Out of My League

{16} Reunion

Charlotte's POV

"Charlotte, are you drunk?" Sammy's astonished voice asked me through the low rumble of the bus.

"As a kite," I replied, grinning at her sheepishly.

"First of all, that's not even the right phrase! And secondly, what the hell are you doing? We have a game in a couple of hours!"

"I'm coping," I replied nonchalantly, staring out the window through my sunglasses. "Besides, I'll bet I won't be playing at all today."

"Black, get those monstrosities off of your face!" the coach's voice yelled in my direction.

"You get off of your face," I slurred angrily.

"What?" the woman asked, bewildered.

"Nothing!" Sammy piped up before I could say anything else. My teammate quickly took the sunglasses off of my face. "Nothing at all ma'am!"

"Good," she replied, suspicion creeping into her voice.

"Charlotte, what's gotten into you!" Sammy demanded in a hushed whisper. "You seemed so responsible when we first met."

"People change," I whispered back, trying to imitate her incredulous voice. 

I admit it, I had gone overboard. Being alone in my apartment, I couldn't help myself. It was the only successful way to get some sleep and overcome my nightmares. Besides, I wasn't going to be playing in a game anytime soon, so I might as well enjoy it while I can.

Sammy placed a bottle of water in my hands. "Here, drink this you dumb-ass. I'm not going to let you get kicked off the team when we're so close to making the championships this year."

"Thank you," I mumbled in return. "Love you too."

"Moron," she replied, irritation slipping into her usually upbeat voice.

...

Sitting on the bench, I felt a strange sense of detachment from the people on the field. I frankly didn't seem to care who won or lost today, I just wanted to go back to the safety and isolation of my apartment as soon as possible. So when my coach called out my name to be the next one to bat, my heart literally stopped.

Sammy's concerned voice came from beside me. "Are you good Char? You know you can tell the coach you aren't feeling well today. It would be 100% true."

But I couldn't say no. If I said no, I might not get a chance to play ever again. This was the final test, and if I failed I would become the bench warmer for the rest of the season.

"I have to do this," I said with determination.

As I walked towards the plate, my view still distorted from the alcohol I'd consumed a few hours before, I could feel the astonished glances from my teammates. Charlotte was going up to bat? 

As I stood there, my hands gripping onto the bat for dear life, I remembered what my coaches before had advised me. Feet planted securely on the ground, eyes looking straight at the pitcher, arms loose. You can do this, I told myself. You're Charlotte freakin- Black. An announcer from the stadiums called out my name as the next person up to bat.

As the pitcher prepared to throw, I could immediately predict where it was going. It was a curve ball. I positioned my bat perfectly, and felt the satisfying crack of the ball hitting my bat just right. The ball went low and far, an almost perfect hit. 

But as I ran, desperately trying to reach 1st base before the baseman caught the ball, I felt my legs turn to rubber. I tripped over my own feet, my arms windmilling as my chin came in contact with the cold dirt below.