Whatever it takes

2. Positive Reinforcement

TW/CW: vomit

August 3rd, 7:01 pm
DREAM POV.

I woke up to the loud yelling of my sisters fighting each other over god knows what. I kept my eyes closed, trying to convince myself that it was midnight and I still had more time to sleep.

"Dream!" Puffy, my twin, screamed. She ran into my room and took my blanket off of me, holding it against her chest, refusing to let it go. I sighed and opened my eyes and was nearly blinded at the sight of the light. I squinted my eyes to try and see better and glared at her.

"What do you want?" I asked groggily. "Dad said you have to go on a jog with us." She replied, "C'mon dream get your ass outa bed and get moving or else dad will make you run an entire marathon around the block, or until you vomit." My younger sister, Drista yelled from the kitchen.

Then there was a loud thud coming from there. Right after I heard Drista say "ow fuck!" I bursted out laughing. "Drista!" My father yelled, "stop swearing!" "But dad Dream says that stuff all the time, same with Puffy. Plus o only said two. So why should I be in trouble?" I heard her plead.

She was going to be let off with a warning, just like last time, and the time before that. But when I said the word 'ass' when I was fourteen I got my mouth washed out with soap. What the hell dad.

Puffy dropped my blanket on the floor and left my room, but not before reminding me that I needed to get ready to go on a jog. I hated them. My dad made us do it, together, as a family. It was all the more embarrassing when Sapnap would send me pictures and videos of me running past his house and sending them to me as a joke.

I laughed myself out of my bed and got ready. Five minutes later I sampled to the front of my house where they all stood. My father had a stopwatch out. Fuck.

Whenever he had the stopwatch out it meant that we were racing. You would probably think that I could outrun at least Drista, but alas that isn't the case. She had inherited her speed from our mother who used to be an outside wing for the USC girls '94 soccer team. Only one year after the program was founded.

I trudged my feet over to him before he started explaining what we were going to do to.

"Alright, five miles this morning, first to finish picks dinner tonight, last to finish runs another five. Got it?" We all nodded. I wanted to die right there. I hated running, that's why I was the goalie.

We all made our way to the end of the drive way in a line, awaiting for dad to tell us to start. "Three, two, one, go!" And we started sprinting. Puffy was in front, running for her life. Because she knew, well, we all knew that if Drista won she would choose chicken and we hate chicken. I have had too much chicken in my life. I hated it.

I continued running and we all ran past dad who just yelled, "mile one done in seven minutes! Keep it up!" Well that was strange, positive reinforcement. "Dream, run faster, you should be in front of them!" He yelled. Welp.

I tried to run faster, but that just made my stomach upset. I felt like I was going to vomit. I held my stomach for the rest of the mile before running past my dad who just kept yelling  at me to 'do better' and 'run faster' thanks for all the love dad.

But that just made my stomach feel even worse. I ran past the small kids park by our neighborhood and had to stop running. I just stared at my shoes, trying to calm myself down, trying to make myself feel better somehow.

"Hey loser!" I heard Drista yell at me, who was probably on her fourth mile by now. I couldn't look up at her. Any motion would probably cause me to be sick. After several minutes of breathing in and out, and hearing my sisters call out to me as they ran past, Drista's being taunts, and Puffy being concerned; I deciddd to walk back home.

It was only a had mile away, but it felt like forever. This was really the walk of shame. I trudged my way back home and in sight of my house, I saw my father with his arms crossed, the recognizable look of disappointment on his face. I was in for a treat.

"Where were you?" He asked sternly. But before I could answer I ran into the house and into the nearest bathroom so I could throw up. I heaved over the bowl for minutes before finally feeling better, well, better than before.

I heard footsteps come from outside of the door I had slammed shut so I could have my shameful moment in peace. "You good son?" I heard my father asked, sound somewhat concerned. I couldn't answer. "Dream?" He asked. I still couldn't reply.

I heard the door handle move then some steps inside. "Do you need anything? Water, something to eat?" He asked, putting a comforting hand on my back. I shook my head. I sighed. "I'm here if you need anything. You don't have to do the five miles, today at least. At leave before the end of the week preferably." His tone went from concern to condescending really quick.

I just nodded and he left, closing the door shut as he did. I sat there and thought about what I ever did wrong. Why did this have to happen of all days. Of corse it's the day after tryouts end that this happens, proving to him I'm more of a disappointment than he had originally thought.

I eventually left the bathroom after washing my hand and brushing my teeth in an attempt to get the awful taste away from my mouth. I slowly walked my way back to my room and laid down on my bed and went back to sleep.

But not before I heard Drista yell my least favorite word, the thing we would be having for dinner, "Chicken!"
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Word count: 1070