Forbidden Fruit (Travis Kelce)

Hell

Travis

The past two weeks have been the worst of my life. Every day feels like a new level of hell. Fans hate me, and I can't blame them. The other day, as I was leaving Arrowhead, someone egged my car. The white paint was splattered with yolk and shell, a physical manifestation of the anger and betrayal everyone felt.

Even my own family has been acting weird around me. Patrick is still furious, and I can't look him in the eye. My mom tries to be supportive, but I can see the disappointment in her eyes. I know I deserve all of this, but something feels off about the whole situation.

Arianna has disappeared from the public eye, and everyone blames me. I have no idea where she is. I've texted her multiple times, but the texts go green, meaning she's either blocked me or her phone is off. The silence is unbearable, each day without her a reminder of what I'd lost. I can't help but worry about her, wondering if she's okay, if she's safe.

I'm miserable. I made the biggest mistake of my life, and the worst part is that I don't even remember it. All I recall is being at the bar with the guys, celebrating our win. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in bed with that woman. No memories of how I got there, no recollection of anything happening.

I've been trying so hard to remember, but every attempt leads to a dead end. The blank spaces in my memory taunt me, making me question everything. I talk about it in my therapy sessions, desperate for some clarity.

"Travis, it sounds like you might have been drugged," my therapist said during our last session. "It's not uncommon for people to experience memory loss after being given certain substances. Think about the timeline and the symptoms you described."

I sat there, stunned. Could that really be it? Had I been drugged by the mystery woman? It made a sick sort of sense. The way she approached me at the bar, buying me a drink, insisting I take it. The dizziness and disorientation that followed. It all added up.

"I just... I can't believe how much everything has changed," I said, my voice cracking. "Everyone hates me. The fans, my friends, even my own family. And Arianna... she won't even let me explain. I miss her so much. It feels like there's this gaping hole in my chest, and I can't do anything to fix it."

My therapist nodded, her expression sympathetic. "It's understandable to feel overwhelmed and isolated, especially given the circumstances. Have you considered what steps you might take to prove your innocence, assuming you were drugged?"

I shook my head, running a hand through my hair. "I don't know. I feel so lost. I don't even know where to start."

"Well, you mentioned earlier that you have a strong suspicion about being drugged. If that's the case, taking a drug test might help establish some clarity. It could be a way to start rebuilding trust, at least with those who are willing to listen."

"I guess," I said, feeling a flicker of hope. "But what if it comes back negative? What if I did something and I just can't remember because I was drunk?"

"Travis, it's important to remember that regardless of the outcome, you're taking responsibility by seeking answers and facing the truth head-on. That's a crucial step in any healing process, for yourself and those around you."

After the session, I couldn't stop thinking about it. It was like a puzzle piece clicking into place. If I had been drugged, then this wasn't entirely my fault. I hadn't willingly betrayed Arianna. But how could I prove it? And would it even matter to her?

At practice, I decided to talk to Patrick. I had to try and make him understand. As we finished a drill, I approached him, my heart pounding.

"Patrick, can I talk to you for a second?" I asked.

He glanced at me, his expression hard. "What is it, Travis?"

"I think I was drugged that night," I said, my voice low. "I don't remember anything from the club after we were there together. The last thing I remember is being at the club with you guys."

Patrick's eyes narrowed. "You don't remember anything after that?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Nothing. My therapist thinks I was drugged. I know it sounds crazy, but it makes sense."

Patrick crossed his arms, considering my words. "You should take a drug test, then. If that comes back positive, I'll try to help you. But if it doesn't... do not talk to me ever again."

I nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope. "Okay. I'll do it. I'll take the test."

As practice continued, I couldn't help but feel a small spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to make this right. I had to. For Arianna, for myself, for our future. I couldn't let this be the end of us.

When I got home, I collapsed onto the couch, staring at my phone. I needed to tell Arianna what I'd learned, but I didn't want to push her. Instead, I texted her one more time, hoping she would see it when she was ready.

Text to Arianna:
Ari, I think I was drugged that night. My therapist believes it, too. I don't remember anything because of it. Please, can we talk? I love you and miss you more than words can say.

I hit send and watched as the text turned green, a stark reminder that she still had me blocked. My heart sank even further, the small spark of hope flickering weakly.

All I could do now was wait and hope that somehow, some way, we could find a path forward.