"I'm exhausted, I'm sore, I'm angry, I'm in pain" not to mention I feel like absolute shit after leaving Charles, I haven't been able to stop thinking about him.
Sofiia- "Just one more match lena, then you're done"
"I'm already pissed off from us loosing and now I have to fucking play" I groan, I'm currently laying face first into my bed, my two friends both beside me trying to get me to get up and get ready for my finals match tonight
Lucas- "Hate to break it to you, but this is in fact your job"
Sofiia- "Come on, you'll have fun once you're on the court"
"I want to scream at someone"
Lucas- "Just think of the fact that if you win, you get 2.9 million"
"This is not about money right now Luke"
Sofiia- "Yes, we know you don't play for the money but come on lena, get up"
Lucas- "You can pay to fly us all to a vacation with the money"
Sofiia- "We should go to Greece"
"Oh my god, I hate you guys" I finally get the energy to get up
Lucas- "Thank god, I was starting to think that I was the only one"
Sofiia- "Nope, been a hater since day one"
"Fantastic" I roll my eyes at the two, getting up I walk over to my closet picking out a white tennis dress from nike
"It's bad enough we lost in the literal quarter final because of some bullshit fucking ref but now that same ref is the one working this match"
Lucas- "We'll have him executed by tomorrow princess Helena"
"Fuck you" I can't help but smile at his stupid comment
Sofiia- "I saw a smile!"
Lucas- "Code red! She's broken!"
"You guys are idiots"
I know they're trying to help, but it's so hard to be positive when I played horribly in doubles, I completely threw it for us and I feel awful, I missed long on deciding point loosing the match for us
_
"Add out for Garcia" The line judge announces
This is it. Right here. I can't throw it.
It's my serve, breathe. I take a deep breathe, my vision comes back into focus as I see the ball girl raise her hand, bouncing two balls to me. Routine. Focus Helena. This is the same as any other point. No different.
Place one ball in my pocket bounce the one in my hand once, grab it again before bouncing it twice more. Adjust my foot on the line. Fix my necklace, tuck it below my shirt.
I look up after my routine, everything goes silent as they watch me toss the yellow ball, holding my breathe, I reach up, hitting the ball I allow myself to let out the breathe.
In, the point started.
She returns the ball quickly to my backhand, as the point grows my mind is racing, working to find exactly where I need to hit the ball to manipulate the point into my favor.
"Out, Match for Garcia"
I lost. The world goes quiet as the disappointment overwhelms me.
As if I'm on autopilot I walk up to the net, shaking her hand. Before I know it, I'm walking out of the tunnel into the locker room reserved for me.
How could I be so stupid? How could I throw a point so important? I didn't put enough spin, I could've moved my feet faster. I should've recovered quicker, I hit to her forehand when her backhand was open, If I had just done those differently, I'd be the grand slam winner. Not her.
After all of that, and I still didn't win. My elbow has been killing me since I started the tournament. I try to move it but inhale a sharp breathe at the pain throughout my arm.
I would give so much to not be injured. I envy the players that can do normal things and not second guess it, without a thought they can simply do something, an every day task that makes me wince in pain like a fucking child. I hate it.
I'm an embarrassment. I can't even hit a baseline shot, no matter how good I did up to this point, it doesn't matter. What matters is that she's out there, being interviewed and talked to and I'm in here, silent tears falling down my red cheeks, the anger flowing through me making me ignorant to the slip in emotions.
I should be happy, proud that I got this far, but how can I be excited when it's not a win, what are my parents going to say?
I know what they'll say, that I played good, I'll win the next tournament, a normal person hearing that would see supportive loving parents, but I hear how the disappointment seeps through their tone, the judgmental look sparking in their eyes as they compare me to my brother.
I'm an adult, I shouldn't care as to what they say, I shouldn't be crying, I shouldn't be swallowing myself in self pity.
But I can't move, I can't get up, stop myself from how I feel, all I want is for them to tell people they meet that their daughter is a professional tennis player, I want them to be proud to talk about me the second kids are brought up but that's wishful thinking, no matter where we are, how far the boy just two years older than me is, it's always about him, and football.
The stress from them, pent up for over a month finally breaks, no matter how much I want to stop myself from the embarrassment that is my actions as of right now, I can't.
And god, my arm hurts worse than I can even explain.
No, I can't do this, I can't allow myself to act in such a dishonorable way.
Taking everything in me, I get up, walking to the mirrors I inspect the dried tears on my cheeks, washing my face in water I take a deep breathe, fixing my appearance I decide I'm ready to step into the world once more.
Placing an entirely fake expression on my face, I pick up my tennis bag, and walk out
Sofiia- "Come on" She whispers leading me to the golf cart, she knows no matter how happy or okay I look, I'm not, I'm drowning in my own degrading thoughts, single handedly trying to destroy my confidence
We've known each other long enough to understand our after match routines, both when we're happy and sad. I can tell she knows mine, taking my bag she puts in on the cart for me, I sit down and feel her grab my hand, squeezing it reassuringly which calms me slightly.
After we make it back to the hotel she comes in the room with me, when I'm this angry, I can't talk but if I could, I'd thank her, she always knows how to help even if what she's doing is so little, to me, it's everything
It's not that I choose to not talk, I physically cannot get myself to say anything, no matter how hard I try, so instead, I walk into the restroom, grabbing fresh clothes I turn on the shower knowing that it'll get me to relax more hopefully to the point of being able to at least talk
When I return she's laying in my bed, a tray of room service beside her and a movie queued on the screen
I quickly post a picture from the match so my coach doesn't yell at me about bad sportsmanship
I'm not proud of myself, but who actually gives a fuck?
Words: 1282
This is depressing tbh
double update cause i'm in a good mood