Poisoned Waters | ✓

|𝟐𝟏| "𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭"

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫...

𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐘 sighed as he dropped his arms. He was exhausted from being forced to practice for longer than everyone else. His father, Ode, stood before him, ushering for him to raise his hands again. Mixed Martial Arts was a skill that everyone in Goldcrest had to learn and master. Ode believed that it was essential for survival and, because he was an expert, he had survived for more than four years after the virus hit.

"Oya, we have to finish before dinner is ready," he said, as he got back into position. Westley ran his hands over his face and then through his hair.

"Dad, I'm tired," he groaned, "I've been sparring all day. Why has everyone else gone and I'm still here?" Ode kissed his teeth. His Nigerian accent began to show through his tone, as he got angrier.

"Westley, stop asking questions and get into position, all this groaning is what is making you a terrible fighter." he stated. He grabbed Westley's hands and put him in the correct stance.

Westley pulled a face, "I'm not a terrible fighter,"

"You are the bottom of the class, your junior sister is even better than you." As his father started, Westley rolled his eyes, having to hear this litany again.

He'd heard it a million times before, since he was always made out to be the weakest link. His father had mocked him so much about it during the daily classes that he was constantly made fun of by his friends.

"I'm not going to have you embarrass my teaching because you cannot keep up and you 'cannot be arsed'. You de crazy? O ti wa ni se ara re bi asiwere." he kissed his teeth. As soon as his father began speaking in Yoruba, Westley decided to abide. He raised his fists, as he rolled his eyes.

"Okay, okay," he mumbled. He didn't want to speak too loud for his dad to go off on him.

For another hour, Westley practiced with his father. His body ached and he grew frustrated at how he kept losing to him. When practicing finally became futile, Ode sighed and stepped away from Westley who propped his hands on his knees, as he heaved for a breath.

"Let's just go and eat," Ode said.

"No, no, I almost got you down, let's go again." Westley straightened, getting back into the position and barely having the breath to go on.

Ode waved him off. "No, you are done for today, I don't have the will to fight with you anymore." His father walked off to the changing rooms and Westley's arms fell to his sides sadly. He frowned, as he had disappointed his father once again. It soon changed into annoyance, his father wasn't realising how much he was actually trying.

Even though he was the eldest, he was always compared to his younger sister, Monet. She was seen as the baseline of expectations in the Feilds family, and Westley was barely meeting it.

As much as Ode tried to help his son to be better than he was, he always ended up underachieving. The embarrassment and ridicule that came along with it was what he couldn't handle, as much as he had come to terms with his son's failure.

With Westley's past affiliations with gangs and crime in London, which made them move in with their father living in Oxford in the first place, Ode knew to never trust any good coming from his son, which explained his easy unwillingness to even try to help him succeed.

The put-down that Ode put on Westley was definitely evident in his behaviour. Physically and most definitely psychologically, as his jealousy of those better than him caused erratic behaviour. It began to show very clearly when Goldcrest started getting off its feet as a strong-holding community, there were men that were conspicuously stronger than Westley, and he hated it.