Kai Parker One Shots

Get Well Soon

Songs to listen to while reading:

"Nine is God" by Wavves
"The Only Exception" by Paramore
"Take My Breath" by The Weeknd

Autumn is here, evident by an overcast sky. The leaves of the maples trees above are radiant hues of yellow and orange, few cascading off in the tempestuous winds and littering the track below your Vans. This does nothing to deter your run, trampling past the foliage in practice for the upcoming finals less than a month away. A natural athlete, training every morning before the sun could even rise - this was the easiest stage. The toss of the hat into a familiar ring, with a chance to finally become the star of the show.

The competition is just as fierce, interfering with the self-assurance you'd worked so hard to build. Diane Thompkins was said to be an Olympic hopeful someday, what with her sculpted calves and uber-excellent record times. Jackson Reeves had already made headlines in the local newspapers and interviewed with the TODAY show, and had quite the social media following on Twitter with hundreds of retweets per every update he gave out.

"Don't you worry your head about them, honey." Words spoken by your stepfather earlier before school, echoing in your volatile mind. Doubts were scrimmaging for control, the pressure too much to bear and at times you felt like the only way out was to scream your head off. Mistakes in your progress are rearing their ugly heads.

Speed, you are speed and so you pick up the pace as if you can outrun the trouble that is gaining on you. Nothing can stand in your way if you can help it, whether it be a person or your own fear of failure. Life could be tough sometimes, but willpower alone was key to winning the battle and emerging a victor. Obstacles would exist no matter what, it was how you pushed through that defined your strength. Hope was not so intangible, or so you'd thought as your ankles gave way.

The abrasive pavement's stark contrast against your delicate skin was overpowering as the brunt of the landing was taken by your stomach, limbs trembling in utter anguish as you lie sprawled out in a daze. A moist sensation on your face makes you wince, only for you to comprehend that it's uncontrollable tears spilling. "Ow," you sob helplessly, aches raging everywhere from head to toe. Vision slowly depleting from your puddled over eyes, rushed footsteps can be heard.

"Oh my God." Their owner is dropping to his knees, better known as your gym teacher, Coach Parker. Or to the kids that had struck up friendships with him, Kai. "That was quite a fall, but don't you worry. There's a first aid kit in the boys' locker room. I can patch you up, promise."

"It hurts all over," is all you can muster, rolling over to discover that you've bloodied your kneecaps and the palms of your hands. "Is this going to disqualify me?" Sad, isn't it, that winning is more important to you than your own health.

"It might, but right now I care that you're not going home like this. Sometimes you have to put yourself first." Mr. Parker slides an arm under both your shoulders and lifts you up, easing you towards the locker room a couple of feet away. "The fact you even came this far is an accomplishment." The door is held ajar with his combat boot as he ushers the two of you inside with caution so as not to make your suffering any worse.

The bench he sits you on isn't exactly comfortable, but you'll take it over the gravel any day as he fetches the first aid kit he'd mentioned. Empty Gatorade bottles, dirty towels and taco wrappers threaten to spill out of the overly full garbage can, the tiles gum speckled and the clock above the exit door reading 6:08pm. By now, you should've been out to dinner with your friends and instead you were stuck with a teacher you barely know and weren't even sure you liked very much.

Word in the hallways was that Coach Parker had an affair while engaged to his ex-girlfriend, and students and fellow teachers alike made snide comments and penned names for him like "Playboy Parker". The rep he had was less than approving, rumors even flying earlier in the year that one more strike would lead to his dismissal. There he stood, examining the contents of the small box. "Okay," he pipes up, breaking you from your train of thought. "We have gauze, but it's enough for only one leg. There's a few bandaids, and a bit of disinfectant."