The Quarterback & Me [BXB]

Chapter 2 - Eighteen

Nathan's P.O.V

"Nathan. You're 18 you need to start acting like it." My dad says sternly, crossing his arms across his chest.

"I told you I will start acting like an adult when you treat me like one and I've been taking notes. You have not treated me once like an adult." My remark is made as I glance into my notebook, the notebook of respect. That's my name for it. My eyes glance over the blank pages, totalling a instance of zero times that my dad has treated me with respect. My hand grazes the kitchen counter as I place my notebook on the table, the blank pages flipping in the breeze that blows through the kitchen, transporting the summer air that radiates in the outside and infuses the kitchen area, from the open window. 

"It's time you learn how to look after yourself." I roll my eyes at his remark, bobbing my tongue out at him, in my immature ways. I leave the kitchen, hearing the slight chuckle that escapes his lips as I leave the kitchen. He is fighting a war he cannot win and he knows, as soon as he gets into an argument with me, that it is a battle he is going to lose.

Walking into my room, my eyes glance around the sea of clothing that overtakes the floor awaiting to be washed. The smell of sweat radiates in the room, providing a distasteful odour to the room. Nevertheless, I kick the dirty clothes to the side and make a small area of empty space for my chucked out clothes as I search through my wardrobe, smelling the clothes that lay inside of it, checking for a clean jersey. My hands rake through the clothes, at the bottom of my wardrobe, a smile etching on my face as my hands latch on to a piece of clean clothing which instantly gets chucked into my sport bag. The holder of all my equipment easily slips over my shoulder as I lug it outside the house, taking my keys on the way out, and towards the school.

"Nathan do 20 laps to warm up." The coach's stern voice sends shivers down my spine but success in motivating me and encourages me to push my legs further and try and achieve a tremendous speed. This speed helps me to acquire time and I find myself achieving record time.

"Great work as always Nathan." He says, patting me on my back to commend my achievement. A smile etches on my face as a sense of pride flows through my veins, circulating around my heart and filling it with a sense of warmth and achievement.

"Thanks coach." My voice comes out raspy, my throat dry and craving for some water to ooze down my throat. Luckily the coach comes to my aid, passing me a bottle of water. My throat gustily chugs down the water, clenching around the water as I try to get every last drop out of the water, a sense of refreshment welling over me as I finish the bottle. 

He pats me on the back again and my eyes follow his movements as he leaves the field, my eyes adverting to the field that remains empty. Instinctively, my feet manoeuvre themselves onto the field and to the football, which I grab and begin to sprint across the field with. My feet dodge around the imaginary players that seek to tackle the ball off me, the skills of my own meaning that I succeed in dodging past them and scoring the ball. I cheer to myself, throwing my arms up in the air, scanning the benches to see the emptiness of it. They represent the absence of pressure when no one is watching me when no one's eyes are locked onto me like I am their prey and they are all predators.

Football.

This once was a sport to me, one that I was allowed to do for fun and something that I played because not only was I naturally gifted at the sport, it was also one that provided me an immense amount of joy when I played it. However, football no longer feels like a sport to but more of a chore. It is more something that I know feel reluctant to do rather than wanting to do. It again feels like a duty, the sea of eyes that watch me like a hawk, at each game, their lies multiple people that are locked on my every move. My coach is one of the eyes that I always particularly feel burning into my back at every game, tracking my every move and making sure that I don't make a mistake. It feel like I have the weight of the whole team on my shoulders, the load of it weighing me down with the responsibility to carry my team to victory.

The past years have seen my skills thrive as I have driven myself to become one of the best players on our team. I had succeed and with my open gayness a load had seemed to be taken off my shoulders, knowing that I did not have to hide a part of me from people in fear of what they may think of me because I was already out and proud of my sexuality, no matter if people tried to tear me down or ridicule me because of the way I was.

I was on top of the world.

Or at least I felt like I was but yet for 3 years I had been anxiously alone, eagerly awaiting the day that another boy may ask me out. After all I could admit to myself that I was quite a catch but I suppose most of the boy's attention was always focused on my sister, who seemed to overshadow me with her gorgeous figure and natural beauty drawing all the heterosexual males gaze towards her, and even some of the homosexual males. It would go against me to admit that she was attractive but although I had my status, I had my popularity and I had my sport but yet I was still second best compared to my sister.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sorry for the late update but I hope this is worth the wait. I will try and update every two weeks but with university and everything please be patient with me!

- Meg :)