' we both drew blood but man, those cuts were never equal '
in which renown sports journalist beatrix watson
gets involved with tennis player art donaldson
CHALLENGERS FANFIC
art donaldson x femoc!
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
i look to you and i see nothing — fade into you, mazzy star
2019, NEW YORK.
Beatrix Watson stared at herself in the mirror, wondering who this woman even was anymore. Wondering how the years had evolved and changed her. A photograph on the dresser caught her eye, its corners bent and tattered from being folded into books. The image of a younger her, with careless curls and a wide grin that dimpled her cheeks. Her midriff was exposed, and a short skirt showcased her smooth legs. Her eyes, crinkled by the sides of her big smile, looked beyond the camera and towards the photographer.
A tiny shudder crawled up her skin as Beatrix remembered who had taken the picture—the memory of a curly haired blond persisting through different seasons. She forced herself to look away, and back into her reflection.
Now, thirteen years later, the changes are obvious. Her curls have disappeared, worn down by constant straighteners. A formal white blazer now sat on her shoulders, with a pencil skirt underneath it— the kind of elegant, stuck up fashion her younger self had constantly made fun of.
But the wildness within her had been slowly killed off, a forest chopped down in the name of modernization.
A knock broke the silence, and Beatrix sighed. "I'm nearly ready."
The door creaked open, and Connor's head peeked through. How had he remained the same? The same haircut, dirty blond hair swiped to the side. Same polo shirts, jeans, and Rolex watches. Same clean shaven face. Was it being with him that had tamed Beatrix, slowly made her wither? She discarded the thought— it wasn't fair to blame it on Connor, he had done nothing but support her, which was more that other people.
"There's . . . someone at the door." he corrected, the purse of his lips making Beatrix frown. "For you."
Leaning on the dresser to slip her heels on, Beatrix raised an eyebrow at him. "Can't you tell them to come some other time? We're going to be late for our dinner reservation."
