Gabriel: Prequel

three

"Over here - Toby, pass it here for the defence line," I yell, gesturing towards my direction.

The ball passes from his feet to mine in a single, swift movement, the astro turf spreading over the pitch, the dim light of the evening sun shedding small portions of light over it.

"Gabriel Thorne, win this! It's in your turf!"
The swirling emotion of pride and hope spreads through my body, strengthening my legs, pumping them faster to manipulate the ball. Grasping it between my feet, beads of sweat settle on my forehead, my breath quickening.

Momentarily, the ball slips out of my grasp and a low grunt escapes my lips; I will not lose this when I know what's at stake. The dread and fear of punishment lolls around at the pit of my stomach, acting as a catalyst to get the ball, lightly stopping on the ball.
The goalpost in sight, I get ready to swing my foot forward, aiming the ball in the goal, solidifying what I'm working for.
As soon as my leg starts to make contact with the ball, a heavy thud clashes into my shoulder, and I fall to the ground, my body landing with a deafening thump to the ground, falling with pain and hopelessness. The same hopelessness doing somersaults in my mind over and over again; a crowd swarms around me, but the only face that sticks with me is his. The defined, angry lines of my dad glares back at me, humility sparkling in his eyes, and tearing welling in mine.
In this moment, Harper would call me a dork, I think to myself, and that's the thought I let guide me to darkness.

_________

Fluttering my eyes open, I slowly adjust my focus to my surroundings, my heart feeling heavy once I realise that the room I'm in is my bedroom, and the doors locked.
Already fearing that I know the answer, I unsteadily turn my head and see him standing by the wall, his morphed into anger. A type of anger I have never seen before.

"You know what happened out there?"

I shake my head, averting my gaze elsewhere.

"You failed. You humiliated me. Everyone says, 'Carl, your son is on the team, you must be proud!' And I have to stop myself from spilling out all the humiliation it's caused me from the very moment you started trying out."

You know the type of lump where it's stuck in your throat, and you can't swallow it, but it starts to rise uncontrollably in sync with tears I don't want to touch the corner of my eyes.

"Hell," he pauses, cracking his knuckles, "you make me feel like a bad dad, like a failure. The shame I feel looking at you is painful, Gabe."

Confusion bubbles in me as I look at him, sitting up. The knuckles have been cracked, but no blow delivered.
Sadness laces his voice and my chest tightens. "I'm sorry."

"So am I. I feel sorry for myself that I couldn't get a son who pleased me, but only did things for themselves. You've never thought about anything else apart from football. And even then - you can't do that right. That... That hurts."
With no final words, he walks out of my room, leaving me with his words.

I was about to interject, saying I do all of this for him, I let him hit me for him. But I stopped myself: I think back to Harper. Five months had passed by since she left me sleeping in the garden, her jacket draped over me. Looking at the said jacket, I let my tears fall shamelessly. I am selfish. I knew she wasn't interested in me, yet I pursued her. Or tried to. She dropped whatever she had to say to sit with me, a sad, pathetic boy.

Somehow, the words of my dad hurt more than any of the blows he delivers.

_______

"You're joking! You didn't sleep with her?"
"No! What do you take me for?"