The Pages Within [BxB]

The First Confession

I never imagined that writing down my thoughts would feel like this. It's like opening a floodgate, and once the words start pouring out, there's no way to stop them. When Professor Walters handed out the journals, he talked about self-discovery, but he didn't mention how raw it would feel—how exposed it would leave you. Maybe he knew. Maybe that's why he didn't warn us. Because if he had, I wouldn't have let myself get this far.

It's late again. I should be asleep, resting for tomorrow's practice, but instead, I'm sitting here at my desk with the journal open in front of me. The blank page stares at me, daring me to write something, anything. But the pen feels heavier than it did last night, and my thoughts won't stop racing, even though everything around me is still.

Finally, I pick up the pen, take a deep breath, and write.

Day 3.

I don't know why I'm writing this. I don't even know what I expect to get out of it. But here I am, and here's the truth:

I don't think I'm happy.

It's weird writing that because, from the outside, my life looks perfect. And maybe it is. I've got a great girlfriend. My football career is heading in the right direction. I've got friends who have my back and parents who've worked their asses off to make sure I never wanted for anything. By any definition, I should be happy. But I'm not.

I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me.

There's this feeling I get sometimes, this knot in my chest that won't go away, no matter how hard I try to ignore it. It creeps up when I least expect it—during practice, when I'm with Ava, even when I'm just chilling with the guys. It's like a shadow, always following me around, reminding me that something isn't right.

I think it started months ago. Maybe longer. It's hard to say exactly when things shifted, when I started feeling like I wasn't enough. Or maybe like I'm too much—too many expectations, too much pressure to be someone I'm not.

All I know is, it's there. This doubt. This feeling that no matter what I do, it'll never be enough. Not for the team. Not for my parents. Not for Ava.

And definitely not for myself.

I'm supposed to be the guy who has it all together. The guy who leads the team, makes the right decisions, who always knows what to do. But the truth is, I don't. Half the time, I'm just guessing. Half the time, I feel like I'm going to fucking break under the weight of it all. But no one can see that. No one knows what's really going on in my head.

Except this journal, I guess.

And there's more. There's something I haven't admitted to anyone. Not even to myself, until now.

There's someone I can't stop thinking about. And it's not Ava.

I stop writing, my hand trembling. My heart pounds in my chest, the sound of it loud in the silence of my room. The words stare back at me from the page, and I can't believe I actually wrote them. But they're there now, and there's no taking them back.

Jason.

His name flashes through my mind like a warning, but for once, I don't push it away. I let it stay. I let myself think about him—really think about him—for the first time in months.

None of this makes sense. Jason and I barely talk. We've probably exchanged five words since the semester started. And yet, he's always there, lingering in the back of my thoughts. I see him around campus, sitting under that same tree, sketching something in his worn-out notebook. He's quiet, keeps to himself, but there's something about him I can't ignore. Something that pulls at me, even when I don't want it to.