c h a p t e r 2
"I don't know how to surf," I let Kyle know, sheepish, as I stare out at the ocean apprehensively, a surfboard under my arm.
Kyle stares at me blankly in turn, this being his stupid idea of killing some free time.
"I didn't get out much before," I shrug, both of us standing on the shore.
"No, dude, it's not that, it's just that I'm surprised that there's actually something you can't do," he reassures me. "I'm just so used to you being a natural overachiever all the time that you caught me off guard for a sec'," he jokes around, messing with me.
I shrug carelessly yet again, "Learning new skills is what I thrive on. I like to apply myself. Challenges and problem solving are my escape. It gets my mind off things that I'd rather forget than relive."
"I bet it's no walk in the park, huh?" he asks, hinting at something with his underlining tone of curiosity.
I express my confusion with a frown, "What are you on about?"
"Being the best all the time, being stuck in a lifeless past, trying to fix everything, blaming yourself for everything," he answers nonchalantly as if it is obvious to him, "it's all gotta take a toll on you. It's got to be a heavy weight to carry," he presses, managing to easily annoy me.
"You don't know me," I retaliate, already aware of where he's going with this.
"You're transparent enough for me to figure you out," he replies, refusing to back off. "You've had a tough life. You're torn. You're stuck in a past leading to nowhere. As a result, you're struggling to lay down a future for yourself. You've made too many mistakes to count. Your regrets are even more, but," he pauses, waving his finger in my face in a condescending way, "your acts of humility and selflessness are infinite, limitless."
I involuntarily clench my fists in anger and step back from him, "That's enough."
I lost it all because of selfishness, not selflessness. He's way off point and it bothers me that he would think otherwise.
"You've worked hard to be where you are today. Nothing has come easy to you," he states casually, in spite of my rising temper.
Dreams are earned. If you want it bad enough, you'll find a way to make it happen, no matter what.
"In my world, things don't get handed down to me on some silver platter. I have to take the initiative to just give it my all and go for it," I take the platform to elaborate before he gets ahead of himself. "My motto in life is to do everything that I do to the best of my ability. I'm always gonna give it my absolute best, and sometimes, even that is not enough."
"Finally," Kyle grins in victory as if satisfied, "something you're optimistic about. Although, your tenacity is a little intimidating."
I hate how he misreads everything I say.
"I'm not that pessimistic," I defend myself at only hearing that, indifferent to the rest of his words.
"You're the most negative person I've ever met," Kyle chuckles in disagreement, "but you're also one of the most 'real' people I've ever met. You're genuine. You're you."
"You say it like it's a good thing," I grin slightly, loosening up.
"That's your problem, right there," he suddenly points out. He takes the liberty to explain when seeing that I'm not following, "You have such a bad view of yourself. You need to stop knocking yourself down to the ground because there will come a day when you won't be able to stand up again, as you took away all the reasons to."
I sigh, averting my eyes back to the sea before nodding in agreement, deciding to give his way a shot, "Alright. Okay."
He grins in response and motions ahead of us, "C'mon dude, the waves wait for no one."
I don't hesitate to follow him out into the open water, "I hear J-Bay is one of the best surfing spots in the world," I remark, taking in a deep breath of the fresh, salty air, ready to give it my best once again.
"You damn right it is," Kyle confirms enthusiastically, vigor in his every step, "so try to not embarrass me too much."
"I can't make any promises."
*~*~*~**~*~*~*
"I hate surfing," I joke as I stick the surfboard down into the sand, done for.
"Well, brother," Kyle pats me on the back in fake sympathy, "we finally found something that you suck ass at. You're atrocious. That ten-year-old-girl was even showing you up out there. You really need to amp up your game."
I grin and shake my head, well aware of how I messed up.
"We're going to have to practice a lot more," Kyle nods to himself, uncaring whether I'm up to the challenge or not.
"The water fights me," I offer a weak excuse, choosing not to accept the fact that I'm terrible at it. I've never accepted failure in anything, ever. I've never had to and I won't start now. With practice and determination, one can be good at anything.
"Yeah," Kyle laughs, amused, "okay, let's go with that."
"I belong behind the wheel, not in front of the wave," I try to defend myself, flashing him a half smile, taking up the brunt of all his jokes.
"Behind the wheel?" Kyle questions, inquisitive, as we both take a seat on the hot sand, drying off under the sun's sharp rays.
"I race," I answer solemnly, then adding, "well, I used to."
Street racing is just one of the many things I've left behind.
"That's awesome, dude!" Kyle exclaims in support. "I actually know someone who's job is in that exact line of work. Dempsey manages racers. She promotes them, organizes races, gets their name out into the public, that kind of thing. If you're still looking into it, I can set up a meet. She'll tell you like it is - if racing is worth pursuing or not."
"It's not, not for me," I answer with self-assurance, confident of my answer. "Like I said, I don't race anymore. I haven't for a very long time."
"Why would you ever give that up?" he asks with a shake of his head, making it clear to me that he doesn't understand.
I don't answer, my concentration now elsewhere. The shouting from nearby has me distracted. Instead of wasting more time, I get up and sprint to where the commotion is. Kyle follows upon hearing the fight himself.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Kyle shouts upon seeing a group of 'shady-looking' guys teaming up, beating on some other guy down to the floor. "Break it up!" he commands as he tries to approach them, acting on instinct and impulse rather than first thinking his actions through.
Kyle is knocked down for interfering whilst the guy on the ground keeps taking the beating of the five others. He's outmatched. It's not a fair fight - it never is.
Flashbacks of when I was fourteen come in waves, one by one, hitting me hard.
"Get off of him," I intervene, taking my gap and absentmindedly stepping in, shoving my way to the center in the hopes to draw their attention to me instead. I stand protectively over the injured guy in the hopes of keeping them away from him.
I'll take the punches if it means he'll get the slack.
But they keep at it, even when he's down and defenseless.
I try to maintain a level-head, but my self-control diminishes when seeing his limp body struggling to stand up.
Like a damaged cord, I snap!
My fists take on a mind of their own, taking over entirely as my temper gets the best of me once again. I manage to hit the fast-talker first, side-stepping him just in time before he can return the favor.
I step back and shake out my fist, on high alert, as I cautiously watch the one I threw punches at. He wipes away at his bloody lip with the back of his hand, enraged.
"Mistake, kid," he warns me, breathing heavily, his eyes flaring up with anger.
When I refuse to move or back out, he and his guys start to hone in on me.
"Walk away. You're one up against five," another says to me, but I barely register it, only capable of seeing red in the moment.
I don't care.
To me, it doesn't matter. I'm just as used to taking beatings as I am to giving them out. When it was me down on the floor all those years ago, no one stopped.
"I'll take my chances."