❛ It's a sin, how we hit where it hurts.❜
The day Amali and Michael exchanged vows in 1992, against their own will, but under the authority of their parents' wishes, they both truly began assimilating into the vicious manner in which life spiraled...
❛ It's not that complicated, But you're gonna need a bullet proof soul. ❜
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Wimbledon, London July 5th. 1997
There was nothing in this world that Amali loathed more than losing.
No one takes pleasure in receiving second place, especially not a professional athlete of her caliber, and in her case, a loss to a match as consequential as this one felt like a real life calamity.
Perhaps, this old fear of not being number one, a fear that could be traced back to her childhood, was one the most effective fuels driving her to win as much as she did. It was the phobia of having to confront the mental aftermaths of failing, which where amplified when you were one of the most scrutinized athlete in the world.
How could you lose yourself this way? Amali interrogated herself, how could you allow something like this to get in the way of your trophy? She was embarrassed, and if she could, she'd grab her own shoulders and shake herself.
"It is not the end of the world, Bambi."
The resonance of the locker room added more bass to her brother's voice, who sat right in front of her, arms resting on his knees as his back leaned forward. His eyes were focused on her, while hers blankly peered at her own hands, rubbing her thumb over the tapes wrapped around her fingertips.
It wasn't anything he wasn't used to, having been her coach for all those years, and the person she looked up to the most since she came onto this earth, Asani has had to tell her that a million time. It was notably bad when she began playing professionally as a child. A loss would send her straight into a relentless fit of tears, that he had the responsibility to get a hold of.
It's a good thing, Milo used to say. He never enjoyed seeing his daughter cry, like any loving father, yet he viewed her tears as a sign of deep passion for the sport, which only proved how much she cared about being the best, and all she had to do was learn how to control her nerves so they wouldn't conquer her.
Fast forward to now, Amali scarcely ever cried. Weeping tears had gotten substituted with blurred eyes and a lumpy throat, a lone droplet spilling from the corner of her eye. That was, until no one was around.
"I should've won this one, Asani, I should've won it."
"And you didn't." Asani stated with conclusiveness, "And there's nothing you can do about it. You can't rewind time to do things differently, or ask to play another set." Shaking his head, he saw the pout on his sister's mouth increase. "All you can do is accept the defeat, without dwelling in it. I know how much this meant to you, so give yourself a few days to mourn that loss, and we move on to the next thing."
