The spark // Art Donaldson

001. Euphoria

Tw: Drug abuse

Cadell, 2019

"Hwang serve!"

Cadell caught the ball that was thrown at her, bouncing it against the floor as she went into position. She felt the eyes of her coach– of the dozens of spectators betting on her. On the spark of tennis. On Cadell Hwang.

Cadell Hwang lived for one thing and one thing only: tennis. It was her lifeline, her sanctuary, her addiction. From the moment she stepped onto the court, the world faded away, leaving only her and the rhythm of the game.

She felt her double ponytail sway slightly in the wind as she stood still, eyeing her opponent.

Her heart drummed a fast rhythm, her breath quickening as adrenaline pumped through her veins.

Game point, she thought warily. The words echoed in her mind, driving her forward with a ferocious hunger for victory.

It wasn't a close match. It was the second match out of three in the women's challengers in New Rochelle, and her opponent, Selena, had only scored one point in the entire game. Selena was her first match in the tournament, and considering Selena was not anything compared to Cadell, she felt fairly confident about winning the cash prize.

She placed the ball on the bridge of her racket. And then she swung, the feeling of her racket against the ball making her heart flutter.

Selena put up a good fight... compared to their previous rallies. Selena lasted a whole fifteen seconds before her ball didn't make it over the net.

Cadell's grin widened, her lips curving upwards in a triumphant smirk. The rush of victory flooded her senses, suffusing her with an intoxicating euphoria that left her breathless. It was more than just winning; it was a validation of her talent, a testament to her relentless pursuit of excellence.

She tilted her head back, her gaze drifting upwards to the vast expanse of the bright blue sky above. The warmth of the sun kissed her skin, mingling with the sheen of sweat that adorned her brow. In that moment, she felt invincible, untouchable, as if she were soaring amongst the clouds themselves.

A triumphant laugh bubbled up from deep within her chest, breaking free in a jubilant crescendo that echoed across the court. It was a primal sound, raw and unfiltered, a celebration of her victory and a testament to her indomitable spirit.

That feeling—oh, that feeling—was unlike anything else in the world. It was the thrill of the chase, the rush of adrenaline, the ecstasy of triumph all rolled into one. It was the feeling she lived for, the reason she sacrificed and toiled and persevered. 

It pulsed through her veins like a drug, infusing every fiber of her being with an electric vitality that was utterly intoxicating.

 That feeling was the feeling she lived for. The feeling that kept her alive. The only feeling that kept her alive:

Euphoria. 

...

"You're so hot, babe," Alex murmured, his words slurred by the lingering scent of alcohol on his breath. His hands roamed over Cadell's body, seeking a reaction that she couldn't muster. There was no warmth in his touch, no spark of desire ignited within her. Instead, she felt a hollow emptiness, a numbness that dulled the sensation of his skin against hers.

His grip tightened around her waist, a forceful embrace that bordered on suffocating. She flinched instinctively, a silent protest against the aggression that simmered beneath his touch.

But Alex remained oblivious to her discomfort, lost in his own world of desire and control.

"Alex, I need to go to the washroom," Cadell's voice trembled with a hint of apprehension, a feeble attempt to assert her independence.

"Bri- no," he mumbled, weakly trying to pull her back towards him. She slipped out of his arms and placed a pillow in between his arms instead, which he pulled closer with no idea of what it was.

Cadell didn't know who Bri was. He was gone too often, saw too many people for her to question the dozens of names that spilled through his lips when they fucked.

She went to the washroom, pulling open a drawer, fumbling with the contents. Her fingers closed in on a box that she pulled out.

Alprazolam.

A drug she was prescripted for her insomnia before matches.

She looked at them, at the pills that had essentially signified her downfall as a person. The more she trained in tennis, the less she felt outside. She was addicted to the sensation of adrenaline, the happiness she felt with a racket in her hand.

She shakily took out three pills and gulped them down dry, sinking onto the floor of the hotel bathroom.

She sighed shakily as she started to feel the effects of the drug kicking in after a while of waiting. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cold walls, curling her toes in as she revelled in the feeling of carefreeness. Of happiness.

She could only feel truly happy on the court when she was playing tennis. And between matches? She was a ghost. A ghost that couldn't truly feel excitement. And drugs were all she could take to replicate that feeling of euphoria.

Drugs were all she could take to replace the feeling of him.