𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐁𝐨𝐲 ★ 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧

moby sucks dick. get over it.

WES

I don't want to move from my bed, and if I could, I would lay in it forever. I perfer my bed at home because I've been sleeping in it since I was 15 and it doesn't give me horrible neck pain, but the sadness takes over the neck and back pain. It's one thing I don't have to worry about, but I should start to because it will affect me when I start to get old...and I mean fucking old. Like grandma arthritis old, can't move, wish you could just die already old. But that's so many years from now that I can't help but call myself a dumb ass at already thinking about getting crows feet and my hands freezing up when I do one simple task.

It's one thing to get hurt, but now that I'm taking it into consideration that I'll have horrible pain for years until I finally shit the bed. The gravity will be pushing me down into the ground, right into my grave, and for once I'll embrace it because death has always scared me. I'm rough around the edges like most douche bags, but I'm all squishy and soft on the inside and I hate it most of the time if not all the time. I'm always the hard headed asshole jock that gets all the praise and sucks it all up when I throw a ball right into the end zone and we win the championship game. Without that, I'm as useless as the next guy.

Football (American) has and will always be my life. I was introduced to it when I was 8 and after going to camps and watching our state's football team battle it out in the Super Bowl, I was hooked. My older brother had played throughout high school as a running back. His short legs and lean body helped him run from the 40 to the end zone in record time. I wasn't one for running, and being the quarterback for the same high school, I only needed to focus on two things, surrounding players and the end zone. I only ran in games when the coast was clear and there was a path right to the place I needed to be, but it rarely happened.

I'm adored by the 8 year olds that live in my town and come to every game on Friday. They stayed up past their bedtimes to see me play, and would wait until 11 o'clock when I got out of the shower to congratulate me and tell me I was awesome and that they couldn't wait to see me on TV. It didn't matter if it was a losing or a winning game, everyone loved me and there was no way I could be sad over some boy who was never going to love me or talk to me. Mylo was the only thing on my mind, and I was losing myself in him the more I got lost in my head. I wouldn't say I was going crazy, but Mylo was making me take a trip around the cuckoo's nest.

I jumped at the sound of loud banging on the front door. My head was already pounding from the headache that was definitely being caused by the dehydration as the only thing I did today was cry, for hours. It's the only thing I could do actually. Doing any other action but crying seemed abnormal and I did not care one bit that I missed a day at the gym. Camp was a giant vacation, and yeah, I definitely worked my body more than I should, but I needed to stay in shape. When I got back to school from summer break, training started and all the players had to hit the gym before the season started if they wanted to get their asses in gear. Coach had a specific regime and if we didn't follow it- we were done.

There was another bang on the door, and it was like I was lifted from the ground as one second I was in bed and the next I was opening the door to whoever thought it was the time to interrupt me. I was more than surprised when I saw Mylo staring at the ground, his eyes following a beetle. "I knew you liked nature but Jesus Christ that thing is huge." Mylo picked his head up at my voice, his eyes took over my body and he winced at the sound of my voice when I spoke again, "Why are you here, Mylo? I thought you weren't going to be talking to me ever again." I mocked his voice the best I could but my voice was breaking as with the crying came the broken sobs wishing for forgiveness.

"Ethan...and whoever he's fucking convinced me that I should come see you as I didn't believe you looked this fucking bad. But boy were they right...You look like you've been run over by a 18-wheeler ten times." His description of what I looked like was grim, but I knew he was right. I was out of my mind and being run over by an 18 wheeled truck sounded nice right about now. Oh, shut it, I'm not suicidal, I'm just saying it could be a better option so I don't have to die in my sleep at 102. But who am I judge? Can't ask Uncle Billy 'cause that bitch died in his sleep. You'll only know if you try it right? Isn't that the saying or some shit...?