One good thing about being a professional athlete is the freedom that comes along with it when it comes to time restraint. I don't have to meet deadlines, I don't have to deal with utter nutheads during business meetings, I don't have to come up with agendas. There are some profound headaches, but at least the deadline crap is nonexistent. Sometimes, when I look at April and Spencer, I get a strong urge to protect them with everything I have. Those innocent souls bust their asses to carve a successful work environment and I watch them crumble sometimes when certain blockheads refuse to cooperate. I don't understand why such people exist...
I watch soundly as my best friends head out of the cafe and rush towards their respective offices. The missed call from Coach Mitchel sits angrily as I take the last sip of my cold coffee. I know that I welcomed his wrath with open arms when I outright told him to get lost because my friend needed me. Plus, I was getting tired of the workout. Being an athlete comes at a cost of physical exhaustion, and sometimes, I just wanna escape. That's why I've been thinking about a vacation. Obviously, I haven't mentioned anything to coach.
Mrs G saves me from my mind spiral by sitting down in front of me with a smile that must be warm enough to melt the coldest of hearts. I smile back. She's one of those rare humans who would keep telling you that it's okay to feel the way you are feeling, as long as it doesn't drive you further in your shell. She encourages us to let things out instead of bottling them up and honestly, she even once suggested that we should drop a year of college and simply learn how to exist without the stress of meeting deadlines. Sometimes, just hearing an adult say that to you when you're slowly hitting rock bottom is enough to give you a ray of hope.
"What's going on with you these days? How are you holding up?" She asks and I'm taken aback. Why? Because the bustle of leading a monotonous life often erases such simple yet profound questions and you learn to not think about them with time.
"Umm..." I start and she stops me midway.
"You don't have to have an answer. This is my way of starting a conversation." She laughs lightly and I look at her in awe. April actually resembles her a lot.
"I just want to go somewhere and forget about everything else. Obviously, I want those two buffoons to accompany me, but I can't ask them to drop their work and follow me to the ends of the earth just because I'm sick of this city." I give out a tired sigh. "And they believe that I actually enjoy solo travel."
"Well, in their defence, you do sound super convincing when you say stuff like, 'I was made for solo travel, I can't handle company.'"
"Wha- I just didn't want them to feel bad..."
"I understand, honey. But if you really want to go somewhere with them, stop bringing up solo travel and give them a reason to think about taking a breather. God knows how much they need it." Mrs G shakes her head and we sit in silence for a few minutes.
"I'm actually thinking about dropping my agency." I blurt out. I haven't talked about this with anyone, not even April and Spencer, and this is majorly why I need a break... To think and decide what to do.
"What? Why?"
"Because they are too ambitious and keep expecting inhuman things from me. It's exhausting. I love swimming, but not like this. They're putting price tags and award slips on everything and refuse to accept the fact that I swim only because I love the sport and not because it is good money."
"Do you really not care about the money?"
"I have enough. Why is there a necessity to capitalize everything? It's not a crime to do something just because you like it, irrespective of the money."
"Totally. So, to hell with your agency." The way she says it makes me crack up. My mom would've shoved me into a corner for a long moment of self-introspection. Of course money matters. How can you say something so stupid?! That's what you get for picking sports over academics, little child.
"You really think so?" I ask in a baby's squeak. She knows what the person in front of her wants to hear, and she bloody lets them have it. This woman doesn't believe in the concept of tough love and I admire her for it.
"Of course! It's your life, your career, your sport. If you need the agency, keep it. If you don't, let them go. Don't believe that the decision is not in your hands, because it is. Once you realise that, nothing will seem as difficult as it did a while ago."
I know that I will keep thinking about what Mrs G said for a very long time.
* * *
There isn't much that I can say when my coach suddenly decides to send me on a guilt trip for not keeping my sport number one on my priority list. So, according to him, I should give my life and freedom to swimming because apparently, it has made me who I am today. His words, not mine. Whenever he begins with his well-learned glorification of sincerity towards work, I tune out and simply stare at the ground so that he misunderstands my lack of focus for utter shame. I seriously prefer misunderstanding over explanation simply because it's too much work and I'd rather save my energy for something more productive than repeatedly telling a bottlehead my side of the story. Let's face it, it's not like he'll suddenly understand and empathize with me once I do say something to counter his preposterous assumptions.
"Liya, you are losing focus and it's reflecting in your game. What are you gonna do about it?" Coach Mitchel and the nerve popping out of his forehead gape holes into my face and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. If I squint harder, he'll probably resemble a comic book caricature that never made any sales.
"I don't know, you tell me."
"What kind of a response is that?"
"I mean, you're probably gonna humiliate me further if I say anything that doesn't reciprocate your preconceptions. So, you might as well save me the trouble and tell me what you want."
I am beyond pissed with this man and the agency he hired. Don't get me wrong, I respect him and it's true that he helped me gain the practice and the recognition I have today. But, he's too driven by materialistic aspirations, which I'm not okay with, and he does nothing to even slightly alter it. I am a girl who is utterly tired of being reminded of the value of a good name, which overshadows my eternal love for the sport. Do you see what I'm saying? He is completely changing the trajectory.
"No, you tell me what you want."
Man, you are not ready for that conversation.
"Are you seriously asking me that?"
"Yes, I am. Because clearly, your game is just a distraction to you now. S.O.S calls from your friends are number one on your priority list. So, I want to know what is going on inside that head of yours."
Okay, that's it.
"You wanna know what's happening inside my head? I'm practically throwing you out of my life by firing you. Right now. In my head. I'm freaking sick of how you're ruining swimming for me by simply existing as my coach. You don't let me enjoy it, it's all about the publicity, the ranking, the mindless winning regardless of what I actually want... And I don't even say anything to you because I know it's important to you! Even then, somehow I'm the one who's at fault. I'm the one who is making a mockery of the sport. Do you bloody see the irony here?!" I take a deep breath to calm down. Seriously, the last few days have been me losing my shit and begging for a break. "You asked me what I want? I'll tell you what I need. I need a break. I need to get myself out of this mess before it takes a toll on me. I need to step back and rest before my body gives up. But will you entertain this request for even a millisecond?! NO! Obviously not! So, why do you even ask?"
I don't wait for him to say anything and simply turn around and start punching the first sandbag. I rarely do that, to be honest, but the urge to punch a real object has exceeded expectations. Channelling anger into a physical sport is always better than busting someone's head off. Right? Right.
Coach Mitchel stays clear of me as I punch the sandbag to shreds. Good lord, I must really be extremely angry. I usually jump into the pool and the simple touch of the cold water is enough to distract me from the mess that lies on the dry land. But somehow, swimming didn't feel like my go-to companion today. This is the extent to which Mitchel's annoying shit is affecting my sport. He's not the wise athletic man I ran to whenever mom asked me to help her in the kitchen. Not anymore.
As a kid, I was either the monkey hanging upside-down from a giant swing or the soft duckling who wouldn't get out of the community swimming pool even during the break hour. I was the annoying brat who'd throw a fit if mommy dearest falls asleep during playtime. I was the over-excited last bencher who jumped out of her seat the moment the ringing bell signalled the start of PE class. Not that I have to mention directly, but I was also stereotyped as the classic "tomboy" who can only shoot baskets or run like a mad bull, but never be the one with a raised hand when someone asks a dumb question in class. All that changed when my dad gave a piece of his mind to my class teacher, who wouldn't shut up about my inappropriate love for sports because that's not something girls should do. Dad basically destroyed her stereotypical aura and she didn't show up at school for the next week. His support has stayed with me to date and I couldn't be more thankful. While mom always brought up my "stupidity" of discontinuing academics and made jokes about it, dad stuck with me and made sure that no one laughed at those lame jokes. Don't get me wrong, I love my mom. She has her reasons to say what she said. But I was always my daddy's little daughter.
Thinking about dad puts a small smile on my face and I straighten up the sandbag that is now just a crumbled ball hanging half-heartedly in the middle of a room. Coach is nowhere to be found, which is a blessing in disguise. But that blessing doesn't stay afloat as I spot a familiar face smiling at me.
It's Marcus, my agent. He recently replaced Agatha, who left the agency to settle down with her family. To be frank, Marcus sometimes gives me the creeps because of his constant lopsided grin. But the fact that he at least tries to understand my perspective is the only thread that is tying me to the agency. If that thread snaps, I will fire them without a second's thought.
"Did you break someone's neck today?" He asks and falls in step with me. I wrap a towel around my shoulders and wipe off the sweat.
"Almost. But then I let the rational side of my mind take over."
"Feels good?"
"Could be better. What you got for me?"
"Something that will piss you off." I groan audibly the moment he says that. "Team wants you to do a photoshoot for an upcoming edition of a sports magazine."
I stop walking and stare at thin air. What is it with random photoshoots? I literally came back from one, what sorcery is this?
"I know you hate doing stuff like that but it's seriously a good chance to get more visibility. Don't get mad, we just want the best for you." Marcus talks like he's walking on eggshells around me, which is damn accurate. I feel like all the anger that I relayed out of my system five seconds ago is seeping back in. I don't understand this crap about getting visibility. Shouldn't sports be about sports and not some dumbass celebrity complex? What is wrong with this world?!
It genuinely feels like the universe is punishing me for something; bad karma probably, which I don't understand. And I don't have the energy to throw a tantrum. I just want my bed and a pillow snuggle.
"Liya?" Marcus pokes my shoulder as if testing the waters and I give out a loud sigh.
"I'm going on a hiatus." I deadpan and throw the towel on the floor.
"What?"
"I need a break. This is getting out of hand. They told me that the photoshoot I did one month ago would be the last one. My coach bites my head off if I leave practice before finishing twenty thousand hours. My agency is focusing more on my fake celeb visibility than my game. And my mom still believes that I should've been a freaking scientist! WHAT THE HECK DO YOU ALL WANT FROM ME?!" My phone chimes with a text message from Kyle and I smash it against the wall. "AND THIS DUD-MUD DRACULA FROM HELL WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!" I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to calm down. Marcus, on the other hand, seems shit scared. "I'm gonna go on a break. I won't swim. I'll take my time, so don't worry about some low-blow publicity stunt for a comeback or anything. If the agency can handle it, well and good, if not, I won't think twice before firing their ass. The choice is theirs, let me know via text." I stare at my smashed phone. "Well, email."
"And what is the reason behind this sudden bomb?" He asks and I glare at him. "I mean, what if the men in blue throw that question at me."
I roll my eyes. "I need a break, I am tired" is not enough for them. I get it. They need a big story, they need drama, they are giggly high school toddlers who can only swallow food when the television is on. Dumbasses.
"Well, then." I start. "Tell them I'm pregnant or something. Here's the publicity stunt they can make money with. Ciao."
* * *
"Liya, wait!" Kyle calls after me as I rush towards my car. You got it right, he was waiting for me outside the gym. I'm telling you, the universe is plotting against me. I feel like I've aged a million years and it still isn't the end of the freaking day. I can't believe I was in the middle of a fashion photoshoot not six hours ago.
"Liya, just listen to me. Please!" I unlock the car and almost get inside. But my ex-boyfriend decides to show a previously nonexistent swiftness with his feet and grabs my elbow. "Please?"
"What?"
"Did you eat anything? Let's go grab a bite."
"Don't test my patience right now, Kyle."
"Come on, I'm sure you're hungry."
As if on cue, my stomach growls. Kyle hides his laugh behind a fake cough and I roll my eyes.
"Ten minutes. That's it."
Without much delay, we drive together to the nearest cafe and grab a seat. Kyle orders some fries and I only go for a glass of lime juice. He insists on buying me something to eat and I simply stare him down without answering. He better talk fast and talk good or else it won't end well for either of us. Like I said, I just need my bed and my pillow.
"So." He begins. I don't say anything. "How have you been?"
"Kyle, I've had a long day and I really want to sleep it off. Please, let's quit the small talk." I practically beg him.
"Okay, okay." He takes a deep breath and looks at me. "Let's go back to how we used to be. You and me, sans any unnecessary drama."
What? What? What is happening?
"We can start over. It'll be just like before. We don't need to ruin something good just because of one pointless fight. Misunderstandings can be cleared, it's not a big deal. Maybe it wa -"
"Kyle." I stop him because I know where this is heading. "I didn't break up with you because of that one fight. I did it because I realised that we aren't the same people who fell in love with each other once upon a time. That's all gone. You need to accept it and move on."
Kyle blinks twice like a cartoon, and then...
"That's bullshit. That's total bullshit."
"Excuse me?"
"It feels like you are trying to get rid of me because there's someone else." He narrows his eyes at me. "Is there?"
I tilt my head to figure out if it was a joke.
"Are you shitting your damn wits right now?" I grab the glass tightly to stop myself from slapping him. "Not that I owe you an answer, but no. There isn't anyone who is challenging your manhood, Mister I-Can't-Keep-My-Empty-Ego-To-Myself. In fact, you've made sure that I stay clear of men for a while. Thanks for that, no wonder I needed a reality check."
"See, I just wanted to talk. You're being a bitch again."
"No, Kyle. I was being polite. You wanna see me be a bitch? Here." I hold the glass, aim it at his face and splash the contents without much thought.
Eek, I've always wanted to do that. It weirdly feels good.
Kyle blinks back the surprise and looks around to ensure that I haven't made a scene.
"Here's a tip: maybe sit back and contemplate the point where you became a total asshat instead of voicing out how the other person in the context is a bitch. It will help others around you keep their sanity and will also ensure that you don't turn into a total crap bag. I never thought I'd hate you, but well here it is. Enough of your nonsense. Leave me alone and move on." I grab my bag and walk out of the cafe with my head held high. I don't look back and start singing Best Song Ever, loud enough to make sure that Kyle's idiotic screams fade away as background noise.
I drive back home, EuphoNia blasting through the speakers of my car. I might make fun of Spencer's addiction with this band, but deep down, I'm so in love with them. They don't seem human and I've been listening to their songs since forever. Whenever April, Spencer and I are overwhelmed with any emotion at all, we simply sit down together and stream all their music videos to feel better. And it always helps. There's something hopeful and happy about those seven boys.
My apartment beckons to me as I glide my way to the elevator. I spot April's car and wonder why she's home early. She did the photoshoot thingy, it was a big day for her. She was supposed to be busy with that stuff till ten or something. She said ten, I remember. My mind plunges into a dark corner and I start thinking about all the things that could've gone wrong.
The camera broke.
The pictures were all blurred.
The pictures weren't good at all.
We looked like fools smiling for candy.
The original models showed up and all our efforts became a sap story for behind the scenes.
April got hurt.
April slipped on that damn marble floor and sprained her ankle.
April got sick.
April fell down -
STOP.
I think I hit my head somewhere.
The elevator opens and I practically run out of it. The way I ring the doorbell could wake up a hibernating bear. I completely forget about the key in my bag and keep ringing.
On the twenty thousandth ring, April opens the door with crazy bed hair, a face blotched with eyeliner and a grin that reminds me of Joker. My heart sinks to the basement.
"What the heck?"
"Let's go to a private beach and literally live there."
* * *