My Teacher, Louis Tomlinson

Chapter 5- Don't hate the player, hate the game

Skye's POV:

School was pretty shitty, per usual. It didn’t particularly help that I was dreading the game all day. When the time finally did come, I though I would vomit.

But I didn’t.

And we won.

It even went into penalty kicks, because they don’t allow ties.

I saved. Every. Single. One.

And after every save, Mr. Tomlinson would yell out “NICE ONE!” or “YOU GO, SKYLYNN!” and even the occasional “YEAH, SKYE!”

We won 4-0.

It was awesome.

Everyone loved me and crushed me in a huge hug after the game. They picked me up and carried me around too, just like in movies. It was so amazing. My parents hugged me in a congratulatory way as well. I was hesitant, but they were genuinely happy and pretty much sober. I had also seen them chatting it up with some of the other parents.

Maybe things are looking up.

~~~

The rest of the games went the same, but better. We never had to go into PK’s again, and we won every single game. I only let in one goal the entire time. People loved me. They called me the star. It was incredible. Unbelievable, even. My parents even took the team out for ice cream. Fucking ice cream, Mr. Tomlinson included. In fact, my parents even took the chance to chat him up some and shake hands. Granted, my dad was drunk, but I don’t think anyone could tell.

We even made it to the championship against the team we let in a goal against. Of course, Sabrina, member of the pimp-posse, was on that team. She was a defender though, so I wouldn’t have to come in contact with her.

The worst part was the fact that she brought the remainder of the pimp-posse to the stands. Greaaat.

The game was going well and I thought things were looking up until things ended in a 0-0 tie and I realized that meant PK’s.

I had a panic attack on the spot. No joke. I was wheezing and almost-crying and nearly passing out in the goal box as the whistle was blown.

But this was it. I couldn’t let the team down now. I pretended to go refill my water while I calmed down and brought myself back to life.

On the way out of the bathroom, a rough hand grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side of the building. That same hand immediately slapped me in the face, hard.

“Listen, you little whore. Lose this game and you won’t live to see tomorrow. I’m not kidding.” My father’s raspy voice told me. I nodded my head quickly and half-walked half-ran to the field. Penalty kick time.

First shot for us. We made it.

First shot for them. They missed the goal entirely. Things were looking good so far, but four people were left to go for each side

Second shot for us. Shot it right at the goalie. Failure.

Second shot for them. Hit the post.

Third shot for us. We made it again

Third shot for them. Hit the post again. One more goal and we win.

Fourth shot for us. Goalie makes a diving save.

Fourth shot for them. They shoot it into the right corner and I dive left. Goallll. My heart pumps faster than ever. It’s okay. If I save one more, We’ll win. I have to keep reminding myself this is life-or-death, here.

Final shot for us. Goalie makes another amazing save.

Final shot for them.

Goes.

Right.

Through.

My.

Legs.

Not even kidding. A whale would’ve stopped it better than me. My own team is booing me, moaning and cussing.

That means it’s a tie game again. Next person to score wins. Well, since we’re going first, if we score, they have to score to keep it going.

Our shot. We hit the post.

Their shot. They shoot over the goal.

Phew.

Our shot. We make it. Everyone cheers. We’re already celebrating the victory

Their shot. I dive left. The ball is shot right.

Tie game again. My team boos.

Our shot. We miss.

Their shot. They shoot high, right above me. I touch it. I can feel it in my hands. I’ve got it!

I drop it. It rolls backwards, into the goal.

Game over.

They win.

The field explodes with noise. I had no idea people got so into this whole thing. I first glance at my team. They look utterly disappointed in me. I mean, I reallllly blew it. Next, I look at Mr. Tomlinson. He’s staring at me, the goal, emotionless.

Finally, I glance over to my parents. They are absolutely seething with rage.

We go into the locker rooms for a final word. Mr. Tomlinson congratulates us on the week, saying we really deserved a win but luck just wasn’t on our side. Saying it wasn’t anyone’s fault and that we all played brilliantly.

Psch. Everyone but me.

He leaves the room to let us change, and I know I’m in trouble. I manage to change into my school clothes without incident, but the second I close the locker my face is slammed into it from behind. It’s one of the boys. Soon, the entire team is surrounding me. I’m a crumpled mess on the floor, my nose bleeding into my shirt and my head throbbing.

They begin kicking me, taunting me, blaming me, yelling at me, hitting me, punching me everywhere. They make a line and take turns. They do it all at once. They push me around. They beat me nearly senseless for fucking them over.

I want to run, to escape. I want to go home, but I can’t.

But most of all, I want to die.

They finally leave me alone and exit the room, turning the lights off as they do so. I change back into my uniform, seeing that my normal clothes are covered in blood, and use my shirt to try to stop my nose from bleeding everywhere.

My phone rings in my backpack. I answer it.

“Listen, I’m not fucking around, Ky. Walk through the door tonight and I’ll shoot you. I’m waiting, baby. Or maybe I’ll fuck you senseless first. Drag it out. Or I could stab you over and over again, taking my time to cut every single vein in that worthless body of yours. See you later, sweetie. We’ll be waiting.” My father’s voice says.

I hear my mother laughing in the background before the line clicks.

I want to die.

But not like that.

I formulate a plan, seeing that there’s no way I’m going home tonight. I decide to camp out here for the night. No one will find me. Tomorrow, I’ll spend the day out in coffee shops and I’ll go to work, and then I’ll go home. They’ll be okay by then.

That’s all I can tell myself to keep myself going.

The urge to cut is overwhelming, so I break a random glass milk bottle left from someone’s lunch and grab the largest shard. I drag it over my wrists until they’re bleeding more than ever, at least that’s what I can tell from the dim light of my phone.

I use my already-bloody shirt the soak up the blood until they finally stop bleeding. Then, I lay down on the bench.

Not a minute had passed when I hear the door creak open.

A/N: Cliffhanger! You're welcome ;) P.S. Sorry it's so short but don't worry, SHIT GOES DOWN in the next chapter.