B. Loski's Point Of View
"Well, what if I don't feel like playing this year? I need to focus on school if I even want to get into college." I explained to my father, I could tell he was growing impatient. Maybe even, furious? He's not very complex when it comes to emotions.
My father's brows furrowed together, his eyes narrowing together, "Bryce, if you play well this year then you won't have to worry about college! You'll get a scholarship."
"And for what?" I retorted, scoffing a little before starting again, "To play football for 4 more years? Right now, I'm just some run of the mill jock with shit for brains. I want to be more than that."
"Language." My mother corrected me, however it came out barely above a whisper, like she only wanted me to hear her. She wanted to stay as far away from this argument as possible. She wanted to stay far away from any argument with my father. I looked over to my mom, nodding a little to show I understood. "Sorry." I mouthed and she smiled softly, trying to clean the dishes as quickly as possible and get out of the kitchen and out of the line of fire. Couldn't blame her. My dad was not someone you wanted to get into a fight with. Although, I always did.
And it's not to be a stubborn brat, or just to piss him off, it's because I think I'm right. Hell, I know I'm right. It's my own damn opinion. We have free-will for a fucking reason, we weren't born just to be instructed by our parents and then sent off to finally try and be an adult at 18, and it's frowned upon if you're not. They expect so much from us and it's exhausting trying to be their perfect little creation, but you grow up. You learn. You become your own damn person. And even though you love and respect them, sometimes they just don't understand that you need to be on your own. Not because you're sad. Or because you're an angry teen. But because you're trying to figure it all out. Sometimes you gotta just figure it out on your own.
"Bryce Grant Loski!" My father yelled angrily, a fist hitting the table. I flinched a little, not enough for him to notice. Hell, now he was really pissed. He used my middle fucking name. It's over for me. But I don't want this 'fight' to be over. I know what I want. What I need and it's to actually do something with myself. Actually try to apply myself for once.
Before, I never cared about that shit. School is free, and it's a requirement. So why did I care if I being forced to be there? But, now something has changed in me. Maybe because of Naomi. I don't know. She inspires me to be a better person and she believes in me. I always complain about football and she tells me to do what I want, what'd make me happy and whatever I do, she'll be there beside me. And I believe that.
My father took a deep breathe, "Young man, you are playing football. End of discussion." He spoke sternly. My blood boiled, I clenched my fists around the arms of the wooden chair I sat in. Young man? Are you fucking serious? I have no say in what I do with my own life! My own fucking life. They send you to a school, one that teaches you that you can be anything your heart desires. And then you do something you want, and they shut you down. They crush you like it's nothing. Like you're nothing. And your hopes and dreams. They've never mattered and they never will. Cause you're just a kid still. But since when did 'kid' not mean 'human'?
I slightly opened my mouth to say something. What? Maybe the cliche 'I hate you' or even a more sophisticated rendition 'You are running my life'. But I stopped myself. It's like I heard Naomi's voice in my head. Like I often did. Whenever I got angry, going off about my father or about school or anything, I'd clench my fists and she'd rest her hand on mine and say so softly, "Bryce, it's not worth it." And it wasn't.
I took a deep breath, letting my eyes shut as I inhaled. "Go to your room." My father commanded, still sounding angry and a little disappointed. I looked to my mother and her eyes met with mine, but she immediately turned away. I stood up, walking out of the dining room and upstairs to my room.
"Fuck!" I groaned loudly, however not loud enough to be heard, I shut my door behind me and fell onto my bed. I closed my eyes, trying to calm my breathing. But I couldn't. It was like I was just so furious with him, more than I've ever been and I had held it in. Now, I just had this bottled up rage.
I did the only thing I thought would've helped me. Hopped out my window, onto my bike and rode to Naomi's house. And quickly. So fast that my legs grew weak, I nearly fell as I hopped off my bike once I reached her house. I knocked ever so lightly on the girl's window. And soon enough, she came to the window, holding a bright light that burned my eyes. I fell to the floor, covering my eyes, "It's me! It's Bryce!" I whispered.
"Bryce! Oh god, sorry!" Naomi nervously laughed, turning off her light and reaching out to me. She helped me through the window, shutting it behind me. I smiled down at the girl and it was like everything had washed away. Just seeing her.
Naomi placed her hand softly on my cheek, "What's wrong?" She questioned. How did she always just know? She always knew what I was thinking, when something was off and she knew exactly what to do and what to say to fix it— to fix me. She had put me back together so many times over the years, it's almost mortifying.
"My dad." I spoke with a sigh, "We got in this fight and he just— god, Naomi! He just he really pushes my buttons sometimes." I spoke with a groan, flailing my arms around like a mad man. Naomi chuckled lightly, "You're okay now. You're with me." She assured me.
She intertwined our hands, "Do you need to stay here for a little?" She asked. I nodded slowly before stopping myself and asking, "Is that okay?"
"More than okay."
We walked towards her bed, both of us laying down and Naomi pulled me into her chest this time. Holding me. And it felt kinda nice. I always liked holding her. It felt like I was protecting her. And I imagined holding onto her forever. And although my problems didn't fade away, they were absent when I was with her like this and the world stopped for a minute, just for us. At least that's how it felt.
"Is this okay? Are you okay?" Naomi frantically asked, she's too kind for this world. She cares so much. And about me. For what? What did I do to deserve this? I chuckled, wrapping my arms tighter around her waist and nuzzling into her.
"More than okay."
