Count The Stars

twenty-seven

        "Elijah! There's someone at the door for you!" My mum called up to my room, her silvery voice ringing throughout the house and waking me up from a half-asleep trance. It was nearly eleven at night and day one of my resolution to try and get more sleep. I wasn't too happy to roll myself out of bed and down the stairs when I was finally beginning to nod off, but I felt even worse when I saw who was standing in the doorway with his hands shoved into the pockets of his basketball shorts.

        "Hey, Eli," Blake said with a small wave.

        I smiled at my mum and she walked away, but not before giving Blake a hug and placing a tiny kiss on his forehead. When she left the front room, I stepped outside, my smile quickly flipping into a tired scowl. Cool air sent chills across my body, reminding me that I was standing in the cold in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. "What do you want?"

        "Have you not told your mum yet?"

        "Told her what?"

        "You know..." he trailed off, obviously tiptoeing around me, "she seemed to still like me."

        "My mum could never dislike you," I told him.

        "Right but... you haven't told her that we had a falling out?"

        I rolled my eyes. "It's really none of her business that you only stuck by me because you felt bad for me."

        "Listen-"

        "Please— just-" I paused and waited until every tense muscle in my body was relaxed, "Why you even here?"

        "Eli, please, mate. You quit football. You love football. You've loved it longer than I have," he said. It was true. When we were younger, I taught him how to play based off some match I saw on television, and from there on out, we spent most of our free time playing. "You can't just give up something you love to do that easily."

        "It wasn't easy," I told him

        He chuckled. "You called Oliver ugly and walked out. Seemed pretty simple to me."

        "Then you obviously didn't understand the situation. You're telling me that all those things they said in there haven't been said before behind my back? They haven't made jokes about my anxiety, or my size, or my sexuality before? This was just a new thing that I blew out of proportion?" I questioned. He just blinked, so I kept going. "He was going to call me a fag, Blake, I'm not stupid. I know what they say about me behind my back. I've known for years, but I never had the courage to leave. Now I do. Do you really blame me for quitting?"

        Blake bit his lip and stared at the frost covered pavement below our feet. The street had become eerily silent, the only sound coming from the occasional car speeding by. I nodded and stepped back inside, adding "I'm not coming back," before slamming the door shut in his face.

        My face had turned a pale pink due to the chilly wind that was swirling around outside and making my eyes water. I convinced myself that the tears making their way to the edge of my tired eyes was because of the cold— not because of anything else. I pressed my hands against my frozen cheeks and let the heat spread across my entire face until I no longer felt the cold nipping at my skin.

        I took a few deep breathes before deciding I really wanted tea. I was really enjoying the thought of a warm cup pressed against my chapped lips while I sat wrapped in a blanket in my room until I felt my fathers clammy hand grip my shoulder and spin me around. "Hello," I said.

        He had a scowl on his face and disappointment in his beady eyes, and even before he began to speak, I already knew this would end in a lecture. "Did I hear Blake correctly?"

        "Depends what you heard."

        "You quit football?"

        I pursed my lips and nodded, preparing for the worst. Still, I stood up as tall as I could and raised my head high.

        "And why would you do such a thing?"

        "M-my teammates."

        My mum walked into the room and stopped in her tracks, seeing me and my father standing so close, both of our fists clenched next to our sides and our heated eye contact. She shrunk back against the peeling paint of the wall, but watched intently. Usually she would've stepped in by now by telling my father to step back or me to apologise, but she'd never seen me standing up to him for so long, and I don't think that even she could resist seeing where this was going. She knew— despite the fact that he destroyed my confidence and barely spoke to me— that my father was not the kind of man to lay hand on me. She'd given the speech to me many times about how he "is the way he is because of how his father treated him" and that he "just wants you to grow up to be a strong man." I never bothered to build up the confidence to shoot him down when he yelled at me because I believed her and I didn't want to disappoint my my mum.

        "What about your teammates? Do they do anything to affect your football skills?" he questioned, his voice dripping in condescendence.

        "I guess not, no."

        "Then what in the bloody hell made you think it was a good idea to quit?" He snapped, spit flying from his mouth onto my face. I wiped it away, but didn't break eye contact.

        "They b-bully me," I shot back, trying my hardest to stop stumbling and stuttering.

        He scoffed. "Bully you? Don't be so sensitive, Elijah. What have I taught you? Boys will be boys, especially at your age."

        "No, dad. It's only me. They never let me be. It's... it's hell!"

        "Hell? You are so over dramatic! What are they saying that's making you think it's reasonable to quit? I want to know. Are they making fun of your size? Is it because you're small?"

        "Not always."

        "Do they talk about how they're better at football than you or something?"

        "Sometimes... I don't know. It's not important," I mumbled, my confident facade starting to crumble.

        "Then what could possibly be so bad that you quit the only thing you do anymore!" He shouted, his vision darting around me like he was trying to find a clue.

        Finally, he narrowed his eyes at my hands, which I quickly clasped behind my back, only it was too late. "Really, Elijah."

        "Dad, listen-"

        "This is one of the dumbest things that you've ever done!" He yelled, "I can't even fathom why you would let something as stupid as nerves get to your head like that! They make fun of you because you let them with your bullshit panicking and your attention seeking!"

        "It's not bullshit, so please just stop," I told him so quietly I'm surprised he even heard it.

        He shook his head in disbelief and stormed off to his room without another word. I stared where he was standing moments before, worried that if I blinked, I'd let a tear fall. I glanced up at my mother, who was holding a cup of piping hot tea out for me to take. She gave me a sympathetic smile as I slowly took it from her frail hands. "Cheers," I mumbled before walking up to my room.

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Sad boi Elijah times :(

It's almost Christmas!! I'm Jewish but Christmas season is so nice so happy Christmas to everyone who celebrates!

Thanks so much for reading and voting and commenting and all that stuff I really love seeing new readers and yea :) also next chapter is (coincidentally like I actually did not plan it to come out at this time) a Christmas chapter so I'll be uploading it then

~Teddy