Chapter Text
This isn’t meant to be a ‘diary’. I just needed a place for my thoughts to escape instead of stirring around and turning it into mush. I don’t even know what I’m writing. I guess, just forcing myself to write is going to be a pretty good start to this. With everything lately, it seems like the thoughts never end. I find myself observing more while my mouth has little or nothing to say at all.
Then, he decided to stop. The black and white-spotted college-ruled composition notebook was closed shut, the pencil tossed aside on the desk. There was a sigh as he’d pushed away the notebook off to the side. Glancing at it, reading off his own name in a slightly wobbly cursive from two or so years ago. ‘Rory Jacobson’, the ink was slightly smudged, pages were torn out and most of it from being used as a regular notebook for a previous class, yet now it was no longer used for that. He wasn’t glancing at anywhere in particular after looking away from the notebook, lost in thought. But for a moment he saw his own eyes off of the reflection from his desk's tempered glass top and shut his eyes.
For a moment, it was like there were no sounds in the world, no distant mumble of the news reporters on the T.V downstairs, no passing of the garbage truck coming early on a Monday morning, nothing. It was their senior year, yet somehow, he didn’t feel like it was at all the way he thought it’d feel. High school, the best years of people’s lives, the years that you’re supposed to discover yourself and your true friends- was just like it never really felt that way to him. Rory was active in school, more than he’d have liked but his parents didn’t give him much of a choice. And the one thing that he had enjoyed was actually torn away right after he needed the credits to meet a requirement for school. Theater was fun for the time, but his family decided that sports were going to get him somewhere far more than becoming an actor or artist. But- Rory couldn’t let those thoughts invade his head again, he had to walk to school.
Up bright and early, already dressed around seven am and didn’t start class until eight would give him enough time to start writing in this journal hopefully. But even he doesn’t know if he’ll continue to write, just out of lack of words. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair before sliding back the desk chair. Tucking the composition notebook that was tossed aside earlier under some old papers and a binder with important stuff, he’d already was thinking about the busy day planned. It was only a moment more to pack up some folders and the square pencil case that had some silly-looking doodles drawn on with a sharpie. His dad always worked early in the mornings while his mother never seemed to leave the house. Which only made things harder to avoid when he’d just wanted to be left alone after a long day of practice. Or for this specific morning routine, made every morning slightly awkward since he would have to give a proper goodbye as well as an “I love you too, mother” that felt forced and fake.
The journey to school wasn’t long either and was, if anything, the most relieving part of the day. Lucky enough, his parents owned a rather large and sparkling home right by the beach. Additionally, the high school was just about a 10-minute walk, or half that on a bike. Maybe it was the little bit of independence that he felt he had or something about being able to see the sky the early morning waves roll in on the sand while they walked to school. Maybe it was even the fact that he wished to surf again but quite frankly didn’t have the time anymore.
And now, for the painful school day. It generally was the same old thing of the moment that he’d stepped into the school, his friends who’d skate to school were right by the entrance and pulling him along to get breakfast from the cafeteria since there was just enough time to grab something small like an apple or granola bar. Next, he’d have to head to class, do the thing of sitting for roughly six hours with a lunch break somewhere in there. And everything truly started to feel like it was a blur. It was so painfully repetitive, besides slightly different topics each day, as well as gossip from his friend’s girlfriends or even just, talk he’d accidentally overhear rather loud people talking from other lunch tables. So, the thing that makes Rory’s head turn to look around at his many ‘friends’ was a question directed to them. “What? Sorry, I was just spacing out. Not a lot of sleep last night”. Eyes were eagerly looking his way, some fluttering too much with a sparkle in their eye while others paid no attention to Rory.
Brianna rolled her eyes and repeated the question, crossing her arms as she sat back in her seat. “I said, are you coming to my party next week?” Right. The party that supposedly everyone, particularly involved in sports or cheerleading would be attending and have been looking forward to every year. And of course, it was always some cliché or maybe main character thing to wake up, go to school and go to some party for a plot. But Rory hated the attention. Even being popular made him want to hide and be out of view. Again, it wasn’t exactly his own choice of friends. Most of the people that surrounded him were people whose parents knew or worked with his own. The others were girls or admirers which Rory didn’t even have any romantic interest in. The rest were just people who wanted to be at the top of the school food chain. “Uh, I think so. Can’t say for sure yet,” a fork was stabbed into the tray, and he took a sip from his water bottle, suggesting that was all he had to say on the matter. An array of reactions at the large table were very noticeable. There were the people who were unsurprised by this, the others who looked disappointed, and the one or so faint smiles. Maybe there was someone saying an ‘I told you he’d say that!’ but Rory really just was tired, genuinely. “Look, I’ll see what I can do, but I’m probably going to be really tired after matches. Sorry, Bri. I will try to make it,” they always tried to make things lighter on these people, even if they were the most self-absorbed and selfish people he’s ever met. But they were still all a group at least, many still growing as human beings. Even if it was hard, he thought that kindness could always go somewhere if someone really needed to hear it. Then lunch continued on just like it does every day.
Even after spending almost four years with most of these people, things got boring. But truthfully, that only pushed people to do more and more new and wild things. His friends who skated were loud and rowdy, always trying to get Rory on a skateboard or do tricks around the halls which never ended well. Most others accepted this was just how high school went while people like Brianna wanted to make a mark and impression for when prom season kicks in. While most of the time Rory used the excuses of taking extra classes for college credit as well as volleyball practice every fall to get out of some social situations, there were some things that people never quite let go of or forgot. Occasionally, they’d get asked the questions like ‘Why don’t you have a girlfriend?’, ‘Haven’t lost your V card yet, huh?’, or some even brave enough to say, ‘Are you a fag?’. His answers were always the same. No, he didn’t have a girlfriend because he just didn’t feel like he could handle a relationship with the load of work he had. No, he hasn’t lost that because he just has never had a partner. And, to those last types of questions, it was always, “No. I don’t like guys”. Then there were the few times people would bring up how Rory must have not had a lot of firsts and I just, made him slightly upset sometimes. Of course, never showing how he truly felt around these people who could very easily ruin his social life but also wreck things with his parents.
Just with his emotions, he’d hide a lot of things. Most of these people didn’t know that he enjoyed reading books or even played video games from time to time. He could no way risk being called a ‘virgin loser’ as many of those skaters he’d spent time around would call the kids who clearly fit the ‘geek’ stereotype. Even if he did feel like that in his own head and could think of every possible way, he’d lose his current standing his parents had molded for him. The picture his parents would paint is a sporty and rich pretty boy who was a good Christian and gentleman while in reality, Rory wanted to hide his face from the world and be seen for his heart, religion, and money aside. People could swear up and down that being beautiful is a blessing, but he’d felt that it was nothing more than a curse since appearances and money will be the only things that people will take into consideration: not authenticity or kindness or even skills. Rory was considerate and kind and cared about the poor stay cats out in the rain, didn’t dare swear not just because of parents but to stop himself from developing a habit of cursing profusely.
So finally, when his day was over with classes, it was time to practice volleyball. Thanks to his father’s rather generous convincing the coach a year or so, he had to push himself to work extra hard to improve his skills. He didn’t earn the spot, his father forced him into that position which only made him self-conscious about what other people thought of him. No matter how much he wanted to be himself, his family always had to force him into something or persuade people with money or his mother used the word of God against him as well. Volleyball was a bit of a compromise between him and his father since Rory wasn’t interested in doing football and his dad didn’t think that swimming or tennis would be ‘manly’ enough. Somehow, he managed to convince his father that volleyball was perfect since they live by the beach and still could go to state or nationals as a possibility. Though joining a sport wasn’t an option, Rory found some enjoyment in volleyball and that was all he needed to work with. Maybe he overworked himself sometimes with wanting to live up to the expectations of being captain of the volleyball team, but he sure was going to make sure he could at least make himself feel worthy of it. No slacking, no acting better than anyone else on the team. He’d been exhausted by the end of the practice, forearms aching from the sting of hitting the ball back up, sides hurting from trying to save a few hits that were just a little out of reach. But the season was almost over with the start of May, which only was also the start of preparing for the big and final prom he could attend. Then after, June is really just the final countdown with just a few more days to spare and then graduation.
He wiped his forehead with the towel, making sure to take off all the nasty stuff from today’s practice and tossed it back into his locker for the time being. Most had decided to just go straight home since it was spring and the weather wasn’t too hot, and the nice ocean breeze would cool them off. Rory and a few others retreated to the changing rooms, two or so showering while the others laughed and chatted. He’d come in to mostly check his own body before having to walk home. His forearms were still pink, minus most of the stinging, which was a great improvement from when he just got off the field. His sides were sore, maybe a bruise or show could show tomorrow but nothing too dark. Drinking his water, he finally was able to check his phone. Through the day, with moments that he was either entirely or mostly alone, he’d check his social’s notifications: that is only when he can find time with how busy his schedule is. He wouldn’t dare to do so with the types of people he spends time around. In the best-case scenario, they take harmless selfies but on the opposite side of that, accidental confiscation or people digging through his apps. He really wouldn’t have wanted his mom or dad (or both) to have to come to pick up his phone for something someone else did to even get it there in the first place. There was nothing worth looking at on his Instagram since he’d hadn’t posted anything and the people, he followed either spam or just post their ‘fits of the day'. And Discord really was the only thing even managing to keep him at least half-sane when finals had kicked in all the way through Christmas. He’d been playing Minecraft for some time now but just recently started playing on servers like Hypixel during the break. Joining servers here and there was hard, especially when people were in voice calls, and he wasn’t quite sure how he could even work up the courage to speak in the silent house when his mother was home. But gaming was ‘totally not him’ and muted notifications for it. Even there, he didn’t quite like he really had anyone. For the time being, it would only have to be Rory focusing on what mattered, and he didn’t even truly think to why he should have even opened the app anyways. Nothing there for him but maybe, just maybe he’d go back someday. There were some texts that he’d answered from his mother and father throughout the day that didn’t matter much as well. It was time to head back home, a long day of practice and he still has homework to do.
It wasn’t sunset just yet, but the blue sky was already a mixture of pink and orange hues on his way home. Some clouds were speckled across the sky here and there, that cool breeze from the oceanside blowing gently through his blond locks and providing a sense of comfort. Until the dread of stepping up the two stairs and opening the door hit him. He’d have to go over his day at the dinner table with his parents. A greeting to his father and then mother before making his way to his room to drop off his backpack and head to the dining table. Saying a prayer before meals and digging in. Another thing that started to mostly feel like a blur or event that passes quickly but not quickly enough. And while the homework load was slowly becoming less and less as he's a senior and the school year is ending, it still felt like a drag to do.
Trying to do this again. Feeling exhausted after practice today. I shouldn’t be up this late. I miss playing Minecraft, I miss having a connection with people. I feel like I’m holding someone hostage inside of me. I feel like every step I take is wrong, that every breath is incorrect or even if the way I blinked was poorly executed. If I’m made in God’s image, then why’d he make me feel this way. Why does everything seem so hard to do these days?