The Last We Fell

𝔖𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔩 0.1 ♦ 𝔇𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔠

"Hughes, whatever the hell you're dealing with, leave it out of my field." Coach yelled at me again after missing my footing and almost breaking my leg in the process. I don't know how it happened but I never get yelled at- let alone it happening twice during practice for an important game. He even benched me to get my shit together and not interfere with the game.

This was not how I envisioned this day goring. It was nice to crash at Adam's place for a couple of nights to avoid my mother's imminent questioning and anger if she'd seen the state of me right after my fight with Ryan, but eventually I couldn't avoid returning home any longer. And as I expected, I got a long lecture last night about my faded bruises that she somehow managed to concocted a back story for (not far from what actually happened) to explain my state. Luckily I learned how to smoothe things over with a lot of cajoling, begging for forgiveness, and sincere promises of doing better in the future.

It wasn't my intention to get in a fight in the first place. Losing my cool and throwing punches is not my style and it's not something I am proud of. My mother raised me better than that. That, and I had Lily on my back, well, text-yelling at me for doing stupid things and asking for a proper explanation for what I did.

As if I could invent something to that effect. Love often has the side effects of making one act irrationally.

I am not ready to admit it. To admit it, would be to admit how terrible it is impacting me, thus the need to let it go and move on. And if I could do it, I would have given up my childish attachement that's going on two years since I laid eyes on her. Since I held and sealed these feelings tight inside, refusing and not knowing how to tackle them without creating friction. Every new possibility I could come up with as an outcome of being more transparent with my feelings is more terrible than the previous. Maybe that reflects my belief that things can never go my way smoothly. Possibly it's how lacking and inadequate I seem when it comes to her.

The ball rolled to a stop at my foot, the field growing quieter as I realized practice was over and the guys have left. Coach stopped in front of me, fixing me with his chilling gaze.

"You understand how important the game in two days is, especially for you?" He asked expectantly. Somehow, he seems to think that I have the potential to be drafted for bigger and better teams and pursue a career in basketball.

"I understand, sir." I bowed my head low. Regardless of his expectations for me, I don't want to let him down. "I'll do better, sir."

"Whatever is bothering you." He sighed. "Your mood and performance affect your team, don't forget that."

I nodded, not trusting myself with a decent reply. What do I say to that? It's not like I'm not trying to deal with it. It's easier said than done.

He left me to my thoughts and growing frustrations. I spun the ball in my hand. At least I can direct my useless anger towards something productive, or that is what I've attempted to do. Basketball is as much a hobby as it is a venting outlet for me. People praise my dedication and talent, say that I'll find success pursuing my dream. It is nice to have people who believe in you when you don't. Perhaps that is why Coach is persuaded I can make it to a good team and have a successful career, and I... well, I hate to disappoint.

The sound of my heartbeats is drumming loud in my ears, deafening as I come down from the high of adrenaline and the blood pumping in my system. I am as much of a mess as O'Connor had deduced. Our conversation from the night I stayed at his place keeps haunting me. With all my drunken conviction, I believe that she's worth it. I believed it for the longest time. Will she ever come to realize that? Will she be able to reciprocate as adamantly and stubbornly?