." Surgery. No. No. I remain silent as I lower myself on the bed, my hands covering my face.
     "If you wish to hear it or not, my lady," Cillian's voice fills the tight atmosphere in the room. "The Olympic Games are way too soon for you to regain your stability, surgery or not. I will say it and you might hate me for it but you know it as well. The Olympic Games are out of reach." His words echo through my mind. I sit up straight, still covering my face while my emotions get the upper hand. And I despise it.
     I try to slap away Cillian's arms, but he wraps his arms tightly around me. I finally give in and cry in his arms. "Shh," he soothes, pressing his lips on my hair. I am a mess right now. My tears stop flowing as I just rest in his arms. "I'm sorry," I speak. "Please continue with the X-ray."
     "I understand," she replies. "Missing out on an event like that. I'm sorry." I let go of Cillian and look him in the eyes. "Thank you," I say, meaning every word. His eyes shimmer in the pale light of the room. "I'll take care of you," he whispers.

After the X-ray, I went back into the room. My father sits next to Cillian, who has been updating him I guess. He had taken care of a wheelchair and crutches.
     "Are you hungry?" he questions once I sit down. The moment I think of food, my stomach rumbles but I also feel full. "Yes and no," I reply. "I feel full because of these emotions but physically ... I need some food. Can we cheat on McDonalds?" My father lets out a peal of laughter and agrees.
     "I find that a wonderful idea, princess," he says. The nurse and the doctor walk in with the results of my X-ray. I nervously fiddle with my fingers. I found myself nervous, even though the chance of the Olympics had already flown out of reach. "Good evening, Miss Nolan," the doctor greets and shakes my hand. "I'm Doctor Choi. So, tell me Miss Nolan ... Gymnastics is a dangerous sport, what did happen?" I start explaining how it happens while Doctor Choi scans the X-rays.
     "Well, that does make sense ... And I'm afraid to tell you that your anterior cruciate ligament is indeed torn completely. Which means, we will need to perform surgery." Even though I knew the possible answer, the words torn and surgery hit my head. "Here in America?" my father interrupts. The doctor shakes his head, telling me it can be done back in England, which I honestly prefer.
     "Then I wish to be operated in England," I state, which he writes down. He tells us to call my hospital, telling them that I need surgery for my knee. "I don't have much to tell you," he then says. "So, you are free to leave."
     "Thank you, Doctor Choi." He bows his head before he leaves the room. My father rolls the wheelchair in my direction and I just stare at it. I could have flown just a few hours ago. And now? Nothing.

The ride to the hotel was silent. The wheels in my mind keep rotating as I stumble upon a question. "Do you have a room to spend the night in?" I question softly. I was seated in the middle, my knee resting on my training bag while my head rested on Cillian's shoulder. I look up, searching for his eyes. "I don't," he slowly admits and thus realizes. "I will fix a hotel, don't worry." A knot forms in my stomach. I have another bed in my room, an empty bed. I want to ask, but I don't dare to ask.
"You can spend the night in my room?" I question nonchalantly. "I have a spare bed," I add quickly. His eyes are fixed on mine and I could see the wheels of his mind rotating. I take the leap and push him over the edge, I mean, I hope I do. "You said you would take care of me," I whisper. Emotions flash through his eyes, too fast for me to identify.
     "Alright," he finally gives in. "I will take care of you." The corners of my mouth curve into a smile. "I do not know if you ever get this hoodie back," I add. "It is comfortable." And it smells like you. A chuckle ripples from his throat, probably not giving a damn about this hoodie.

Cillian pushes the wheelchair while my father carries my bag. "Where will you be staying?" Dad questions Cillian. Hearing that question, my hands start to become a little sweaty. Cillian clears his throat, seemingly nervous as well. "I did not know until Diana offered to share her room with me since she has a spare bed." "Besides, he could assist me," I add, hoping it will ease it out.
"Okay, well ... You know the talk, princess," Dad implies, causing us both to be embarrassed. "Dad," I yelp. "I am kidding," he laughs, however, I don't see the glare he is sending Cillian.
     "I'll see you tomorrow. I hope you can get some sleep," my father kisses me on the forehead. "I hope I will. Good night, Dad." Cillian rolls me into the hotel room and from there, I hop into the bathroom. "Wow, careful!" Cillian warns, clearly not expecting me to do that. I simply shrug, "I have at least one good knee." It does hurt, the hopping around. I jump onto washbasin, which is large enough for me to sit on. I start on my makeup before undoing my hair. I take a look in the mirror, seeing Cillian leaning against the doorway.
     "Do you need anything?" I question, however, he holds up his hand. "I'm just revising the competition — I feel my shoulders slump down — because I was simply amazed at your skills," he speaks and obviously compliments. I sigh, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "It will be a long road to regain those skills," I reply, my tone hinting with sadness.
     "Nonsense," he counters. "Those skills are engraved into your muscles." He pushes himself off the doorway and approaches me. "And perhaps this Olympic year isn't meant for you, but the following one. Perhaps the universe wanted to give us time," he smiles. A goofy smile, but I enjoy it. His arms wrap around me and he pulls me into a hug. I feel safe in his arms.
     "I appreciated your presence today," I mutter. "I am glad that I had the confidence to ask your father about the competition and join him to watch," he mutters. A chuckle escapes my throat before I feel his lips on my head. After that, his hands move to my hair as he starts removing bobby pins.
     "Oh, you don't need to do that. I'm fine, thank you," I protest, but he continues removing bobby pins. "I wish to help. So, let me help, my lady," Cillian speaks gently, seeking eye contact through the mirror. "Okay," I answer in a small voice. I watch him work on the bobby pins, gently massaging my scalp. He seems perfect. No.
He is perfect.