Coach Styles |HS|

7.

I have decided to rewrite Coach Styles, seeing as I can't recover the previous chapters. I still have the same plot, characters, and everything in mind so don't worry; nothing is changing.

Sweat dripped down my forehead, rolling into the creases of my soccer jersey as I removed my worn out shoes and stretched out my aching toes. I threw my head back against the metal locker gently, silently praying that something would come up where I would not have to face Coach Styles today. Yesterday was still too much for me to take in and I knew that while I was saving myself from expulsion, it was also wrong to do these things with him. He had a career, a wife, and children and he could lose it all if we were to ever get caught up one day and I couldn't bear the thought of that type of humiliation. In the eyes of the law, this was very much illegal, but we both had things we needed to use each other for. I needed this team; I was on the verge of graduation and scholarships, and he was on the verge of doing great things as a soccer coach for a team who has not won a game in a few seasons. I was torn.

"Monica, Coach Styles is looking for you," Dahlia spoke, her voice echoing and bouncing off of the doors of the lockers around me. I pushed myself off of the green-colored bench, huffing out a breath of ear as my sore body bent down to grab my bag and my shoes. I knew eventually I would have to face him and his ways, but I wanted some time off for today. I wanted to take everything in and make my next move, but expulsion was not an option. I pushed open the heavy gymnasium doors with my elbow, groaning as the pain shot through my arm. My hands lowered to rub over the sore spot as I walked back toward the field where the coach stood, a tall blonde woman clinging to his arm. Half of me prayed that this was his wife, while the other half hoped that this was another victim who could take his eyes and hands off of me. Her blue eyes wouldn't stray away from his with that dazzling smile she wore spread upon her face. She was a walking barbie doll and I couldn't help but gape at her beauty.

"You were looking for me?" I spoke up in a quiet voice, gaining the attention of the three adults conversing among one another. Coach's eyes were the first to land on me and I shifted uncomfortably underneath his gaze, sliding down the hem of my dark shorts and forcing myself to look away. He couldn't help himself even if he tried, and that was unexpected of a ma% n of his nature. He always seemed well behaved and controlled around us during practice. His authority spoke and he didn't have to physically utter a single word. The woman beside him seemed surprised and happy to see me. Her smile grew bigger as her dainty manicured hand outstretched to grab onto my hand that was damped with sweat. I was not in the greatest to condition to have a welcoming party, but I had no control over this situation anymore.

"I was. Monica, this is my wife Tiffany. Tiffany, this is one of my best players Monica Eastwood." He smiled, grabbing her by the waist as our hands slid from one another. I could feel the churning in my stomach and the absolute guilt I had taking residency in my chest. It was too early for me to come face to face with the woman whose husband I had been forced into a sexual relationship with. She seemed happier than most women would be with a husband like Coach, but then again, it seemed nearly impossible that she knew about her husband's outside activities. "Thank you for the work you've been putting in this past week," he spoke, and I felt as if his words had an underlying meaning. It wasn't a wise decision to let his wife meet the 'star player' that he was banging; I could have spilled everything in that exact moment, while risking automatic expulsion, but my lips remained sealed and pursed in tight. Guaranteed I had been putting in a tremendous amount of work for the last two days.

"Don't mention it, Coach." I gritted out the words, falsely smiling in the direction of his wife and him. His eyebrows raised as a challenge and I saw this as a perfect opportunity to leave this situation before I ended up bent over the wooden desk in his office. He had a way with words and actions, and I could not let this go on in front of his wife or while she was in the same building. I wanted to keep the small ounce of self-respect I had left while I surely lost the 95% of it the day I agreed to let him use me in the worst way. I bid them a farewell and quickly scurried off to the other girls who were waiting by their cars in the parking lot. As normal, Dahlia was the center of attention as she ranted and raved about her fresh new gash from being tripped on the field. I wasn't in much of a mood for talking, more so in a mood for going home to my bed and begging my mother to home-school me. If senior year and being on an athletic team wasn't stressful enough, I had the sinful burden of what I was doing behind everyone's backs weighing down on my shoulders.

I didn't bother showing up for practice the next day, hoping that no one would bother to contact me and ask why. I was avoiding this agreement until I could get rid of the sick, guilty feeling. Thinking about it day and day out wasn't helping as much as I thought it would and it was a frustrating thing to deal with. I could tell an administrator, risk public humiliation and ruin a man's life, or I could go along with the flow and hope that these next three months will be nothing like the last two days. I groaned and turned over in my bed, burying my face into my pillows and sighing loudly into the plush fabric. A knock sounded at my door and I lifted my head, my blonde hair falling into my face as I opened my mouth to speak "It's open!" I shouted to whomever was on the opposite side, rolling my eyes as my mother strolled into my room with the house phone dangling from her hand and my little bother holding onto her hip. "Who is it?" I mouthed.

"Your soccer coach," she flung the phone onto my bed and swayed out of the room. I felt my heart sink to the pits of my stomach and I gulped down the forming lump in my throat, too frightened to even grab the phone and hear his voice. He was too much of a manipulator and today really wasn't a good day for me. I knew that if I didn't answer the phone, he'd know I was avoiding him and possibly threaten me with expulsion. Worse, he could carry out his word.

"Hello," I spoke into the receiver, gripping the phone into my palms and shutting my eyes. My hands raised to toy with the charmed necklace hanging around my neck as I awaited his response.

"Are you avoiding me, little miss?" he chuckled. The churning in my stomach became worse, causing an overwhelming sick feeling to bubble up inside of me. I couldn't tell him the truth while being unaware of what he'd do to me for it. He had his methods of getting what he wanted, and I wasn't in the mood for being penetrated relentlessly. So, I started coughing. "You're sick?" was all he mustered, cursing to himself shortly after his words flowed through the speakers. As far as he was concerned, I was sick. I only coughed some more, staying quiet on the line before he sighed exasperatedly. "I'll see you when you're feeling better. We have some things to discuss." Was all he spoke before the line went dead. If I hadn't milked my imaginary illness, I would ask what it was that we desperately had to discuss.