Chapter Text
Adrenaline rushed through Neil’s blood. The thrill and guilt collided in his mind but the weight of his racket worked somehow grounding.
Before having the chance to sort out his thoughts, the sound of the final buzzer rang through the makeshift court.
The whole ordeal had felt both foreign and familiar like watching the same street from a different window — still the same exy he remembered from little league but a completely new perspective.
Slowly coming down from his high the yellow started to look like a warning, any comfort he had found in the new team colour vanished. It called attention — no one could overlook the obnoxious tone.
The walk to the lockerroom blurred, not even Coach Hernandez voice cutting though his frantic mind. All too soon the team reached their destination and suddenly a hand grabbed his shoulder — right where the iron mark was burned into his skin — and Neil wasn’t fast enough to hide his flinch.
The pitiful look Hernandez shot him made his skin crawl accompanied by a wave of nausea. He had to get out of there. Preferably ten minutes ago. However this was not a possibility if he wanted to wash the sweat off because the team was still clogging the showers.
“Josten, you played well for a rookie. Were your parents watching tonight? They should be proud what you managed to archive in just a month”
Shaking his head and avoiding eye contact, Neil hoped Coach Hernandez would drop this topic. His mother would roll around her sandy grave if she ever found out he’d been selfish enough to return to the sport he ran from — ruining all their efforts of staying hidden. For what? A lousy high school team who thought yellow was a good colour?
The worst thing about the situation he manoeuvred himself into was the lack of regret. Neil was a skilled liar especially to himself but it stood out too clear to continue in denial. The dingos were the embodiment of bad life decisions but for the first time in months Neil felt alive.
The truth had never borne any comfort — always only an equivalent of pain. The bruise on his rip cage reminded him of his mother and her punishments. Maybe fate had decided he needed to pay a price for allowing himself to entertain such a childish dream.
His insights twisted and it became impossible to ignore. Waiting and staying here not an option anymore. Washing off in a public bathroom must be enough for now.
The apartment he’d been squatting in being out of question. There was no running water and Neil had a nagging feeling that eyes had followed him this morning. Without his mom, the constant paranoia was the only thing capable of ensuring survival. The weight of his duffel bag was missing like a limp brutally cut of by his father’s cleaver.
His brain went on autopilot and the words tumbled out of his mouth before overthinking reigned in.
“I’m leaving”, his duffel bag rapidly retrieved of his locker, Neil disappeared into the bathroom stall. The movements needed to change out in a crammed space came easy to him built from years on the run.
The borrowed gear was put straight into the gear closet where no one would try and talk to him. Now nothing could hold him back any longer.
As the stadium door shut, he ran — the sourness and fatigue of the game momentarily forgotten, not caring if anyone saw him, the duffel uncomfortably pressing into the fresh bruise.
Neil had no idea where to go, the most pressing matter being creating distance between himself and the train wreck he caused. Would his father let out his rage on the dingos simply because they associated with him? Hernandez wouldn’t hold through single second of torture, breaking just at the sight of him.
When the glowing sign of the 24/7 gas station came into view, he slowed his run until he stopped. It was a bad idea to go inside. He had already been there and the thought of breaking another of his mom’s rules made his skin crawl.
But did it even matter anymore, all alone in this world without a single trustable person? He could think of her rules as much as he wished but it there was no way of bringing her back. The only pillar of consistency had crumbled, leaving nothing but a ruin.
Shaking off his instincts, he started sneaking to the back of the building closer to the bathrooms. The clerk was the only person in sight and distracted by his phone. He was not the one Neil had been to last time relieving at least a small part of the anxiety buzzing against his air pipe.
Finally he made it to the door. Before entering, he listened for any sort of sound but when me couldn’t make out anything, he pushed it open in one fluid motion. The lamps flickered to life and Neil was met with his reflection. His hair and eyes were hidden but still all he could see was him.
Stepping closer to the mirror too caught up in the moment to realise his action, he couldn’t deny the similarities. With his hair sweaty sticking to his forehead, Neil was able to make out his roots.
That shouldn’t be. What if someone on the team had seen, now staring to ask questions? Unable to calm the rising panic longer, he ended up on the floors of the toilet stall, just barely managing to lock the door.
The walls were scribbled full of comments and sketches. One thing caught his eye. Two lines in neat handwriting:
If life ever feels unbearable, call xxxxxxxxx