In this vibrant city where dreams and danger collide, King and Reign's worlds intertwine. King, a rising basketball star escaping a tumultuous past, crosses paths with Reign, an unapologetically ambitious soul seeking his place in the world. A magne...
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King June 4th 10:45am Tillman Park
The rhythmic thud of the basketball bouncing off the worn blacktop is usually soothing to me. The familiar sound echoes through the neighborhood, a constant reminder of the game I've played since I was a kid. The basketball courts have been my sanctuary, a place where I find solace and clarity.
I can vividly remember the countless hours I've spent here, shooting hoops until my arms ached and the streetlights flickered to life. It was my way of escaping the streets and the troubles that often lurked there. The courts provided a refuge from the chaos of home, a place where I could focus solely on the game, leaving behind the nightmares that haunted me.
Growing up in the environment that I did and witnessing some of the shit that I did as a kid would leave most adults mentally and emotionally scarred. In my house, there was never a sense of safety in expressing our true emotions. We were forced to hold everything in, to wear a mask of strength, and never show any signs of vulnerability.
My father had two things he despised: any indication of weakness and what he referred to as "sissy behavior." I quickly learned that displaying either of these traits would result in physical punishment. It was a brutal lesson that shaped my early years and instilled in me the need to hide my true feelings and emotions, even from myself.
When I was 8 years old, there was a boy who lived next door to us, and we happened to be the same age. Naturally, we became friends and spent a lot of time playing together. He shared my passion for basketball, and we'd often play the sport together. During sleepovers, we'd stay up all night playing video games, creating a bond that temporarily took me away from the harsh reality of my home life.
One night he wanted to wrestle and at first I was winning until I wasn't and he got on top of me pinning me down before kissing me. I didn't know what it meant to be gay at the time but I knew that I liked him because he was my friend and kissing him felt good. I remember always thinking that he was pretty for a boy because he had hair like a girl that his mom kept braided or in a ponytail.
After that night, whenever he would come over, we would sneak off to the side of the house or my room to kiss. This went on for about a week before my brother Tez caught us and told my dad. I remember being so confused because Tez kissed his girl friends all the time, and I never told on him, but he was telling on me. That was the first time my dad ever beat me with his fist, leaving me mentally and physically scarred. He kept saying how he wasn't raising faggots and that I would be dead before he ever let that happen.
Later that night, while I held sandwich bags of ice to my face and stomach, Q explained to me what being gay was and why I could never be that. It was a tough lesson to learn at such a young age, and it left me with deep emotional wounds that would never heal.
During middle school and high school, I spent my time hanging out and playing sports with other boys, but I never experienced any romantic attraction towards them. I convinced myself that whatever had occurred when I was younger was just a phase of curiosity and not reflective of my true identity.
