HEARTLESS ROMANTIC

Part 1

The sound of waves crashing by, and the deafening sound of seagulls squawking fill the air. I would say that this would typically be quite relaxing, apart from the fact it's 4:00. In the morning.

As I fumbled around in search of the car keys that I placed randomly around the house in a rush last night trying to get every second of sleep I could for this big day. What you don't know about me, is that I'm a sports physiotherapist currently reaching for a postgraduate degree to upskill my knowledge around the subject so I have been asked to help out with some VFL teams' injuries since it's pre-season and everyone manages to get hurt around this time, but also to prevent injuries. Don't ask me why they get injured so frequently during this season, because I have no clue.

I'm Katerina Holt, but please, just call me Kat for short. I'm 21 years old, and you might be wondering, how is she 21 years old and already finished her sports physiotherapy degree? The answer is, that I did all my year 12 subjects in year 11, so I kind of got a head start on life, as well as the fact that I was a year younger than everyone in my year level. That isn't the point. I am roughly 5'6, I have greeny-blue eyes, I also have terrible eyesight, I'm super bad at lying, and my mum is Maltese and my father is born and bred in Footscray. Which automatically makes us Western Bulldogs fans. I know what you're thinking 'Who in the hell would go for them?'. Well, the answer is me. Sadly my family has somehow convinced me from an early age that barracking for the 'Doggies' would make life 'so much better. Anyways, enough talking about my back story, back to the point.

I was racing down the stairs of my Williamstown townhouse as the lights detected me and automatically flicked on. Still in search of my keys, and most importantly my circular framed black-rimmed glasses. Such a basic style, but it's cute. It matches my dirty blonde hair so that's all I care about. Glaring onto the kitchen bench I see my glasses and keys staring straight back at me, along with the dirty pasta dishes from last night. As I said, I was in a rush.

I make my way into the garage and rush over to the garage system to open the garage door. I once again, race back to my car and attempt at pulling on the car handle to open the door, but it doesn't budge. Maybe open the car Kat?

I begin to pull out, the sound of the V8 is something I'll never get used to. As I was pulling out of the driveway, I manage not to see a car coming straight for me. Don't blame me, it was 4:15 in the bloody morning. Mind you, this person was going 30km or more over the speed limit, it was a quiet, not even residential street. I hear a loud horn blaring and immediately brake out of fear. The other car comes to a halt, and all of the sudden this man who looked like he had been drinking, trying to get out of a sneaky-link's place opened his car door. Who would've guessed? A basic Melbourne man with a long blonde mullet jumped out of the car. Not going to lie, he was pretty attractive (and ripped) but he almost ran into my car!

I start thinking to myself 'I am not getting out of this car, no way in hell.' I have my hair chucked up in the quickest bun I could do, and my glasses on a little wonky. Plus IT'S 4:15 AM!

After two minutes of procrastination, I hop out of my car and walk over to the man. His glare felt as if he were burning two holes into me. Well I mean he did have a nice car. His constant stare makes me want to apologise, so that's what I did.

'Sorry.'

'Are you crazy?' the man mumbled

'What? No! You were the one driving like a lunatic!'

'I was not!'

'Whatever, dickhead. Just go back to your daddy's car and piss off.' I don't know why I was acting so aggressive, but I blame it on the time. He scoffs and marches back inside his car, that's right bitch. Anyways. I manage to get to work on time. But as I get to work to set up all the equipment for the boy's teams, the manager of VFL walks in.

He makes his way toward me. Why is he here, it's like 6:00 am? I question myself. He sits on one of the average sports therapy tables and makes himself at home, sipping on his cup of tea.

'I don't want to do this,'

My heart skipped a beat, no way he was going to lay me off. I've been working overtime and working hard to stay in this position.

'...but, I GOT YOU A JOB IN THE AFL!'

NO. WAY.

'YOU'RE IN THE BIG LEAGUES NOW!'

I can't believe this, is this a joke?

'Really?!' I scream with excitement evident in my voice.

'Yes really! Well, don't get too excited.'

Oh no.

'What's the catch?' I ask

'They will take you as their sports physiotherapist and you have 2 weeks to prove to them that you own that position.'

'Easy. Who's 'they'' I ponder

'I know how much you like the team, so the first team I asked if they needed a physiotherapist was the Western Bulldogs, and luckily their old one had just retired, leaving a spot for you. But you will be working with 2 other physiotherapist, so if you ever need anyone to talk to during an emergency injury, it will most likely be them,'

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. This can't be real. I pinch myself, not only to make sure this was real but to get back feeling. I was frozen.

'Thank you, thank you so so much.'

I run over to him and give him the biggest hug. He gave me the rest of the details, and the first process I have to go through is an interview which is in 2 days. Now I have to go through all my closets again just to find some smart clothes because all I ever wear these days are leggings and a choice between my three favourite tops and an occasional summer dress if we go out for dinner or lunch. I do have more clothes, I just choose not to wear them. Now for the stress and preparation leading up to this interview.

...

I park my car in a free parking spot and open up the car door, smelling the fresh air once again. I slam the door shut and grab all my folders and resume as I make my way through the back doors of the Western bulldogs' office building.

The chairs are rather comfortable and I anticipate going to the restroom just before I go in, but I choose to hold.

'Katerina Holt?' some random lady with a black pencil skirt and really good eyeliner calls out as if I wasn't the only one sitting in the waiting room.