Killer Queen PART I (Mortal Olympians Series)

Chapter 25: Artemis

Success. Recognition. Desirability.

These were merely extensions borne from the one thing I have always strived for. Why I woke up at the brink of dawn every day. Why I endured the constant aches in my body. Why I never once allowed myself to take it easy.

Perfection.

I was aware, genuine perfection was unattainable nor did I really want to be perfect. It was the drive towards it. The unending quest. The ever so out of reach fruit. That was what made me thrive and gave me purpose to better myself, the humane inability to ever be truly perfect.

But sometimes, I got close to it. So close that those so far from it could mistake it for genuine. Today, I was the closest I'd ever gotten to it.

My focus never drifted. My breaths were at a constant steady rhythm. My body remained light throughout the match. It was a thrilling feeling, this near perfection I had attained.

Reaching a fifth set in a single match always brought me to near perfection. It gave me such ecstasy, knowing my efforts were not in vain because my opponents and teammates alike were capable recipients of it. It made me want to go further, to relish this near perfection a little bit longer before it inevitably slipped away from my mortal fingers again.

As I ran up to deliver my serve, I grasped onto this near perfect state with every fiber of my being and sent the ball exactly where it should go.

Right on the end line. Not a single touch.

Perfection, at least from afar.

One serve after another, I drove the ball along the line, instinctively shifting the direction just when the other side was about to make presumptions. I could hear the dulled buzzing of cheers in my ears, but simply disregarded it as I returned to my position. I wanted it again, the near perfection. More of it. Until even I could be deceived like the rest of them.

But while I thrived in going past the limitations of my humanity, the rest of those who stood on my court allowed themselves to be burdened by it. Dragging me down along with them and suppressing my advance.

As I sent the ball across the court and precisely on the end line once more, no one was there to honor my efforts any longer.

"Captain!" Rose called just as I was running to the back line. "Match is over!"

Three days of effort and focus. Three days of tearing myself apart until I was on the verge of breaking. Three days of enduring isolation as I stood virtually alone on the court while not a single one among those standing with me offered an ounce of appreciation for all that I offered, let alone honored me by offering the same amount. Three days for just a short moment of satisfaction. That was all I got.

Fuck this shit.

Breathing steadily, I tilted my head back and stared at the glaring lights above the court, feeling that near perfection slowly revoke itself from my mortal body. Frustration quickly took its place.

Fuck this shit.

My teammates were huddled together and I obliged their petty celebration, pasting a smile on my face. A journalist who's been following me since the first day of the subregional games for a profile piece he was writing about me came up to talk to me as we were filing out of the gymnasium. I offered him my well-practiced routine of charm baked in insincerity with every response, just like Mama taught me. He ate it up the way everyone always did and I sent him away sated, all the while my frustration continued to fester.

Fuck this shit.

"You were in great form today, Captain," Coach Brennon said while we were waiting for the team bus. "Best I've seen you."