Beyond The Court

1. Heavy Heart

I guess we had always been meant to say goodbye. But we didn't—not in the way most people do. We just... faded. Slowly, painfully, like something that had been unraveling for a long time but neither of us wanted to notice. It's all I've been thinking about, turning it over and over in my head. I didn't want to let you go—God, I didn't—but I loved you enough to do it. Someone had to, right?

So, I left. I walked away from the one person I'd ever shown my entire self to. The only person who saw me as I was, stripped down to my soul. The only person I ever...

Staring up at my ceiling, I sigh in frustration, my chest tight. Even now, after all these years, it's impossible to get her out of my mind. A hundred thoughts race through my head, and somehow, she's 99 of them. Always her.

I glance over at my phone on the nightstand. The screen reads 3 AM, its dim light casting soft shadows across the room.

"Fuck me," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head as I swing my legs out of bed. Sleep isn't coming, not tonight. Not ever, it seems. I pull on some shorts and a T-shirt, grab my running shoes, and slip out of the house, careful not to wake anyone.

This has become routine—running in the dead of night, trying to outrun my thoughts. It's the only thing that quiets my mind enough to get any rest, even for a few hours. As I start jogging down the empty streets, the cool night air biting at my skin, it all comes flooding back, clearer than it should be after all this time. It's been years, but it feels like yesterday. I push harder, breaking into a full sprint. Maybe if I run fast enough, I can leave it all behind. Maybe.

*time skip*

"Izzi. Wake up."

My mom's voice pulls me from the haze of sleep. Her hand on my shoulder feels heavy, too much. I flinch slightly, pushing it away as I sit up groggily.

"What?" I mumble, blinking against the morning light filtering through the blinds.

Her eyes are sad, the same sadness that's been there for a long time now. But I don't acknowledge it. I can't.

"Izzi..." she starts, her voice soft, hesitant.

"Mom, please don't," I interrupt, sharper than I mean to. "It's not gonna change."

She pauses, searching my face like she's hoping to find something there. "I'm sorry," I add quickly, my voice softer. I sit up fully, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"You've said that before, hun," she replies gently, her words carrying a weight I can't bear right now.

I meet her gaze, and for a moment, I want to tell her everything. But I can't, so I just shake my head. "Just stop... please."

She nods, a small, resigned nod, and sits in the chair by the window while I stand and stretch, my body stiff from the restless night. I feel her watching me as I move, but I don't say anything.

"Did you run last night?" she asks after a beat. She knows the answer already, must've heard the shower running when I got back.

"Yeah." I shrug, disappearing into my closet to pull on jeans and a shirt. When I come back out, she's still sitting there, her eyes following my every move.

"Izzi," she says softly, but I don't want to hear it. Not now.

"I'll come eat in a minute," I say, heading into the bathroom. I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face, staring at my reflection. My hands grip the sides of the sink as I try to steady my breath, try to recognize the person looking back at me. But I don't. I don't know this version of myself—cold, detached, angry. I don't want to be this way, but I can't stop it.

Shaking my head, I leave the bathroom before I end up breaking another mirror.

*time skip*

I walk into the living room, the familiar sound of my dad scrolling through his phone filling the space.

"Morning, Izzi," he says looking up.

"Morning," I mumble back, heading into the kitchen where my mom is setting the table. I help her bring the rest of the food over, and the three of us sit down in silence. The clinking of silverware is the only sound between us.

"What time's the game tonight?" my dad asks, breaking the quiet.

"Seven," I reply shortly, pushing the last of my food around on the plate before standing up. "I better go."

I rinse off my plate and set it in the sink. "Have a good day, Izzi. Drive safe," my mom says, her voice filled with warmth I don't deserve. My dad offers a similar goodbye as I grab my basketball bag and backpack from the door.

Sliding into the driver's seat, I drop my head against the steering wheel and take a deep breath, willing myself to hold it together. Just get through the day. One more breath. I turn the key, and the car roars to life as I pull out of the driveway, heading to school.